#He may not wear it on a sleeve but he shows it when it counts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrsbarnesblog · 1 year ago

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Push him

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Avenger! Bucky Barnes x PR manager! Reader

Summary: When you became Avenger’s PR manager, you basically got your dream job, but one particular man, who had been staring at you every single time you were around, made you wonder whether it was because he hated or liked you.

Word count: 6.8K

Warnings: smut, bucky is obsessed with your short skirts, bucky is recovering, grumpy x sunshine, good friend natasha romanoff, office sex, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, pet names

Author's note: ‼️so if you haven't seen my previous post, this is my new account. you may have seen this work on my old one (@inmyicyworld) but it was terminated and @support doesn't respond to me. please, follow and share this work. I'm going to reupload all of my old fanfics and hope to get your support ❤️

The work at the Avengers Tower wasn’t what you expected it to be. Tony Stark found you while you were working for another company a little bit more than a month ago. He was amazed by the way you were dealing with problems, by your charisma, and by your ability to find a common language with everyone. That’s how he knew that he had to have you as his partner and a part of the team.

The next day, you got a call directly from Tony, asking you to quit your job and accept his offer to work as Avenger’s PR manager. It would be an understatement to say that your jaw dropped to the floor when you heard your salary.

He said that you were totally worth it and that working with a group of such different people was not easy, but he was sure that you would be perfect at this. So on that exact day, you decided to take a risk and accept the challenge.

One thing that you hated about your previous job was the strict dress code. It was simply far from your style because you hated wearing the same basic and boring clothes every day. Tony said that it was the last thing that he cared about, and in that building, no one was obligated to wear certain clothes.

You knew that it was your lucky ticket.

He was actually really friendly and funny in person. You talked a lot during your first day while he was showing you all the necessary places in the tower: your office, his lab, common rooms and kitchens, avenger’s rooms, and even a beautiful garden on the roof. By the way, Tony allowed you to decorate your office however you wanted and gave you the number of the person who was responsible for this.

In short, it was perfect.

You were giddy with excitement on your first actual day of work. According to the plan, you had to meet with the Avengers and then arrange a few meetings for Tony.

It felt like you spent hours before your mirror deciding what to wear. Your whole room was a mess, and when you finally completed your look, which consisted of a short black skirt, beige long sleeve and a brown leather jacket on top, it was already time to go.

Everyone in the room heard you before they saw you because of the sound of your heels clicking on the wood floor.

“Don’t tell me that this is our PR manager, Stark.” Black Widow looked you up and down with a smirk on her face. “You look good, hun. Finally, someone with a taste in this boring group of losers, besides me and Wanda, of course.”

“Hi.” You nicely smiled, not ready to get a compliment as soon as you stepped into the room.

“Ohh, she’s also the sweet one.” Another red-headed woman, Wanda, said with a smile.

“You both, shut up.” Tony stood up from the armchair with a pack of chips in one hand and threw the other one over your shoulder. “Want some?” He asked you, showing the food, but you slightly shook your head. “Whatever… Now, you all listen here, this is Y/N; she’s our new PR manager. I stole her from someone because she’s incredibly smart and good at her job. Starting from this moment, she’s going to cover up your asses and organize all this stupid media stuff.” You blushed at his words but were still silent. “So, this is Natasha, Wanda, Steve, Bucky, and Th—wait, you already know them, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” You chuckled. “By the way, it’s nice to meet all of you. I hope we can work together, and I will have a chance to be helpful.” You took a look at all the Avengers in the room, and everyone looked at you with a smile except one person, whose eyes sent shivers down your spine.

When you looked at Bucky, you saw that his eyes were scanning your body with an unreadable expression, and you suddenly felt really weird in your short skirt. Your eyes met, and his famous death stare was really quite scary. He didn’t like you? You two were staring at each other for a few seconds, and you believe that the rest of the team noticed it because Steve loudly cleared his throat to get your attention.

He asked you a few questions about you, and Clint and Sam made a few jokes. Everything was fine as you all chatted for a little bit until Tony said that everyone should get ready for tomorrow’s mission, and you too have a lot to do.

You went back to your office only with the thought that, during this whole time, Bucky was staring at you like he wanted to burn a hole in your head.

Later that day, Bucky was sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of already-cold coffee while Steve was making himself dinner. It was quiet besides the sound of the cooking food, or at least Bucky didn’t listen to Steve’s words because he was too deep in his thoughts.

Well, he was mostly thinking about you and his mixed feelings about this interaction. As soon as you walked into the room, you had his whole attention. He couldn’t help but stare at your body, at your open legs, and at your smiley face. He knew that he sounded like a total creep and that it was inappropriate to look at other people this way, but he had never seen women dress this way. Was it normal right now? Was it new fashion trends or something? The only women that he had been interacting with for the past few years were women from Wakanda, and in the tower it was mostly Nat and Wanda, and he had never seen them dress like that. Or, at least, he just didn’t care enough to notice it.

When he saw you today, he felt something in him, and he didn’t like that feeling. It was something new, something that he had never experienced before, but his body became tense and his stomach tightened. It was weird.

“What, you're still trying to process her?” He was distracted from his thoughts by Sam, who came to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water from the fridge. Bucky looked at him and furrowed his brows when he saw a shitty smirk.

“What the fuck are you talking about? And why are you smiling like an idiot?” Bucky growled.

“Because you’re thinking about Y/N.” His words caught Steve’s attention, and he came closer.

“That’s why you two were staring at each other like that?” Steve said this while drying his hands with a towel. “Do you like her? I think she seems cute.”

“No, I don’t. She just looks... different.”

“Oh, the old man got excited by the beautiful woman and her short skirt.” Sam’s smile got even wider as he started teasing Bucky. “You know, I wanted to ask her out, but I can take a step back if you like her.” He leaned on the table so he could get under Bucky’s skin even more.

“I do not like her.”

“So you’re okay if I ask her out? Maybe I should go to her office right now.” Sam pretended like he was really thinking about this.

“Sam...” Steve said.

“You both are just getting on my fucking nerves.” Bucky’s chair almost fell to the floor when he angrily stood up. “Do whatever the fuck you want, I don’t care about you or her.” With these words, he stormed out of the room, and Sam started to laugh out loud.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” Steve shook his head like a disappointed mother whose kids always fight.

“That was fun, and maybe it’ll push him to ask her out. She’s hot, but not my type; I’m just trying to help this idiot.”

You have been working with the Avengers for over a month now. This work was literally a dream from any angle. You were making a lot of money, doing the job that you really liked, and found a lot of close friends.

Almost everyone on the team was very close to you. Natasha and Wanda were particularly your best friends. Sam was the funniest person you’ve ever met, and he always found time to tease you or to make a compliment. Bruce and Clint were like your uncles—a little bit old and annoying, but always with a piece of advice for you. A few times, you and Steve met at the gym when you came to work too early, so he was happy to train with you. Who would’ve thought that Captain America himself would teach you how to throw a punch?

The only pain in your ass was Bucky Barnes. Well, to be fair, he didn’t do anything. You’re not even sure that you heard his voice. He was always just staring. Any time that you came to the room and he was there, you either saw him from the corner of your eyes or felt his burning gaze on your back.

To this day, you had no problems with your job. You organized a few interviews for Tony and Steve, talked to the newspapers and magazines, and held some meetings, but right now, sitting on your white chair, you felt weirdly nervous.

Bucky had to come here any minute to talk about a recent accident. Apparently, he almost knocked out someone on the street. All the press and news sources were taking advantage of the situation and using loud headlines to cast a shadow on Bucky and get more views. “The Winter Soldier is back?”. “The Winter Soldier almost killed an innocent man on the street.”

It has been the biggest topic on the internet for the past few hours. Most of the people were furious and wrote too many inappropriate and rude things. So you asked FRIDAY to call Bucky so you could know the whole situation and give comments to the press as soon as possible.

You started thinking about what you should do, or, to be more honest, how to behave around Bucky, because a few days ago two red-headed women that you now considered your best friends assured you that he is in love with you and just doesn't know what to do with it.

You told them everything about his weird actions—that he always looked at you, checked your clothes, and stayed silent. Natasha and Wanda just looked at each other with smirks on their faces.

“Why are you looking at each other like that?” You arched an eyebrow and crossed your hands across your chest.

“Please, don't tell me that you don't understand his behavior.” Natasha looked at you and sipped her coffee.

Well, I wouldn’t have asked you if I knew the reason.”

“Honey, he lust likes you and thinks that you’re hot. You remember that he’s actually an old man, right? Women from his time didn’t dress like that, and you look really sexy.” Wanda’s words made Nat nod her head as you looked weirdly at both of them.

“That’s bullshit, Wanda. This can’t be true. I'm sure that he just doesn’t like me and thinks that I look too revealing. Or he just hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time.”

“Some time ago, I came to the kitchen at like 2 a.m. just in my lingerie because I thought everyone was asleep. Barnes was sitting there with a book, and you know what? He just said “Hi” and didn’t even look at me again while I was making a sandwich. And when he sees you, he just can’t take his eyes away and stares like an idiot.”

You stayed silent, thinking about the girls' words, because everything seemed pretty reasonable.

“And what should I do?”

“I don’t know, seduce him or something.” Natasha just casually said it, and your eyebrows flew to your hairline.

“Wait, do you like him?” Wanda asked you, and Natasha huffed like it was obvious.

“I mean… he’s beautiful. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him, but Steve and Sam love him, and I trust their opinion.” You stopped trying to put together your thoughts. “To be honest, sometimes I think about the fact that he’s probably one of the hottest people I’ve ever seen. When we studied history at school, all the girls fell in love with America's Boy, and I with his best friend.”

“Then don’t wait. Just give him some hints, because I swear, for the ladies’ man, he’s too slow.” Natasha’s words made you smile. “Try to get closer to him; I don’t know, flash him with your boobs and look at the reaction. Push him a little bit. He’ll break.”

The loud knock on the door almost made you jump out of your chair.

“Come in.” You said this as you stood up and fixed your white dress and cardigan.

Bucky came probably to the lightest and most cozy room in the whole tower. A lot of white and pastel colors, comfy sofa and armchairs, and paintings on the wall. And in the middle of this was you—always perfectly looking, in heels, in a too-short dress, and with a smile on your face. He couldn't stop himself from looking at the smooth skin of your legs. It’s probably so soft...

“Em– Hi.” You awkwardly stood while his eyes were scanning your body. He didn’t answer; he just nodded. “So I think that we can sit there, it’s more comfortable.” You wave your hand at the sofa with a fluffy cover on it. “Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, soda?” Bucky just shook his head while he was trying to comfortably sit with a frown on his face.

You deeply inhaled while trying to be a professional. You didn’t know what was wrong with this man, but his behavior started to get on your nerves.

“Bucky, we can’t work together if you keep ignoring me. You can say if you don’t like something, because I don’t want to be on bad terms with anyone.” You sat across from him and crossed your legs.

“I don’t know what I should say.” His deep voice filled the room. Bucky took a pillow that was lying near him and started playing with the fringe. “I feel weird when I’m around you, and I don’t like it. I have thoughts that I shouldn’t have.” His eyes scanned your body once again, and you wondered if he was talking about what you thought.

“Can I do something to change it?”

“No.” He deeply inhaled. “It’s my own problem, and it’s not your job to try to fix it. Anyway, why am I here?”

“I think you know why. I need to ask you about the recent incident because I have a meeting with the press in less than an hour, and I have to give them a good reason why you did that. People didn’t take all that information too well.” You saw that Bucky sadly smiled and looked you directly in the eyes, making goosebumps appear on your skin. “So, tell me what’s happened.”

“You know that whatever you say won’t change people’s opinions about me, right? No one forgave me, and they’re still looking for a chance to call me a murderer.” He tried to hide behind a smile, but you saw everything written in his eyes. Bucky hurt himself with his own words.

“I understand how you feel about this whole situation, but we should address all those rumors because things might get worse.” You leaned on your knees with your hands, and Bucky’s eyes immediately fell on your boobs.

Push him a little bit. He’ll break.

You tried to hold back a smirk.

“Fuck.” He mumbled. “ I– um– I was walking from the coffee shop to the tower. It was another busy street with hundreds of people, but I still didn’t expect someone to touch me. That man jumped on my back or something, and my instincts just worked. I threw him over myself on the ground and put a hand on his throat. Turned out he wanted to take a picture. But I panicked because there are many people who want to take revenge and who might want to do it literally any second. I’m always ready for this.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but you could hear the pain in his voice.

You felt deeply sorry for the man before you. Even if he was cold and acted weird around you, you knew that it was his way to protect himself. After everything he came through, you couldn’t blame him.

“Do you still go to the therapist?” You gently asked.

“Yes, two times a week.” Bucky nervously ran his right hand through his hair while still holding your pillow in the metal one.

“Okay, that’s good; I can work with this information.” You nodded and reached for your journal on the coffee table. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Bucky. I really appreciate it. I’ll do my best to convince people that it was not your fault, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Bucky stood up, carefully putting your pillow in its place, and left your office without another word, while you were sitting there with a smile.

Maybe the girls were right.

After that day, everything between you and Bucky became even weirder. Yes, he wasn’t totally silent now, and you’ve got a few “Hi”, but his stares felt different.

It was like you two were playing some kind of game. Since you knew that he didn’t actually hate you, you tried to do as Natasha and Wanda said—get his attention and push more. And God, you loved that game.

Almost every day you found an opportunity or excuse to see him in common rooms or in the corridors of the Tower, and you made sure that Bucky noticed you. You wore tighter clothes, walked right past him, and looked at him with a smile. You knew that it was working because a few times Bucky just suddenly left the room while he was mumbling something.

It was almost 8 p.m., but you were still working on schedule for the next week. There was some kind of charity event, and Tony required you to convince everyone to go there because more Avengers can attract more sponsors and money. As always, Bucky was the one who refused to go there. He simply sees no reason for him to be there, and he doesn’t want to be there alone because he knows that Captain America will be the biggest star, and such a social butterfly as Sam will leave him in a second.

You decided that it would be better to talk to Bucky in person, but you didn’t want to lose a chance to get his attention, so you went by yourself instead of asking FRIDAY.

You looked in the small mirror to check your makeup and hair and went straight to where you knew Bucky was spending his evening. As you walked in a dark room filled with only light from the TV, you saw Sam and Steve sitting on the couch and Bucky on the armchair near them. You quietly walk to him and just casually sit on the armrest. His eyebrows flew to his hairline, and you heard that the chewing from the boys stopped. Bucky had no choice but to put his metal arm on your lower back.

“I need you in my office. You have to talk about the next charity event. Could you please give me some of your time?” You quietly asked and lowered yourself closer to him. Bucky was just staring at you for a few seconds, but then slightly nodded.

Bucky followed you to your office, not without getting smirks from the boys,and then stood near your table with his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t you want to sit?” You said and stepped closer to him.

“No.”

“Um– okay.” You took the papers from your table and stood in front of Bucky. “So, you know that there is going to be a charity event, and I’m responsible for getting all the Avengers there, and you are one of them.”

“I’m not going, I already told Tony.” He just shrugged.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not needed there. I’m not an actual hero, people have no interest in me, especially when there will be Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor, you know? Plus, I have no interest in sitting alone the whole night.” You saw that Bucky tried to be casual about it, but he just put salt on his own wound.

“Don’t say that, Bucky. There are people who want to see you there, you have a lot of fans. You know, I’m going there too, so if you don't mind, we can–”

“What game are you playing with me?” He interrupted you. Bucky straightened his shoulders, which made him look even bigger, and started moving closer to you, putting you in a trap between him and your desk.

“W– what do you mean?” You couldn't control your body as you started to tremble a little bit from the power that this man had. As soon as you bumped into the table, his hands landed on both sides of you, and his face was right in front of yours.

“Don’t act clueless, Y/N. I see what you’re doing.” He stopped for a second, studying your face. “You know, I tried to convince myself that you do all of this by accident, but now I’m sure that you’re just playing your little game. Am I right, doll?” You two were staring at each other, and you felt almost nauseous from different emotions.

He was so fucking beautiful up close. Piercing blue eyes, pink lips, and light stubble You know why many women thought that James Barnes was charming. If he had more confidence, he would’ve been unstoppable.

Your eyes slowly shifted lower to his arms and chest as you remained silent. He was big, with well-trained muscles that were seen through the tight black t-shirt. Both arms were stretched near you, so you had a really good opportunity to look at the smooth tanned skin and beautiful dark vibranium. You felt how your lower stomach tightened just from the thought of getting those pretty hands on your body…

You were pulled out of your head by a sudden movement of Bucky’s hand, which gripped your face and pushed your lips together. He was obviously dominating in the kiss, as if he were desperate to taste you. The tip of his tongue brushed over your lips, asking for entrance, which you happily gave him. The moan came out of you when Bucky moved away and looked you in the eyes, still holding your face.

“This whole fucking time I thought that I was a creep for looking at you, but now I know that you did everything on purpose, doll.” His eyes moved between your eyes and mouth. “All these short skirts and dresses that almost showed me everything underneath it, all these innocent smiles and looks... You did it to tease me?”

“Not at first...” You mumbled. “But you were acting so weird, and girls said that you liked me and just didn’t know what to do. I wanted to find out whether it was true or not.”

“Fuck, if I knew earlier that this was your plan, I would’ve bent you over the nearest surface, baby.” Bucky moved a little closer, brushing his lips over yours. “Do you know how fucking hot and gorgeous you are? I haven’t felt that way in many, many years. Just wanna kiss you and make you mine.”

“And what’s stopping you from this, Sargent?” You asked with a smile and moved your hand to the back of his neck to gently play with the baby hairs.

“You’re gonna be my death, doll face.” He mumbled before leaning closer and kissing you again.

This time, you started to touch each other's bodies. Bucky’s warm and cold hands landed on your thighs, playing with the hem of the skirt and rubbing your soft skin after he lifted you up a little bit and helped you sit on the table, staying in between your legs. Your own hands were moving up and down his broad chest, discovering all of his muscles.

“Bucky…” You whined into the kiss when his finger brushed against the edge of your already wet panties.

“Tell me.” Bucky moved away from your swollen lips and left a path of kisses down your neck. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.” He sucked a sensitive spot under your ear, which made you moan.

“I don’t know. Just do anything, please.” You both breathed heavily. You felt like you were too hot; your lower stomach ached, and your underwear was soaking wet. Bucky was looking at you with such lust in his eyes that you wanted him to destroy you.

“Lay back.” He ordered you as one of his hands went higher under your skirt and slid your black lace panties down your legs. You didn’t miss how Bucky shoved him into the back pocket of his jeans with a smirk on his face.

You quickly followed his instructions and just threw all the papers from our table on the floor. You’ll regret it later, but now you don't care. The sudden move of Bucky's metal arm grabbed and pulled your shirt, and all the buttons scattered on the floor, making you gasp in disbelief.

“Bucky! It was expensive.”

“Sorry, I’ll buy you whatever you want, I promise. But now I need to see you all.” He growled and fell to his knees before you. “Fuck, doll, such a pretty pussy. I’m gonna make a mess with her.”

Bucky’s hands grabbed both of your legs and threw them over his shoulders. He dragged your skirt higher, not wanting to take it off of you. His head fell on your right legs as he left a few kisses on your sensitive skin.

“Bucky please! Don’t tease me!” You desperately whined.

“I need a moment to appreciate both of you. I haven’t done it since the 40's, you know that?”

You wanted to say something, but his mouth on your most delicate part of your body left you speechless and made you grab his hair. Bucky’s tongue was gentle at first, just to get a taste of you and tease you a little bit. His tongue started to play with your clit, circling it and applying different pressures to find out what made your body twitch. It looked like he was enjoying it too; you felt deep grunts escaping his mouth as he was trying to catch every drop that came out of you.

Your loud moans filled the room as Bucky found the perfect place and made motions that made you see stars. A hand in his hair tightened even more when you felt one of his fingers at your entrance.

“M-hm, so wet and tight for me.” He pulled away a little bit, looking at how his two fingers came in and out of you, all shiny with your juices. His darkened eyes were firmly glued to your pussy, which was trying to get more, and his mouth opened a little bit at the sight. “Taking my fingers like a good girl.” Bucky attacked you with his mouth again. This time he was licking your folds, mixing his saliva with your juices. When the feeling of his nose touching your bundle of nerves came through your whole body, you gripped Bucky’s dark locks even harder, particularly trying to ride his face, and he had to put his metal hand on your hips so you wouldn’t move.

Your body tensed when he curled his fingers right on your g-spot, sucking your clit like a hungry man.

“Bucky—fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop!” You whined with tears running down your face.

A few more movements of his magical mouth, and you fell over the edge. Your legs tightened around his head, tingles went all over your body, and the loudest moan mixed with Bucky’s name came out of you as you were riding on the wave of your orgasm.

Bucky didn’t stop, though.

He made sure to lick every drop that came out of you, to the point that you had to beg him to stop because you were too sensitive.

“That was—“ You were trying to catch a breath. “That was the best orgasm I've ever had, oh my god. If you did it for the first time in like seventy years, I can’t imagine what you can do with practice.”

Bucky dragged you up by your neck, so you would be at the same level with him. His hand moved your hips closer to the edge of the table, and you felt how hard he was through those jeans.

“I can practice whenever you’ll allow me, doll.” He put his warm hand on your face to kiss you. The taste of your own release on his tongue made you moan.

“Need you inside of me, please.” Your hands automatically started to pull up his shirt, but he stopped you.

“We don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to.”

You were silent for a few seconds. “Why wouldn’t I want to take your shirt off?”

“You know, my arm and scars...”

“Do you really think that I care about it?” You left a few kisses on his cheek. “I think that your arm is hot, by the way, and I want to feel your skin on mine, Sarge.” It was enough for Bucky to pull off his shirt and stay before you half-naked.

Your hands moved to trace every muscle, every birthmark, and every scar on his chest, and you felt that this moment was so intimate, especially because of Bucky’s stare. He looked at you with such adoration and softness that you wanted to melt.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He mumbled and kissed you with even more passion.

Bucky ripped off the rest of your shirt and quickly took off your matching black bra, gripping your breasts with both hands and taking your left nipple in his hot mouth.

You dug nails into Bucky’s back as he was sucking and licking your nipples, leaving them wet in the cold air. It felt good. So fucking good—his mouth was truly amazing. But the emptiness inside of you was almost painful, and you were clenching around nothing.

“Bucky! Sarge, please, I need you.” You almost cried and dragged his head by the hair back to your mouth.

“Baby, baby, wait– “ His hot breath was touching your lips, but he stopped your hands, which were unbuckling his belt. “Baby, I don’t have a condom. Fuck, do you have one?”

“We don’t have to use it... I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.” Your legs wrapped tighter around Bucky’s waist and put him closer to your naked core. He swore that he could feel your heat through his jeans and boxers.

“Fuck, I love twenty-first century... I’m clean too, can’t even catch a disease with this serum shit.”

His words were like a green light to you. You didn’t want to wait even a second more. So you just took off his pants with such speed and impatience that it made Bucky chuckle. With the last movement, all of his clothes were on the floor, and you sat on your table, frozen because of the sight before you.

Bucky’s thick and perfectly long dick was the best fucking thing that you’ve ever seen. Pink and a little bit curled to his abdomen. Your mouth watered just thinking about tasting it. Or how well he’ll stretch you out. You didn’t even notice how your mouth opened a little bit, and you unconsciously wrapped your hand around him.

“You’re gonna destroy me, Bucky.” You mumbled, to which you heard only a deep chuckle. Your eyes moved back to Bucky’s smiley face.

“I hope so.”

Two different hands landed on your thighs again, spreading and lifting them up. You both looked down at where his cock almost touched your bare folds, and the first contact made you moan loudly. Bucky took the base of his cock, giving himself a few pumps, and moved the tip up and down your pussy, moving easily because of the mixture of your juices.

You grabbed his forearm and whined at the action.

“Ready, doll?” He was trying to be tough and strong, but you saw how he nervously licked his lips, the tremble of his flesh hand, and the tension in his abdomen. But you still vigorously nodded.

It was different from everything you’ve ever experienced. He was big but tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to hurt you. He only pushed a few inches, but you already wanted to cry from all the feelings inside of you. Pain mixed with extreme pleasure.

Bucky was trying so hard to control his motions and go slow, but God, it wasn’t easy. From the first touch of his cock, it felt like he had gone to heaven. He knew that sex was good, he remembers it, but the feeling of you and your warm body that so gracefully greeted him inside made him feral. Bucky felt such a need to kiss you that it was almost painful, especially when your swollen lips were a few inches away from his.

He leaned in closer to your lips, but it made him slip deeper into you, which made you both loudly moan into each other's mouths.

“Fuck– doll, you’re so warm and tight, oh my god.” Bucky mumbled as the grip on your hips became harder. It’ll probably leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

The feeling of him inside of you was overwhelming. He was so deep and stretched you just the way that you wanted, and you almost cried from pleasure.

“Please, Bucky, please move!”

His hips slightly moved once, and it felt like his mood instantly changed. You were suddenly pushed back on your table, and your legs, still in heels, were thrown on Bucky’s shoulders. His metal hand stayed on your thigh, and the other one fell on your stomach to push your skirt higher on your waist.

“All dressed up for me, baby.” He started slowly moving, burying his cock deep inside, and then leaving only the tip to tease you. “You know how long I wanted to do that, huh? Bend you over and just fuck the shit out of you until you can’t say anything except for my name.”

“Bucky– Sarge, please go faster. Just fuck me, do whatever you want.” You were desperate, yes. But you couldn't help but beg, because you really needed him to keep his promise and fuck the shit out of you.

You reached for his hand on your stomach and interlaced your fingers together.

“If you keep calling me that, I won’t last too long, doll.” His thrusts became harder and faster as your body moved up and down on your table.

Bucky was looking at your drunk-looking face with a slightly open mouth because you couldn’t keep your moans quiet. Your hair was deshiveled, your skin glimmered with sweat, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

“So beautiful, baby.” Bucky murmured, fucking you harder. The room was filled with loud noises from slapping skin and moans. “You love it when I talk to you like that, huh? Want me to tell you what a good girl you are?” His words definitely did something to you, and you unconsciously tightened around him. “Almost choking my cock, baby, fu-u-ck.”

“Mhm, Sargent, I’m so full of you.” You couldn’t see straight as the tip of his head pressed at the perfect spot with every thrust, it was too much and not enough at the same time.

The wet kisses on the inner side of your thigh sent shivers down your whole body when Bucky started to suck tender skin. His rough movement didn’t stop for a moment, and you knew that your orgasm was getting closer. The warm feeling in your belly slowly became bigger. It was hard for you to cum from sex, but Bucky did it so fast and without even touching your clit.

“C’mon, doll face. I feel ‘ya. Feel how your perfect little pussy is squeezing me. Cum with me, baby, cum on my cock.” His movements were still rough and confident, but you felt the slightest change in the way he was looking at you, how his body trembled a little bit, and the prettiest quiet noises escaped his mouth as Bucky was coming to his own end.

You were completely lost in your pleasure, with strong arms on your body and Bucky’s hard cock that was completely destroying you, so when fingers on your clit started to move in circles, your body slightly jolted up from your table.

“Bucky, Bucky, please—ohmygod, I’m coming!” You cried out loud and grabbed the hard wood under your arms.

“O-oh, fuck, doll, cum with me, please. Yes, squeeze my cock harder, make a mess. ‘M gonna cum.” With the last few pushes of his dick inside of you and movements of the fingers, you both fell from your heights, and the room filled with loud moans of pleasure. The feeling of his hot seed on your walls almost made you faint.

Bucky fell down on your body as your leg slipped from his shoulder. Two strong arms wrapped around you, and Bucky’s face nuzzled into your neck. You don’t know how long you two stayed silent, trying to catch a breath, while your hands gently rubbed Bucky’s back.

When he finally lifted himself up with a metal arm near your face on the table, the look in his eyes sent millions of butterflies to your stomach.

“I don’t even know what to say…” He chuckled and cupped your face with his right hand. “You look so fucking beautiful, Y/N.”

“Even when my makeup, my hair, and my clothes are completely destroyed?” You playfully arched an eyebrow and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers on your hot skin.

“Well, I did it, and I’m satisfied with it. You still look so hot, especially with my dick still inside of you.”

“Bucky!”

“Sorry, sorry. But I’m serious, though. Will you let me take you on a date? Maybe yesterday for lunch or for dinner after work?” His eyes had this little bit of doubt, and you couldn’t stop your wide smile because he was really thinking that you would say “no” after that.

“I will be glad to go out with you, Buck.” You dragged his face closer and gave him the sweetest kiss you could.

Bucky moved away, gently slipping out of you, and you hissed at the empty feeling. He helped you stand up on your shaking legs and handed you your clothes.

“Fuck, you completely destroyed my clothes.” You said as you were standing in front of the mirror. “How will I go home?”

“You can stay in my room.” Bucky came closer to you and helped you make your blouse look more presentable, even without buttons.

“Really?”

“Of course, doll. Just hold your shirt in case we bump into someone in the corridor, but I think everyone is already in their rooms.” Bucky finished dressing up, and you saw your underwear sticking out of his pocket.

“Don’t you want to give me my panties?”

“Na-ah, you’ll have to walk with me dripping out of you.” He gave you a cocky smile and turned all the lights off before wrapping his arm around you and leading you into the hall.

It was completely empty, but the second that you stepped out of the elevator, you saw Bucky’s best friends looking at you. All of you were looking at each other for a few seconds before Sam started hysterically laughing.

“You owe me fifty bucks, idiot!” He said to Steve, who was as red as a tomato. “Good job, Buckaroo, but I really thought that we were gonna ask her on a date first.”

“Fuck off, Willson.” Bucky growled, protectively stepping forward to protect you from their looks.

“Okay, okay, relax, no one’s touching your girl.” He said with a cocky smile on his face. “Let’s go, Steve. You’re too innocent to look at things like this.” Sam took his friend and led him in another direction.

“Asshole.” Bucky growled.

“Everything is okay, Buck, let’s go.” You stepped closer to his room, but he was still standing in his place. “I have to take a shower. Will you come with me, or will you stand here the whole night?” You smirked.

It was everything he needed to finally get closer to you, scoop you into his arms, and carry you into his room to the sound of laughter, which soon turned into moans.

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clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

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I didn't write Danny meeting more Bats.

wc: 813, Masterpost

“No,” Jason growled.

Tim threw his hands up in the air. “You don’t even know why we’re here!”

“Whatever it is can’t be good.” Jason stalked forward until he was toe to toe with Tim. The red helmet was angled down in a way that made it look like it was glaring. Cass loved how expressive Jason could be with it. “I didn’t invite you into my territory. Go home.”

Arms crossed, Tim jutted his chin up defiantly. “We’re not vampires, we don’t need an invite.”

“Boys, boys! You’re both pretty!” Steph said as she tried push herself between them before a fight started.

Tim sputtered and rocked back slightly from Steph’s efforts to separate them. “Pretty?”

“What? You’re a hundred p pretty and Red Hood’s got them thighs,” Steph defended herself. “Shut up, I’m only human, I’m allowed to look!”

Cass laughed silently as Jason’s shoulders slumped in weary defeat. Steph’s shoulder was really digging into him now as she tried unsuccessfully to get either of the boys to move.

“What the fuck do you three want?”

“Danny,” Cass chirped.

“What?”

“Danny,” Cass repeated.

“Okay, yeah,” Jason scoffed, “so repeating what I said at the start of all this, no.”

Cass would have pouted if she wasn’t wearing her mask; pouting usually worked on Jason. She would have to try using her words instead. “You like Red more than me?”

“Him?” Jason asked, incredulously, as he motioned around Steph to Tim.

“Hey!” Tim snapped and finally took a step back. He could pout.

“What? Fuck,” Jason cussed. “No, I mean. It’s her, I don’t like any sibling more than her. Don’t look at me like that, she’s your favorite too!”

Tim sighed, though he was still pouting a little. “Of course she is. She’s everyone’s favorite. Except maybe the brat, I mean, but does he really count?”

“No,” Cass said serenely. Besides, she would win Damian over yet. He just didn’t understand it was alright to care that way for people and show it yet.

“See all good here. So I’m going to—”

“Red met Danny. If I am your favorite I should too.”

Jason just stared at her. His eyes may have been unreadable, but she could tell the moment she had won by how his body shifted. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” she said confidently.

“So much hate,” Jason grumbled before turning his back to them and leaping over to the next building.

The rest of them followed loyally along as Jason lead them through Crime Alley and to a dinner.”

“Jenny,” he rasped as they entered.

“Hood,” she said back and nodded with her head. “You boy is in the back. You might want to see if you can get him to lay off on the coffee.”

Jason gave a sigh at that, Jenny didn’t react at all to the way the helmet made the noise threatening or the rest of them following after Red Hood to the back booth where a mop of black hair was bowed down over the table covered in books, paper, and a battered laptop that glowed faintly grew under the keys.

“Danny,” Jason said, motioning to the guy in the booth.

He didn’t look much like Tim had described him, dressed in a light, long sleeve shirt over a tank top.

“Hum?”

“Guests,” Jason said and settled into the booth. He ran his hand through Danny’s hair and the other just leaned into the motion with a pleased nice.

“Guests?” Danny asked, finally looking up. “Oh, Bats! Hi.”

Cass waved back.

“Red you’ve met. Spoiler, don’t trust her, and Black Bat,” Jason said. “They wanted to meet you.”

Danny gave them a smile from over the lip of his coffee cup. “Little ‘ol me?”

Jason snorted and reached to take the coffee away. “Don’t act innocent.”

“My coffee…”

“Jenny tattled on you. I’ll get you a milk shake instead. When did you eat?”

‘See?’ Tim mouthed at Steph and Cass.

“I ate! I ate lunch when I got here.”

“Danny, it’s dark out,” Jason said, sounded so worn down.

“I’ve been studying?” Danny said, innocently, and made another grab for his coffee.

Jason just scoffed and handed Tim the coffee as he got back out of the booth. “Drink this before he can and sit down. I’m getting menus.”

“Sweet, I’m going to get waffles!” Steph said as she slid into the booth. Cass nudged Tim to slide in after her.

Danny eyed the coffee cup. “If I promise to drink it before he can see will you give me that back?”

“Oh my god, there are two of you,” Steph grumbled. She grabbed the cup out of Tim’s hand and chugged it. “There, solved.”

“Hood is right, I shouldn’t trust you,” Danny said with a pout.

It was a very good pout. Cass bet it got Danny his way a lot.

---

AN: This could/should have been longer but I wanted to get you all something this week and it is A) hell week and B) I am not doing Great™️(almost fell down last time I got up, which wasn't great as I was above the basement stairs but hey, we're ooooookay). Anyways, enjoy some Cass POV and more Bats meeting Danny!

I no longer tag, you can subscribe to the masterpost!

#dp x dc #dead on main #the fic that i'm not writing

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anomaly-hivemind · 2 months ago

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Permanent ☆ Trafalgar Law x Reader | Kinktober Day 1

Summary: you’ve been consistently getting tattooed by Law and he’s oh so attractive, today’s the day you make your move.

Word Count: 2902

Tags: vaginal fingering, mutual pining, finger sucking, workplace inappropriate, squirting, light degradation, oral (male and female receiving), tit sucking, reader has various piercings.

It is time to get yet another tattoo, on your upper thigh which you have been planning to get for at least a few months now. You had called your favorite artist a whole two weeks in advance so you would have the best appointment slot. You knew that this specific tattoo would take a long time, probably most of his shift and you may or may not plan to take as many breaks as needed so you can have plenty of time to talk to the sexy worker you had gotten to know over the few years of getting tattoos.

You had schemed beforehand as you picked a nice but sexy underwear and bra set, a pair of sweatpants that were pretty loose-fitting, and a black crop top for extra flare. All you had to do now was catch his attention more than that of a regular client and you had all of your getting to the shop to come up with that plan.

You walked into the shop and smiled softly when you saw it was nice and empty; you sat patiently in the lobby until you saw him. You get up and smile at him, while subtly looking him up and down, looking at the many visible tattoos on his arms and hands that showed from his short sleeve shirt. You didn’t notice how long you were staring because he clears his throat as a silent way of telling you to stop looking at him so hard, before walking away. This wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Your face grew hot as you followed after him into the back room that you had gotten to know pretty well. He closes the door after you walk into the room and sit down. He was watching you with tired eyes.

“You got everything…” You asked a bit awkwardly.

“Of course, I do,” He put on a pair of gloves and sprayed down the metal tray table before he started to unpack some of the tools. He looked at you expectantly waiting for you.

“What?” You gave him a knowing smile, you wanted him to say it out loud.

“Take your pants off, you should know these things already…”

“Buy me dinner before you ask me to strip” You hold back a chuckle before doing so and fold them up on the chair on the wall, making sure to sway your hips a bit when you do. When you look back at him he was definitely taking a peak at the panties you were wearing.

“Shush.” He rolls his eyes and grips your thigh roughly, the cool air against your bare skin causes goosebumps to form on your legs, and his hands so high up on your thigh make a shiver go down your spine. He carefully wets your skin then starts to shave the little hair you have there at the moment, then cleans your skin with an alcohol wipe.

Your leg tensed as he pressed the transfer paper to your leg and his hands traveled over the large space. He made sure the stencil was tight and flat on the fat of your thigh, he was focused on getting the image to transfer.

His large… strong… hands.

… rubbing your upper thigh…

“Y/N-ya you’re tense,” He said, as he pulled the wet paper from your skin, and walked to dispose of it.

“O-oh sorry,” You stutter out trying to calm yourself.

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous, it’s not going to be nearly as painful as your spine tattoo,” He said. Little did he know your nervousness wasn’t from the tattoo you’d soon be receiving but the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about his hands groping and caressing all over your body. He takes the needles out of the packaging, sets up his pen and gets ready to map and outline the tattoo.

“Ready?” You nodded and squeezed your hands together as he started the machine. You were actually a little nervous now, you weren’t all that sure why, you had countless tattoos, as Law mentioned earlier some much more painful than others. The needle made contact with your skin and you were met with the usual hot prickly sensation. He started to fill in the parts of the tattoo slowly and made sure to get the small details its proper texture.

You both sit there in dead silence, aside from the faint music that plays in the lobby. The fact that you both were not saying anything was going to drive you up the wall so you decided to break that silence and speak.

“So not to like to distract you or anything but could you distract me… you know, so I can, um, not notice the pain.” You stammer on your words as you try to set your plan in motion.

“Sure what do you wanna talk about?” From there you began talking about any and everything, food, future tattoos, shows, blah, blah, etcetera, etcetera.

“... and that’s why we broke up,” you said, finishing off the sordid tale of your previous relationship. “So… are you in a relationship or something?”

“Nah, I’ve been single for a while,” He answered and you internally cheered, perfect timing for you to make your move, you took it as a sign from the universe to strike.

“So um, what’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” You asked quickly. Law was silent for a moment as he traced over the inner lines of your tattoo.

“I guess, I’ve always wanted to have a pet polar bear.” He said it like it was some casual statement. It took you off guard if you were being honest.

“Why a polar bear?” you raised an eyebrow and he just shrugged not actually knowing why he wanted that.

“Okay you can take a little break, all that’s left is the shading. Law said getting up and taking a drink from his water bottle.

“You wanna know something I’ve always wanted to know?” You asked, taking a deep breath as you summoned all your courage.“ I’ve always wanted to hook up with a tattoo artist, in the chair,” You bit your lip nervously, almost afraid to look at the man so you don’t.

Law let out a laugh, “That’s kinda kinky Y/N-ya,”

“Haha, yeah I guess so…” Damn you thought. Abort mission, I repeat ABORT MISSION!

“But I guess at the same time it sounds kinda hot,” He said, making eye contact with you and your heart skipped a beat. You blink a couple of times as if that was going to help you hear what he said better.

“You think so?” That means he's downright… and you should ask if he’s down because all the signs are pointing to you asking him. Your brain was yelling at you to make the move for your lustful dreams to come true.

“I mean, yeah, from my perspective, I can’t say I haven’t thought about how hot a client was,” he said, coming back over to you. “Pinning them up against the chair, and tasting their pretty skin… especially if they have a tattoo on their neck-shoulder area” he whispered, his hot breath tickling your ear, and the tattooed skin of your neck-shoulder. His warm, soft lips pressed to your skin, trailing down to the dip in your shoulder.

“Is this a part of your fantasy?”

“Definitely, this and then some more,” you whispered. Law’s hands trail up your body, coming up under your shirt and grasping your breast. You inhaled slightly as he began to knead your tits while kissing and sucking your neck.

“A-ah.. Law,” You whimpered softly as you enjoyed his touch, melting into his will as he took your top off. Not much of a second later he took off your bra, casting it to the side along with your shirt.

“Ever since I did these I’ve wanted to suck on your tits, they’re so perfect,” he said, his lips coming around your hypersensitive pierced nipples. He gave it a preliminary suck before taking in more of your breast, you let out a breathy moan as his tongue wrapped around your areola and his tongue piercing teased your erect buds.

A shiver runs up your body as you watch him, switch between your nipples, making sure each one gets a fair amount of attention. His yellow eyes locked on to your face as he showed off his tongue, causing you to wonder how good it would feel just a bit lower.

Law’s hand came up to your opposite breast, his fingers rolled and teased your nipple. His other hand drifted down to rest upon your mound. His fingers traveled to the underside where there was significant wetness.

He let out a Low chuckle after pulling his mouth away from your breast. His fingers teased your clothed entrance.

“So wet and over your panties as well,” Law said, smirking up at you. He gives the seam of your panties a quick tug off your skin.

“Well, I told you this was something I fantasize about…” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulder. You feel like you're dreaming and at any moment it'll all be over, so you gotta make the most of it and try to tease him back and make him feel what you're feeling.

You snaked one of your hands and reached for his pants and you zipped them down. Law straightened up as you leaned forward to lower his pants and boxers. His erect cock sprang forth, bobbing in the air in front of you. You readily wrapped your hands around him and took his tip into your mouth. He let out a hiss as your tongue wrapped around his tip.

You eased him into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing around Law’s shaft. You worked your way down his length nice and slow, and Law’s fingers came to rest against your head.

“You seem pretty eager, didn’t know you were such a slut, Y/N-ya,” Law said lowly, as he pushed your head forward. You gagged a bit as his length slid its way down your mouth. You swallow the dripping saliva forming in your mouth, doing so elicits a groan from him.

“F-fuck,” His head lolled back, and he closed his eyes. You bobbed your hand along his cock, swirling around the head. You took his dick out of your mouth to pepper kisses along the tip and shaft your hands stroking him gently. You pressed a kiss to his warm, heavy balls and began sucking on those too.

You were on a mission, pleasing the man in front of you, in hopes that you'll get to do this kinda thing again sometime. You wouldn't mind slurping the soul out of Law. Might even get a discount on your tattoo.

Switching back to gobbling his cock, you could tell he was starting to get close by the way his breath hitched and his balls heaved a bit. He began to rut into your mouth and you let out a little moan. His hips thrusts became jagged as hot ropes of cum landed on your tongue, you pulled away and the rest landed on your face.

He began to loosen up as he calmed down from his peak. Then he moved to grab one of the paper towels to help clean his liquids off your face. At first, you thought that was it and that you both were getting ready to stop and go back to the tattoo.

“Sit down” he tells you what to do and you put up no fight and do what he says. His fingers curled around the band of your panties and you lifted up off the seat so he could slip them down all the way, careful not to touch the fresh unfinished tattoo.

As he bent down to come face to face with your uncovered pussy you felt a little self-conscious.

“No point being nervous now, I know you put those whorrish panties on for me. Now spread those legs.” Law said, pushing your legs apart. His fingers ran up and down your slit, slipping between your folds with ease.

“God, you’re such a fuckin’ slut. I bet you were wet before you even got here, just imagining the things you wanted me to do to you.” Law’s breath tickled, and you could feel yourself clench around nothing.

You let out a soft whimper as Law licked a stripe up your cunt, his tongue piercing stimulating your clit. Your hips jolted forward at the pleasure and you couldn’t help what noises escaped your mouth. He began sucking and teasing your clit, his tongue making circles around your sensitive bud.

You run a hand into his messy hair, gripping his locks tightly and trying to find a way to pull him forward. You wanted more, in fact, you needed it as soon as possible.

“Please… “ you whined as you looked deep into the eyes staring back at you. He looked half lost on the sauce but he definitely heard your plea loud and clear. He was drinking your juices with such fervor that you never wanted it to end. He licked his lips before slightly pulling away to speak.

“Please what? Use your words and ask for what you want,” you could feel his warm breath fanning your cool pussy as he spoke.

You swallow back a whimper before speaking and blush. “P-please, use your fingers, please touch my pussy,” you looked away from his burning gaze for a moment.

“See things are so much clearer when you use your words,” he places a few kisses over your clit that then turns sucking on it lightly. He used one hand to keep your leg open and his shoulder to keep you from closing your legs.

He lazily slides his tongue up and down your folds and he takes his free hand and pushes the first finger in. You could already feel your toes clench from the way his mouth has been all on you and now he was starting to reach the deeper spots with his fingers.

He adds a second finger in and starts to thrust his hand out of your cunt. He started off slow, making sure to angle his wrist every time he pushed into you.

Keeping a steady pace, his fingers every once in a while curling up to tease your pleasure points. You melt into his hand movements, trying to will yourself hold still and not fuck yourself on his hand like a dog in heat. You were soaking, giving his fingers little resistance when he decided to go faster.

He was practically finger fucking you with his long slender fingers. He was watching you attentively as he pleasured you and best in the sounds and look you had he was doing plenty correct.

Law sat up and went back to slurping on your breast. You jump up a bit. His fingers hit your g-spot and his thumb rubbed your clit in just the right way. It was getting too much, you could feel your climax reaching. Your legs began to quiver.

“That's it, let go for me” he bites on the fat of one of your breasts, leaving a mark then switching to your pierced nipple.

“Oh shit!” You hissed as you felt your walls clench around his fingers. You fall back on the chair and he puts his focus on making you cum with his fingers. You closed your eyes as you felt the heat start to hit you.

Closing your eyes, you let out a choked moan, that Law quickly covers with his unoccupied hand. Your body convulse as you coat Law’s hand in your wetness. You drench the seat as your orgasm turns you into a sprinkler. Law starts to slow down his fingers before pulling out. When you open your eyes you feel a bit dizzy and like you could go right to sleep. You look over to Law and look and just watch him.

He brings his finger to his lips and licks up your juices. His arm was wet with your slick arousal and he was looking at you with a smirk. Cleaning off his hand with his mouth almost made you want to do it all again. But maybe some recovery time would be the smarter thing to do.

“Didn't take you as a squirter.” he grabs a towel from the back to clean you off. Then he cleaned everything else that was in the splash zone.

“It's like fifty/fifty of it happening for me,” you said breathlessly with an attempt to laugh.

“Guess I got lucky,” he shrugged and put his boxers back on.

“Maybe some other time you can get even luckier,” you almost snorted your way into embarrassment. Law lets out a chuckle and puts his pants back on.

“Oh yeah?” He puts a new pair of gloves on and you get up to grab your top, bra, and underwear.

“You technically have my number already so yes.” You get ready to put your clothes back on but he stops you.

“Stay like that for a bit.” You weren't sure if he was even asking but you dropped your clothes back down in the other chair anyway.

“Do I get a discount for this then?” you gesture to the tattoo he was getting ready to go back and continue.

“...maybe.”

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darylmydix · 2 months ago

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THE SCARS WE SHARE | daryl dixon - 003

summary: you were the only good thing daryl had in his life. bonded by similar trauma, you suffered abuse at the hands of your stepmother, just as daryl had suffered from his own father. when you finally decide to escape your abusive home life, you're forced to leave behind your best friend in the process. now with the world in an apocalyptic state, you're left wondering if daryl was even alive.

pairings: daryl dixon x fireader.

warnings: smut, violence, blood and gore, unrequited love, best friends to lovers, mentions of s/a, mentions of abuse, mention of suicidal thoughts/attempts, mention of drug use, use of deadly weapons, fluff, angst, slow burn, strong language, kidnapping, coercion, seasons 5-11, 18+, minors dni.

word count: 2.3k

author’s note: if you asked to be in the taglist and you’re not, i apologize. it wouldn’t let me tag some of you. and yes, the person featured in this chapter is exactly who you probably think it is. also warning because this chapter may be triggering as it has attempted s/a.

You stare dolorously at your reflection through your vanity mirror; there was a desperate desire to wipe off all the makeup that coated your face. If the action didn’t come with an unpleasant outcome, you probably would have. Especially if it made you unappealing to whatever “guest” your stepmother had coming by.

You were adorned in a sultry black dress that was form fitting and showing off your curves. One thing your stepmother loved doing more than degrading you was dressing you up like her own personal doll. You hated it. You never pictured yourself as the sexy type. You didn't wear makeup because that merely wasn’t your cup of tea, and typically dressed down to avoid unwarranted gazes from depraved men.

Not that it mattered anyway. Dressed up or down, it still never ceased a creep from saying anything perverted. Merle Dixon proved that theory for you when he referred to you as “sugar tits” the couple times you’d been around him.

You get up from your vanity stool, shuffling over to your bed. You plop on the edge, trying to calm your nerves. You never knew what to expect from the men Sandra brought over. Some of them like to sit and talk before they get to business, while others like to jump straight into it. Some of them were vanilla and traditional, while others had kinks they were into.

None were ever too extreme, but it all made you feel filthy and uncomfortable nonetheless. What made you more unsettled was how many of the men were old family friends, or people in the neighborhood. It surely opened your eyes to how fiendish humans could be.

That’s why you always cherished your friendship with Daryl. He could be an asshole, and a bit prejudiced at times but deep down he had a heart of gold. You were lucky to be able to witness that side of him. He gave you hope for humanity.

A hard knock at your closed door interrupted your thoughts. You could feel your heart beating through your chest as it often did when this ordeal occurred. You let out a deep, unsteady sigh before speaking. “Come in.” You say. As the door opens, you’re face to face with a man you’d never seen before. “Well hello there.” He smiles, shutting the door behind him.

“H-hi…” you mutter, examining the man in front of you. He had longish gray locks, and facial hair. And he wore a buttoned up black long sleeved shirt embroidered with skulls and roses on it. He gave off a biker style. “I’m Joe.”

“Y/n.” You reply dryly, now looking away from the man.

“You’re very beautiful. I wasn’t sure what to expect.” He laughed heartily as though this whole scenario wasn’t disturbing. You don’t bother to respond, wanting the man to just get started and let this baptism of fire end. The man seemed to notice your lack of communication, and walked over to you. You tense a bit, but he suddenly takes a seat on the edge of the bed with you.

“You seem apprehensive, darlin’.” He says.

You weren't sure what he was expecting from this situation. You were being trafficked by your stepmother, and he was a dirty old man contributing to the crime. The man pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Y’know,” he starts. “I get it. This isn’t the most forthcoming thing to be happening right now, and you probably think I’m just a pervy old gu–”

“Can we just… not talk? I want this to be over as quickly as possible.” You finally speak up. The man looks at you, his expression suddenly changing from faux sincerity to an off putting smile. “Oh darlin’, this won’t be quick. It’s been awhile, so it might take me some time.” He chuckles before standing up and moving in front of you.

You keep your head down, not bothering to look at him until you hear the sound of metal clanging together. The man suddenly throws handcuffs beside you where he was sitting. You scrunch your brows together, looking from the cuffs to him. “Cuff yourself to the headboard.” He says, his tone demanding and not as laidback as it was moments ago. His entire demeanor had changed like the flick of a switch.

Your eyes widen at the command. You had never been cuffed to the bed before from any of the past men. The thought of being restrained and not able to fight back if anything happened frightened you. You weren’t so willing to put your trust, or even life into the hands of this stranger, who you were now getting an unwavering feeling about. “Go on. Do it.” He pushes.

“I don’t think… I don’t think I should.” You say slowly, looking away from the man’s displeased face. “You don’t… think you should?” He repeats your words just as slow. You nod your head. “I just wanna be comfortable. That’s all.” You try your best to get him to rethink the cuffs, but he seemed to be dead set on them. “Your mama back there told me you were obedient. I didn’t pay nearly $200 for you to tell me what you won’t do, girl.” He spat.

You cringed at him referring to Sandra as your mother. She could never be your mother. “She’s not my mother.” You correct him. The man scoffed. “I don’t give a damn who she is to you. I paid that money, and I’ll get what I want even if I have to cuff you myself.”

You shake your head. You didn’t care if you were going to suffer the consequences from this later. You’d put up with a lot of odd things from these men, but even the sheer thought of being cuffed to the headboard gave you crippling anxiety. You stand up from the bed, the man still towering your small frame. “I’ll get you your money back,” you assure him. “But I can’t allow you to cuff me.” You stand firm on your decision.

You tried to push past him to leave the bedroom, but were suddenly snatched by your wrist and pulled back. “Ain’t no need for that girl because I’m getting my money’s worth.” He says before tossing you to the mattress. You quickly try to get back up, but he’s pushing you down and grabbing the cuffs. “Get off me!” You shout, struggling against him.

“You’re only going to make this worse for you. Stop squirming.”

A stinging sensation comes across your cheek and you cry out in pain. The man had slapped you, leaving your cheek heated. “Sandra!” You yell for your stepmother in the most desperate attempt to get the man off of you. You knew better though. Your stepmother didn’t care what happened to you. As long as she got money, you were at the mercy of the men who paid her.

You muster up all your strength, finally able to flip the man off of you. He falls to the floor with a thud and a “oomf”. You use this opportunity to quickly jump from the mattress. The man swiftly gets back up to his feet. You know you had no time to make it to the door without him stopping you. You run to your dresser, grabbing the razor blade off the top of it.

Joe approaches you in ignorant bliss, unaware of the tiny blade you held. “Nowhere to run, girl. Let’s just bury the hatchet and start over. No cuffs.” He offers as if you were going to let this psychopath have his way after what he tried to do. “Fuck you, pig.” You snap.

“Have it your way.” He says, lunging at you. You speedily swing your arm, the blade cutting the man’s hand. He steps back, holding his bleeding hand. “You little bitch!” He shouts in pain. You take this opportunity to run to the door, ripping it open as you run out to the living room. You head for the front door, but are immediately grabbed. “Hey!” Your stepmother shouted. “What the hell’s going on? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“That bastard tried to assault me, didn’t you hear me screaming for you?!” You cry.

“Assault? Did you forget your place, girl? He’s supposed to do that.” She spat angrily, knowing she was going to lose money for this.

“He tried to make me cuff myself to the bed, and when I told him no he tried to force me!”

“You think you have a say in what goes on? I do! If he wants to cuff you to the damn bed, then so be it. He’s a paying client, and I will not lose out on my money just because you wanna bitch about goddamn handcuffs!”

You look at her through wide eyes. Your stepmother was always cruel, this was no shocking matter. But to let this man attempt to assault you and tell you to just deal with it? You refused. You shake your head, snatching away from her grasp. “No.”

“No?” She questions. “I’ll teach you to tell me n–”

“I want my goddamn money back, bitch!” Joe came stumbling into the living room, his hand dripping blood. Your stepmother turns to him, her eyes drifting from him to his hand. “What the fuck happened to your hand?” She asks.

“That little whore cut me, that’s what!” He grimaced. “I want my money back, or both of you bitches are gonna pay.”

“Listen, I’m sure there’s a way we can work this out.” She tries to reason with him. As the two of them go back and forth, you use the opportunity to make your grand escape. You whip around, running to the front door before jerking it open and running outside. You could hear your stepmother yelling your name as you ran down the street barefoot.

You run to the only place you could run to, the only person you could run to.

You ran the entire 20 minutes until you finally reached the trailer parks. You walk through the gravel trail, ignoring the pain of rocks digging into your feet. You’re relieved as you see the Dixon residence lights on. You walk up the stairs, frantically knocking on the door.

“You get into some kinda trouble again, boy? Who the hell is bangin’ on the damn door like the feds?”

“Hell should I know?” You hear Daryl’s voice, footsteps approaching. You step back as the door opens with Daryl on the other side of it. Daryl’s staring at you, a worried expression on his face as he looks your shaken frame over. “Who the hell is it?” Will yells.

“It’s for me.” Daryl responds, closing the door as he steps outside. “The hell happened to you?” He’s grabbing your chin, looking you over. “Is that blood?” There’s a hint of fear in his voice at the thought of you getting hurt that bad. You nod your head. “But it’s not mine,” you assure him. “It’s some guy. I cut his hand after he tried to…” your lip quivers, eyes watering as you try to force yourself to explain to him, but he stops you.

“You ain’t gotta repeat it. He still there? I’ma kill that son’na bitch.” He stomps down the stairs. You follow him. “Daryl, no, wait!” You grab his forearm, stopping him. “Fuck we waitin’ for, huh?! I ain’t just gonna let ‘em get away with it!” He swings his arm in frustration.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter,” you say. “Last night you said this doesn’t have to be our reality…” you pause before speaking again. “So run away with me.” You speak through glossy eyes.

Daryl stares at you with a blank expression, as though he didn’t hear you. “What?”

“Let’s run away,” you repeat. “We could go anywhere. We could start over. Get out of this fucking dead weight town, with these twisted fucking people. Me and you…”

You await his answer, hopeful that he’d agree.

But he didn’t.

“I can’t.” He replied.

“What do you mean you can’t? Yes you can. We could leave right now and never look back, Daryl–”

“Man, I said I can’t!” He snapped. “I can’t just leave Merle alone with that asshole in there. He’s my brother.” You stare at him in shock. “And what am I to you?” You ask him. He doesn’t answer, looking away from your hurt gaze. “What am I to you?” You ask again, your eyes watering. He still doesn’t answer, almost as if he’s afraid to say.

“You think he cares about you? You’re not even worth a damn to care about.” Sandra’s voice echoes in the back of your mind.

“Oh god… Sandra was right. You don’t give a damn about me…” you push past him, on your way to leave the trailer park but Daryl hastily grabs you. “Aye, stop. You know that shit ain’t true. I just… I just need you to wait. Once Merle’s outta jail I’ll tell him so he can come with us.”

The thought of Merle tagging along wasn’t ideal. All his presence would do is drag Daryl down and the whole point of you two running away together was to get away from bullshit. Unfortunately Merle brings bullshit wherever he goes. Regardless of that fact, there was no clear way of knowing if he’d even come along when he’s out.

“And what if he says no? Then what?”

Daryl goes silent again, but that was all the answer you needed. You nod. “I get it,” You whisper. “Stupid of me to ever think you’d choose me over blood.” You sniff, laughing at yourself. “When he’s out,” you say. “We’ll ask. I’ll wait a little longer.”

“Will you?” He speaks up. Now it was your turn to go silent, not answering his question as you began to back away to leave. “I’ll see you later, Daryl.”

Taglist:

@daryldixmedown, @supernaturalstilinski, @vampiresluv, @myassisasolarsystem, @mosstheshoeshoethemoss, @scripteria, @moonlightreader649, @creepumiku, @filmsbyblair, @ginger-haired-queen, @darylsdollie, @inkofthebrain, @teethvenom

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jamespotterismydaddy · 10 months ago

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Lord Husband (Chapter 7)

cregan x reader

A/N: yay more lord husband! (does a little dance) we're getting closer to the wedding and i can promise more trauma :)

series masterlist

word count: 1,182 words

You don’t find joy in Winterfell. You find a small sense of peace in its beauty but you are far too stubborn to be happy in the castle. There have been attempts at friendship. Sara Snow had likely been encouraged by her brother for her to try as many times as she did. You do like her but you also do not want to give anyone the idea that you may be settling in. This isn’t where you belong and everyone knows it. The servants talk just like the noblewomen that have begun to arrive for the wedding. They seem to enjoy the irony of your position, the fire princess whose heart is cold like ice. Perhaps the North was where you were meant to be after all. That is, if your life was a poem in a book. The servants also like to say that the fire in your hearth is always blazing so you can burn out your demons when you aren’t drowning your sorrows in the bathtub. The rumours always swirl around you. Perception is a fickle thing but you can’t bring yourself to care all too much, not when you know that talking about you is the most amusement they’ve had in all of their dull lives. Just a chance to look at your dragon would forge a story they would pass down for generations. You ride a dragon and all it takes for them is a glance.

Your family arrives today for the festivities. How kind it is of your mother to entrust her throne to your grandfather so she may attend her only daughter’s wedding. What a joyous occasion it is. You hear the murmurs as you stand next to Cregan in the welcoming party. You look tense and he notices it. You feel a large hand incase yours; you glare at him.

“It would be rude to let go.” He says softly as he looks ahead. You pull your hand from his grasp anyhow and he just huffs.

The carriages roll up. Your mother and Daemon step out first, a pleasing smile gracing the Queen’s face. It’s strange how proprietary causes you not to greet each other until the whole family is present. You just kind of look at one another awkwardly until your siblings walk up as well. Though, you find that little Aegon doesn’t seem to care much for proprietary. As soon as your little brother lays eyes on you, he’s running right over. He calls out your name before launching himself into your arms and you hold him close.

“I missed you so much! Joffrey has been such a bother since you’ve left.”

You laugh. “Oh, has he now?” It seems that the formal greetings have been forgotten as Joffrey comes over as well.

“I have not been a bother.” He defends and he lets you pull him in for a side hug. You didn’t know you could still smile like this.

Cregan knows he shouldn’t be surprised by the affection. It is common knowledge that your family was happy even in the isolation of Dragonstone, but to see you act so tender, it shocks him. He’s never seen you behave in a way other than cold and yet, your little brother is in your arms and looking at you like you’re about to give him the world on a platter. It makes his heart soften.

~~~

After settling in, Rhaenyra visits your new chambers with Baela, Rhaena and a servant in tow.

“Your rooms appear to be comfortable.” Your mother comments.

“They are.” You say in response. Conversation used to flow freely between the two of you but now small talk is all you can seem to accomplish.

“Your dress is finally ready. We were almost worried that the seamstress’ wouldn’t complete it in time.” Rhaena says, gesturing to the servant to bring over the gown.

“It will definitely live up to your vision.” Baela comments.

You wanted something different, something new. You admire your mother’s style greatly but you wanted to have your own in your new home. That’s why the skirts of your dress are fuller and the sleeves more puffed. You will wear black and red to show where you came from but the style of the gown shows how you’re your own person. The gown still holds much of the King’s Landing structure so you can make the change in style gradual and it holds hints of how northern women dress so it’s more likely for them to copy you, even if there’s no reason for them to not copy the Lady of Winterfell. Well, you perhaps shouldn’t say that. There is still one reason. You are not one of their own and bringing in elements of how they decorate themselves will never change that.

“It’s perfect.” You say in a pleased tone.

“It’s more than perfect.” Baela cuts in. “I’ll be getting married to Jace soon. How am I ever supposed to top that?”

“You simply will not.” You say in a cheeky tone and she slaps your arm.

“The both of you will be more than beautiful on your wedding days, just in very different ways because you are very different.” Rhaenyra muses before she grabs your hand. “How are you?” She asks you and you know how much your mother cares about the answer.

“Cold.” You say. You aren’t quite sure what she wanted to hear.

“Well the warm months will come soon. Have you settled in nicely?”

What do you even say to that? Does she want the truth or the assurance that she hasn’t done something to ruin your life?

“I’m not too sure of that answer yet. It truly doesn’t feel like I have been here for long.” Perhaps you will ruin her day tomorrow instead.

“Things will likely fall into place after the wedding. Once you take up your new status, you will see how these things are for the best, my sweet girl.” Her words don’t feel like assurance as much as a command. Calling you her sweet girl barely softens it.

“Of course.” You confirm but don’t hide a single emotion. The irritation you feel is clear on your features.

Not wishing for an argument to come forth, Rhaena speaks up. “Winterfell is so beautiful and i’m quite antsy from the travel if you would be so kind as to give me a tour, sister?”

“Oh yes!” Baela chirps in. “You ought to take us to the gardens. I want to see if Weirwood trees truly have the faces of the old gods trapped in them.”

“Is trapped the right word?” Rhaena asks as you all stand.

“Will you accompany us, my Queen?” You ask Rhaenyra formally.

“I’m very tired. I think I will rest in my chambers.”

You just think that talking to you pains her more than she wants to put up with. You try not to care as you take each of your sister’s arms but you won’t play nice to fix a relationship she ruined. You miss your mother but your stubbornness won’t allow it.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

Lord husband: @feyres-fireheart @possiblyafangirl @hb8301 @marihoneywk @youn-jo @velvet-spider @janelongxox @ninastyless @nyctophilic0vitnir @m-a-s-h-k-a @delicious-xx @weepingfashionwritingplaid @happinessinthebeing @betelrus @joliettes @black-swan-blog27 @mxtokko @valeridarkness @karolalolla @satan-s-ass @synindoodles @a-beaverhausen @petertingle3000 @lunnnix @hermaeusmorax

lmk if i forgot u

#cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark fic #hotd #hotd fic #lord husband

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deafsignifcantother · 5 months ago

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alastor just being weird

♥ summary: alastor wanting you solely for the fact that you smell delightful so he starts searching your room ♥ relationships: alastor x [deaf] woman reader, deafness not a major point ♥ word count: 600 ♥ notes: reader wears makeup, she likes photography, she also doesn't really gaf about alastor being snoopy and weird LOLZ

Now that you're not in here, he can look around. He's welcomed himself into your empty room, eyes roaming everywhere except the attached bathroom, of course. He's immoral but not indecent. Where should he even start?

As the hotelier, it is his job to meet and make the guests comfortable. To be able to do that, he needs to know more about you, which is out of kindness and does not relate to how good you smell or how he would enjoy making you his next meal, most be mistaken.

Your dresser's drawers are a good start.

Just a standard assortment of socks and underwear, some salacious as any demon would have, neatly arranged. One pair of fishnets, a small collection of photos, a camera, a notebook. Do you always keep things like this? Or did you develop a new habit after the sudden move-in. He is hoping to find a clue as to who you are, and notebooks have saved him a lot of times before. He lightly picks it up and flips it open. Blank pages. Do you write in invisible ink? His claws finger through the pages one at a time before he bends them and watches them fly by. There's nothing.

He's wasting time. He places it back and lifts up the photos. The red sky above. One is a long shot of the pentagram with the Hazbin Hotel in the center.

In the next drawer there are no clothes, only a single makeup bag and accessories. Mismatched earrings, it seems you have a habit of losing one of every pair and then stashing them away—in case you find the other?

Alastor opens the drawer closest to the ground. Empty except for what he can only guess is a miscellaneous drawer. The brush smells like you from the multiple hair strands wrapped around it. His nose twitches; how delightful. He reaches for it slowly, brain rocking back and forth in his skull. But by the time he grips the handle, it's too late to stop. The bristles meet his nose, and he takes a whiff, savoring the pleasant fragrance that fills his lungs. He puts it back before he gets carried away.

Your room has a lovely and quite large wooden wardrobe. As he expected, when he opens it, there is space needing to be filled. His smile twitches at the soft gust of your smell; the scent assaults his hunger.

His index claw drags down a long sleeve, wrapping around the material and bringing it up to his nose. Even when clean, you've corrupted the cotton.

The moment the door opens, he fades into the shadows. He stands before the bathroom door as you step out in a robe, fresh out of the shower. It's the robe he gifted you, a welcome gift. He'll never tell you it's for capturing the soapy aroma of your wet body.

You look behind him, eyes flickering back. His smile tightens. Ah, he left the wardrobe's door open.

Alastor straightens his suit, shoulders a bit taut from embarrassment. He makes a show of brushing off his sleeves while you stand in the same place; the weight of your stare makes him sweat. "Well, my dear, I'm afraid I must be off, one can't even imagine the things I'm busied with!"

He looks up at you, his monocle hiding one of his eyes, his expression unreadable while he waits for a response. His wavery pupils match the small, excited shake of his hands. He doesn't leave immediately, curious him.

"And 'be off' you may," you walk past him, signing in simple pse to strengthen your point, not acknowledging him further. Your hand rests on the wooden frame, getting a small glance inside the wardrobe before closing it softly. By the time you turn around, Alastor is gone.

#hazbin hotel #x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #x deaf reader

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wintaerbaer · 11 months ago

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ringing in the year (jjk)

summary: Your six-year relationship with Jungkook certainly hasn't been devoid of the occasional mishap. But when Seokjin accidentally winds up with a gift meant for you, Jungkook's proposal may wind up being the biggest blunder of all.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: generally sfw, sans a handful of swear words

genre: established relationship au, pure fluff, bit of a crack fic

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this was so fun to write, and a bunch of the details were inspired by real life events! thanks to @animeniacss for brainstorming this one with me and sprinting me through it. wishing everyone a happy and healthy new year! <3

MASTERLIST

Jungkook knows he’s messed up several times over the course of your six-year relationship.

There was the time in college when he wanted to cook you dinner and, upon realizing that he didn’t have a corkscrew to open the bottle of wine, tried to pry it open with a screwdriver and sprayed most of it all over the kitchen and himself.

There was the time when he ate suspiciously old-looking dumplings out of the fridge for lunch in spite of Hoseok’s warnings and spent your anniversary date that night going in and out of the bathroom.

And of course, there was the time when he'd insisted that it was fine for you to get frisky in the living room because Jimin wouldn't be back until tomorrow. Only to realize, oh wait, it's Saturday, the second the man himself walked in the door with both Yoongi and Taehyung in tow, all three getting quite the view of you and Jungkook on the area rug.

But this right here, he thinks, has got to be his biggest fuck-up of all, watching Seokjin peel back the wrapping paper on his white elephant gift to reveal a white mug that says, in large black lettering, “WORLD’S BEST WIFE.”

“Awww, Jungkookie,” he coos, raising the mug up above his head to show it off. “You’re proposing?”

He is, in fact, trying to propose, but certainly not to Seokjin. Every New Year’s Eve since sophomore year of college, your friend group has gotten together to party and do a holiday gift exchange that consists of a white elephant round and a general present swap.

Jungkook, wanting to propose amongst your friends and on what you’ve always said is your favorite day each year, had intended to give you the mug and propose later in the night. But, it would seem, he must’ve mixed up the two presents, putting your mug into the white elephant pile instead of the travel mug he had meant to contribute.

“Ah, Y/N,” Seokjin is now sighing, “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”

You're giggling, wrapped in a burrito blanket that was courtesy of Hoseok. “It's okay. I understand that your love can't be denied.”

“Actually, hyung,” Jungkook finally gets the courage to pipe up. Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here. He might be sweating. “Can I talk to you in the kitchen for a second?”

“You need to talk now?” Hobi asks, wearing a t-shirt that also happens to be a collage of Seokjin's face–his white elephant offering. “It’s Yoongi’s turn. Let’s finish the white elephant, and then you can talk.”

“But–”

“I want Namjoon’s,” Yoongi says, snatching up the gift and tearing away the paper to unfurl a large black Snuggie. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

“You got a Snuggie?” Jimin jeers in Namjoon’s direction. “Lame.”

“Lame? It’s funny,” Namjoon argues.

“Yeah, if it was 2008.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Yoongi slides his arms into the sleeves, settling into the couch and eyeing the rest of the group warily.

Jimin rolls his eyes at him. “No one is going to steal it, hyung.”

“Nobody better fucking steal it.”

The game actually finishes with no steals. Namjoon opens up your gift (a KFC-scented fire log) and Jimin and Taehyung choose each other’s only to find out that they both bought Bob Ross Chia Pets. With the game over, your group devolves back into party mingling–Yoongi dozing off on the couch in his new Snuggie, Jimin and Taehyung heading immediately to the dining room to get started on their chia projects, and the rest of you trying to decide which party games you’re going to play as the night goes on.

But when Seokjin stands up, declaring that he’s heading to the kitchen to get a drink for his “fun new mug,” Jungkook jumps to follow him, bringing along the slab of granite with twenty dollars taped to it that he’d opened (“I’m renovating my countertops,” Yoongi had explained).

“Hyung,” Jungkook hisses as Seokjin reaches into the fridge for a beer. “I need that mug.”

Seokjin turns, sizing him up in the glow of the refrigerator. “Then you probably should’ve picked it.”

Jungkook huffs in exasperation before stepping in closer, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “Listen, I am trying to propose to Y/N tonight.”

“With a white elephant gift that anyone could’ve gotten?” He clicks his tongue, scolding. “That’s just terrible planning, Jungkookie. And proposing with a mug? A little boring.”

Color rises to Jungkook’s face, giving his cheeks a natural blush. “We were watching reruns of The Office when I kissed her for the first time. And it wasn’t supposed to be a white elephant–you know what? It doesn’t matter at this point. I just need the mug back.”

He reaches for the counter, intending to steal the mug away, but Seokjin gets there first, cradling it to his chest with a pout. “No, it’s mine. I opened it, and I’ve already imprinted–”

“We never should’ve let Y/N show you Twilight. Here, look.” He raises the granite sample and money in his hands, offering it up. “I’ll give you Yoongi’s gift and the gift I was supposed to be giving for the game. You’ll get two.”

Seokjin narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What was your original gift?”

“A travel mug that says, ‘Weird to be the same age as old people.’”

He gets a wrinkled nose in response. “Well I like this one better. The other one calls me old. This one says I’m the best wife ever.”

“Oh my God, hyung. You’re not a wife!”

“I’m not old either!”

Jungkook throws his arms up in frustration, practically launching his hunk of stone across the room. “Then what am I supposed to do? You’re really going to ruin my entire proposal?”

“Hmm.” Seokjin lifts a hand to his chin, the other still clutching the mug to his body. “Thirty-two-race drunk Mario Kart?”

“Hyung.”

“What? You want the mug–this is how you can get it.”

Jungkook scrubs a hand over his face, accepts the inevitable. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

“Hooray!” A clap of his hands as Seokjin practically skips from the kitchen. “I’ll get us set up!”

By the time Jungkook drags his feet into the living room, Seokjin has already gathered a crowd, your friends piling onto the couches and armchairs to watch the upcoming event. Surely they’re expecting a slaughter; Seokjin is notoriously a Mario Kart ace.

“You looking to get drunk, babe?” you ask, settling into the spot next to him on the couch. “There are easier, less humiliating ways, you know.”

He pouts, eyebrows squishing together. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he grumbles, immediately forgiving you when you press your lips to his.

“For luck,” you say, giving him one more peck before sitting back to watch Seokjin hand him a controller, shot glass, and bottle of soju.

“Pick your character.” He plops onto Jungkook’s other side, selecting his own racer on the screen.

“Peach? Really?” Namjoon teases.

Seokjin shoots him a look. “I don’t wanna hear that from a basic-ass Mario main.”

Jungkook, meanwhile, chooses Donkey Kong, and loads up the first map, Peach and Donkey Kong lining up in their pink and yellow go-karts at the starting line.

“May the best me win,” Seokjin says, a split second before the light goes green.

He does win the race. And the next one and the next one. And Jungkook is three shots in before he even knows what hit him, fingers wrapped tightly around the controller.

“Not too late to back out, Jungkookie,” Seokjin jests, nudging him in the ribs. “At least leave with your pride intact.”

But before Jungkook can even respond, mouth already half-open in indignation, you wrap a soothing hand around his knee, massaging lightly.

“You've got this, Kook. You can do it.”

The sound of your voice puts him at ease almost instantly, and he ignores Seokjin, loading up the next track. This time, he does his best to relax, letting the feel of your palm siphon away his anxiety.

This is for you. He can do this for you.

The race is close, their cartoon avatars neck-and-neck until Jungkook manages to gain an edge at the very last second and blow through the finish line first.

“Holy shit!” Taehyung exclaims. “The Kart King lost?!”

“Calm down, it's one race,” Seokjin says. But he shifts forward on the couch as he takes his shot of soju, clearly miffed. “We have twenty-eight more to go. I like my odds.”

Seokjin wins the next one again, celebrating with a whoop, but Jungkook goes on a run after that, winning three in a row so they're tied. And once the thirty-second race has been driven, Seokjin has won sixteen, Jungkook has won sixteen, and they've each drunk two bottles of soju apiece.

“TIEBREAKER RACE,” Seokjin slurs, swaying on his feet. He's played the last dozen games standing up, claiming it “helps with the turns,” whatever that means.

“I think you two have had enough,” you say, patting Jungkook lovingly on the arm. “Just call it a tie and leave it there.”

He jerks away, stretching his arm out like he thinks you're going to try and take the controller from him. “No, Y/N! I need that mug!”

Your lips pull down into a frown. “What mug?”

“I think Y/N is right, you guys,” Namjoon chimes in. “You both need some water.”

“Everyone shut the fuck up. I'm trying to sleep,” grumbles the Snuggie blob.

“ONE MORE RACE!” Seokjin yells, insistent. “FOR IT ALL! FOR THE MUG!”

“Again, what mug?”

But you don't get an answer. Instead, Jungkook shouts, “FINE! RAINBOW ROAD, ASSHOLE!” and everyone's eyes fixate on the screen, eager to find out who will emerge victorious.

Both characters rip off the starting line, Seokjin quickly obtaining a mushroom power-up that gives him a speed boost and comfortable lead. But after Jungkook lucks out on a green shell throw, causing Seokjin to spin out of control, he takes the lead as the first lap ends.

“C’mon, babe!” you cheer, Jimin and Taehyung joining in in their desire to see the Kart King tumbled from his throne.

Jungkook holds his lead for most of the lap, but Seokjin takes it back after a couple more mushroom boosts and a red shell. The final lap is tight, the lead going back and forth and back and forth until all hope seems lost as Seokjin begins to pull away on the last leg…

Only for him to cut the final turn too closely, allowing Jungkook to bump him right over the side of the track and into space before blasting across the finish line.

The room erupts in cheers, Jungkook leaping to his feet with a shout even as Seokjin falls to the floor with a scream of anguish. You stand as well, trying to give your boyfriend a hug, but you’re shocked when he moves away from you instead, preoccupied with something on the dining table.

He crosses the room–dodging Jimin and Taehyung, who are now flossing over Seokjin’s prone body–to grab the “WORLD’S BEST WIFE” mug and triumphantly raise it in the air before stumbling back to where you stand both perplexed and amused by the scene before you.

“This,” he says, clumsily pressing the mug into your hands, “was supposed to be for you.”

“World’s Best Wife?” you ask, heart hiccuping as you begin to have a suspicion. “Like Michael Scott’s mug?”

“Yes!” The word feels heavy moving off of his tongue, and he suddenly regrets not being sober for this. “Because uhhhh…I have this for you, too. Shit, wait.”

He fumbles around his pockets, panicking until he finds the ring, slips it out of his pants, and drops to his knee with a graceless thud.

“Ow, crap. Y/N.” He takes your hand, and in spite of the absurdity of it all, in spite of the fact that part of the room is now fawning over you while the other part is either sleeping or on the floor, you feel tears pricking your eyes.

Really, you couldn’t think of a more perfect scene.

“Y/N,” he begins again–slowly, like his words need to be corralled, “I love you. So much. And I know I may sometimes be forgetful or foolish or careless–sometimes I might accidentally spray wine all over the kitchen or ruin a proposal because I gave Seokjin the wrong present by mistake–but I just…love you.” He blinks, thoughts drifting away from him as the soju continues to take its toll. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what I’m saying is even making sense, but…I find I don’t mind having those moments as long as you’re there with me. I’m fine making a fool out of myself if it’ll make you smile or laugh so…” He hoists the ring up just a little higher, eyes hopeful. “Marry me?”

A leaping sensation takes off behind your ribs as you gasp, “Yes, Jungkook. Of course, yes.”

For someone who’s drunk, he surges back up with incredible speed to capture your mouth in a kiss, dragging your body to his and swaying you side-to-side.

“Congratulations, you two,” Yoongi says through the applause of your friends–even Seokjin managing to clap his hands like a seal from the floor. “Now can I please get some fucking sleep?”

a/n: please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting if you enjoyed :)

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts fic #bts fanfic

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jimblejamblewritings · 7 months ago

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love letters and second sons | part 2.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

Eloise left to go right across the street while you followed the rest of the family into the dining room. It had been so long since you had a formal sit down breakfast with your family. Your siblings just couldn’t be bothered to come from wherever they were — sometimes in the same house but they still didn’t show. Your father and mother couldn’t make it most of the time. The dining room table could be very lonely sometimes.

You thanked Colin as he pulled out a chair for you before sitting down. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you passed the decorated teapot to Daphne before reaching for the small jug of cream. The Bridgertons were very invested in palace life and wanted to know whatever you were allowed to tell them about. You looked up from your coffee when Eloise came back with Penelope Featherington.

Smiling at Penelope, you handed her the box so you wouldn’t forget before you left. Her face dropped.

“What is it?”

“Oh, I don’t want to burden the princess with frivolous matters. We have an addition to our house. My cousin, Marina Thompson has come to stay for the season. But no matter, she can wear my dress. I have plenty already.”

You shook your head. “No matter how frivolous they may be, your problems are the Crown’s problems. I will return tomorrow with another dress for Miss Thompson. Besides, each piece has been chosen specifically for each person. How could Miss Thompson possibly look good in a dress meant to make you look good?”

Penelope smiled. “Is it alright if I open it here?”

“Of course, Pen,” Anthony said.

She carefully placed the lid of the box on the ground and ruffled through the pieces until she found the dress with her name pinned on it. She pulled out a dress of emerald green, just emerald green. No patterns insight. The sleeves were flatter than the balloon sleeves normally worn but that was because they were sheer with beading on them.

“Wow. It is beautiful.”

“The princess will be glad to hear that you like it. Now, I am very sorry but I have to go now. A midmorning promenade cannot be missed.”

Everyone stood up when you did.

“Well, yes, of course,” Violet said. “Will you return for breakfast tomorrow? Or whenever is a good time for you?”

You weren’t stupid. Either the Dowager Viscountess wanted your fake persona to marry her son — probably the third son, Colin, since you were a valet. Or she wanted the princess to marry her son. In that case it must have been Anthony. You took your cloak from the footman it put it back on.

“I shall see if I can appear tomor— this weekend. Before the Danbury ball, the family wants to go to the countryside. I shall be back here then.”

“Lovely.”

You stepped outside, taking the alleyways back to the palace. Pandora let out a breath when the painting finally moved. You stepped inside.

“Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yes, I have. Was your time outside fun?”

“Absolutely, I will be doing it again later.”

“What? Princess, please.”

“Pandora, you don’t understand. It was amazing. One of the best times of my life.”

“Y/N. What if your illness st—”

“Then I shall deal with that when it happens. Oh, I met people. The houses in the ton are very nice.”

“You went to someone’s house?” Pandora’s voice rose three octaves as she tried to stay quiet.

“Just the Bridgertons. Their mother is very sweet. She invited me to a recurring breakfast whenever I have the time.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and the rumors about them are true. The daughters are all beautiful. Their youngest son seems very nice.”

“And the three eldest boys?”

“Absolutely handsome. Especially the eldest.”

The two of you giggled as you kept sharing what they looked like in person while you got ready for your promenade. The gardens were dreadfully boring but you felt better just thinking about going to the Bridgertons house next time. It could have been anyone but you were glad it was a large family and a family friend. Only your first day out and you already became acquainted with two families. That was a success in your book.

~~~

“Princess! Princess Y/N! Your Highness!”

You could hear the yelling down the hall. Looking over at your father, you smiled.

“Thank you for talking with me about the ball, Mr. Jupiter. I think I should let them know I am alive.”

“Go. I shall still be here.”

You shimmied out from under the bed, George laughing at you the entire time. The bed wasn’t your favorite place to be but it was your father’s favorite place. You preferred the wardrobe. Swinging open the door, you spotted Brimsley running down the hall.

“I’m right here!”

He turned with a quickness. “Oh thank God. The Queen and King are requesting you actually attend breakfast with them instead of in the kitchens or your room.”

“Father? How could he tell you? He’s right he—”

“Yes. He usually stays in his wing. He came down earlier this morning.”

You looked back at your bed. No one was there. George’s feet weren’t sticking out from the end of the bed. You bit your lip and didn’t say anything, choosing just to follow Brimsley to the dining room. If anyone found out you had a fit then there was no hope of your mother letting you go anywhere. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Whenever you were anxious or stressed, a fit was bound to happen. Maybe you should have been taking your medicine. But it didn’t make you feel good at all. Tomorrow you’d ask for a change in medicine or doctor.

Your father looked better when you reached downstairs, actually cognizant, and your mother seemed happy. None of your other siblings were there. Pulling out your chair you sat down. The conversation went in one ear and out the other. You answered where necessary and that was about it. You needed to be perfect. When there was a lull in the talking, you found the perfect opportunity to speak.

“Mother, may I go to Lady Danbury’s ball?”

“No.”

“I promise I will be on my be—”

“No.”

“If I have a fit then I will go stra—”

“Y/N, do not make me repeat myself.”

“But I just want to know why? All of my brothers and sisters were allowed to introduce themselves well before this age. Why am I still waiting?”

“Dear, we’ve been over this.”

“But Edward and Sophia both have the same illness and they were all—”

“Because no one is as bad as yours!” Charlotte looked up from her plate when you grew silent. She sighed at the sight of your crestfallen face. “Y/N, dear, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m only talking about your illness, not you as a person… give me four months. Four months to prepare everything, then I will let you go, whether an incident happens or not. Just follow the rules and keep yourself safe.”

“Thank you, Mother. I do have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“May I stay at Kew?”

“Kew?” Both your mother and father said at the same time.

“I have incidents whether I am here or with Father or by myself. We don’t have strong evidence that anything makes it better or worse. Kew is far enough that I’m not tempted by the city but close enough that I will not miss it. And I can still speak to the people.”

In reality it’s because your parents never went to Kew. You wanted privacy and to not be under such a watchful eye. And if you could bring your court then absolutely no one would find out that you went into the city.

Charlotte gave George a look. “Yes, the people do seem to love your letters. Okay, alright. I will allow you to stay at Kew but your father and I and your physician will be coming every Sunday to check on you. Brimsley and Reynolds will be going with you.”

“Okay.”

Buckingham wasted no time packing your things and taking them to Kew after the Danbury ball. You flopped onto your bed, happy to be left alone finally. Only half of your court came with you to Kew. The others were “dismissed” for the season — you wouldn’t need them again until you introduced yourself to society. Really you just needed them to stay at Buckingham and report to you what was happening. Naturally, Pandora came to Kew.

The home looked just the same as when you were younger. The first thing you did was instruct every curtain to be open. The grounds were extensive and private. You weren’t in London but just outside of it. No one could see the place at all so there was no need to hide behind window decorations.

“I should like dinner outside,” you said as you sat down in the short grassy part of the front lawn.

“Outside?”

“Yes. It’s very nice today. I would like to sit outside and eat and plan my new schedule. You and Reynolds can go to the cottage on the grounds. Turn left and you’ll see a bunch of cottages across the stream. Go to the third one. It’s behind a smattering of trees but the hedges there cover everything. You can see people before they see you.”

“I’m sorry?” Brimsley’s eyes went wide.

“I’ve known since I was five. I don’t think you two believed that a five year old could be observant but I was.” You turned back to look at him. “Well, I do not care. Brimsley, you should know I couldn’t possibly care about anything like that. With my issues I could never judge someone. Not for what you look like, your class, whoever you choose to pray to which is really none of my business. I don't like to sit in church anyway and much prefer prayer alone in the gazebo. It also doesn't matter who you... share a cottage with."

“Your Highness.”

“I will keep your secret, Brimsley,” you reassured him. “Besides, when the time comes I will need for you to keep mine.”

“Secrets? You have secrets? I didn't know... What would I be keeping?”

“You’ll know it when it happens.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Brimsley!” you yelled before he could step inside the house to tell them what you wanted to eat. “About what I said just then.”

“It is no trouble at all, Your Highness.”

“No, not my secrets… I would never tell anyone. Whether you kept my secret or not. I promise you that.”

“Thank you.”

“I will find a way to make it better.”

Brimsley gave you a sad smile. “The effort alone is appreciated.”

You gave him a determined look before returning to making your schedule. You didn’t have a need for full time tutors anymore, having finished formal schooling years ago.

So you put all your special tutors to come on Tuesday and Wednesday, your parents visiting on Sunday, you’d write all your letters on Thursday, and then waste away on Monday, Friday, and Saturday. A schedule your parents greatly approved of as they stated that you needed plenty of days to rest and not overwork yourself before you make the illness worse. Of course you didn’t tell them that those days were for going into the city.

Monday morning you picked flowers to make a bouquet for the Featheringtons since you had only met one of them in person. Not that you needed it but you opened your book of flowers to see the meanings. You did hope that flower language would catch on more in a few years.

Taking your hand pruning shears, you started cutting both from the garden and the greenhouses. Basil for good wishes. White Carnations to wish a pure love. White Jasmine for amiability. Yellow lilies for happiness. Pink roses also for happiness. Bells of Ireland for good luck. You handed the first set of flowers to Brimsley before starting on individual bouquets for the four young women of the house.

For Prudence: daisies for innocence, dandelions for faithfulness and happiness, peonies for a happy life and a happy marriage. For Phillippa: dandelions for faithfulness and happiness, fern for sincerity, honeysuckle for bonds of love. For Penelope: lady’s mantle for comfort, lily of the valley for sweetness, wallflower for faithfulness in adversity. For Marina: camellias for affection, lavender roses for enchantment, daffodils for good fortune.

You also collected flowers for the Bridgertons, small individual bouquets. Only two types of flower in each bouquet. For Violet: acacia for friendship and violet for her name.

For Anthony: acalia for temperance and agrimonia for gratitude. For Benedict: balm gentle for pleasantry and bearded crepis for protection. For Colin: chamomile for energy in adversity and coriander for hidden worth. For Daphne: daphne for her name and dandelions for happiness.

For Eloise: elderflower for zealousness and elephant’s ear for good luck. For Francesca: fern leaves for fascination and flower-of-an-hour for delicate beauty. For Gregory: garden chervil for sincerity and geranium, scarlet color, for comfort. For Hyacinth: hawthorn for hope and hyacinth for her name.

“This should do.”

“Shall we send them now?”

“Oh, no, Brimsley. I shall take them with me.”

“With you?” he squeaked.

“Yes. I assume now would be a good time as ever to divulge my secret to you and Reynolds. Pandora already knows. I go out to see the ton. I have already done this a few times now.”

Reynolds and Brimsley looked like they were going to faint. You laughed as you took your cloak from Pandora. You had no concern with anyone finding out since the two men in front were still in the gardens instead of running back to Kew to pen a letter.

“Please ready the carriage. I’ve already missed breakfast as it is, I don’t want to be any later.”

The only two things that freaked out your valets even more were entirely your fault as well. Reynolds stuttered through confusion when you refused the mask he was about to hand you. Brimsley actually did faint when you got out of the carriage before reaching the Bridgerton house. You turned around when he came to again.

“The carriage is too recognizable. Until I get something more plain th—”

“Just say the princess gave it to you for business affairs!” Brimsely yelled so loudly that you were concerned someone would hear it.

For a moment you were ready to ignore his plea but then you realized he was right. Plus, you did already set up that poor women and rich women were treated equal in your court — something that was true but you only had three lower class women in your court to begin with. You got back into the carriage, knee bouncing the entire way.

Peering out the window, you spotted Marshall. He titled his head a bit as you turned around, seemingly scolding someone inside, tilting even more when you walked in the opposite direction of their house. An older woman greeted you at the door of the Featherington home. You repeated the same thing you told Marshall the first time you came to the Bridgerton family.

“Please come in. They’re in the drawing room, now… Ma’am, a visitor.”

You curtsied as you entered their drawing room, waving to Penelope. “Hello… Woah, there are a lot of men. I’m sorry I was unaware we had already begun calling.”

Lady Featherington put on her best smile. “Yes, what is it?”

“Right. I am the Young Princess’ lady in waiting. She has made bouquets for you all. Well, as well as bouquets for the Bridgertons but rest assured I know exactly which ones belong to you.”

The Featheringtons looked more than pleased to be receiving flowers after dresses, especially Lady Featherington. All the suitors were looking at them like winning prizes. To be favored by the princess is to have everyone’s hand in your lap and every name on your dance card. You read out what each flower meant and gave them a card that had them written down in case they were to forget.

“Thank you so much, Miss?”

“Beckett.”

“Miss Beckett. Please inform the princess that we are forever grateful for such a thoughtful gift. If it is no trouble would you like some biscuits or tea?”

You decided to stay for a few minutes. Besides, watching suitors fall over their feet to impress women seemed like a very entertaining morning. Thanking the old woman for the tea, you took a sip before setting down the cup when you noticed Colin. He waved to you before making a bored face.

Clearly, he hadn’t been the first one to arrive for calling. You supposed that was the issue with all four of your girls out at once. There was only one drawing room so all of their suitors would have to wait their turn even if they were there for a different girl, at least until Lord Featherington came home and then maybe he could chaperone outside in the garden. You now understood why the Bridgertons were okay with Eloise delaying her debut. Focusing on only one woman is plenty enough.

Daphne had written to you that she had received no callers but none of the other Bridgertons had spoken about calling or the marriage mart at all. You only looked up from the mess of suitors when Eloise arrived, pulling up a chair at the small table you and Penelope were sitting at. Pen tapped your shoulder.

You looked down at the overgrown rat in her arms. It was your turn to mind the dog that one of the gentlemen calling thought would be appropriate as a gift. Rolling your eyes, you took it anyway and began bouncing it like a child. At least it was a very calm dog.

Your two friends laughed as you jumped when another gentleman began reciting a poem very loudly. Everyone was starting to fall asleep. His performance was both bad and boring, a combination you were hoping couldn’t be accomplished today. The sound of Lady Featherington’s clapping was the only thing that woke everyone up. She all but pushed the men out, saying the girls had seen enough suitors today. You frowned at her telling the gentlemen to say goodbye to even Penelope. Even? They should just be saying goodbye because she was a lady and in the house. Colin came over to you guys.

“A most wretched sonnet indeed.”

You laughed before standing up to leave with him, trying not to eavesdrop on their conversation. The two of them had such a close bond. You were sure that they’d end up with each other. He was probably here for her, waiting for a chance when Marina’s suitors were done. Handing Colin his flowers, you abandoned him for the drawing room of his house — pausing in your tracks when you saw a man you didn’t recognize.

Violet jumped up along with Hyacinth and Francesca. “Oh, Miss Beckett, hello. We weren’t expecting you after you missed breakfast.”

“Yes, I was preoccupied with the princess. I’m sorry am I intruding?”

“No.” Daphne all but ran to meet you. “What do you have with you?”

“The princess made bouquets.” You leaned in close. “I am very sorry about what Whistledown wrote. You didn’t deserve that. Perhaps flowers can cheer you up?”

“Thank you so much.”

“Where are the others? I shall give these to them then promptly return.”

“Yes, please do,” Daphne said before having to return to her caller.

Violet took her flowers from you. “Gregory is in the garden or with his brothers. More than likely his brothers. They are either in…”

“Yes?”

“Well they are in their rooms but I can’t just let you go in alo— It’s much too dangerous for a woman. The ton wo—”

“I don’t see why I cannot seeing as I am the princ—” you stopped yourself. “Uh, the princess’ valet. I’m on official business from her and where she can go, I can go.”

She still seemed unsure.

“Besides, I am not a lady.”

At that, Violet let you go upstairs but her face didn’t relax on any of the tension it held. You held onto the wooden railing as you skipped up the steps. You realized that you should have asked Violet which rooms were theirs. But it was too late now. Going back down would just be a matter of inconvenience and take longer in your return to Daphne’s aid. And not to mention, you were a princess. You didn’t need permission to enter anywhere, it was just polite to ask. Opening each door, you sighed in relief when one finally led to a bedchamber with people inside. Anthony looked up, setting down one of his many ledgers.

“Beckett, what are you doing here?”

At the sound of your name Gregory, who had been sitting on his older brother’s bed as he engrossed himself in some reading, looked up. “Beckett!”

You handed them both the bouquets. “Courtesy of the princess, not my doing.”

They chuckled as they took their bouquets from your arms. You heard the door creak behind you as it opened more. Turning, you came face to face with the second eldest Bridgerton. Benedict smiled.

“I knew I heard Gregory call for you.”

“Here. For you.”

“Thank you. How long will you be staying?”

“For dinner but then I must leave afterwards. So, what shall we do up here?”

“Up here?” Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Alone? Miss Beckett, I do not think it… it is improper for us to be alone with you.”

You scoffed. “Impropriety.”

“It is true.”

“Firstly, I am not exactly bound by your rules of society. Second, we aren’t alone unless you are insinuating that anything would happen because you either can’t control yourself or are oddly content to share me with your brother.” You enjoyed watching them both stutter through a reply.

“But if someone were to see us.”

“Does this window face the front of the street?”

“No.”

“Can anyone see anything in the back?”

“No.”

“Then no one is to see anything. Especially when nothing is happening. And lastly, I am not unchaperoned.”

“You aren’t?”

You pointed to the youngest Bridgerton in the room. “Gregory is not a man but a child. Therefore someone who is not an available bachelor is watching and supervising us.”

He grinned, not even caring that he was called a child. “Yeah. I’m very good at watching.”

You could do nothing but laugh as you flopped over Anthony’s bed and asked Gregory to hand you a book he was finished with.

Benedict blinked. “I guess I cannot argue with that. I’ll go get my charcoals and come back.”

“Ah, right, but first let me eavesdrop on Daphne and Nigel. Almost forgot.”

“Lord Berbrooke?”

“Don’t make me laugh by giving him a title.”

When you returned, the boys had found their way into a comfortable silence. They barely acknowledged your presence when you sat down. Per Anthony’s request, the door didn’t just stay unlocked or ajar but completely open. Benedict looked away from his paper and at you.

“What do you mean you aren’t bound by rules of society?”

“I said your rules.”

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, then. Our rules."

“The rules of the upper class and the ton. I am bound by royal rules and royal rules only which you’d be surprised to find are very different from the rules of the ton… I should suggest to the princess that she must write about those rules.”

“And what are royal rules then?”

“The only one that pertains to you is that it isn’t a crime for a royal or a member of their court to be unchaperoned while around the opposite sex.”

Violet decided to go upstairs after seeing Lord Berbrooke out their front door, utterly exhausted. She just needed a few moments of rest before going back to Daphne. Passing by her son’s room, she paused. Anthony was at his desk working, Gregory was sitting at the head of the bed reading, you laid flopped across it with several things around you, and Benedict was sitting on the floor leaning against the side of the bed with his art supplies spread out all around. The sight could be considered improper but Violet refused to interrupt.

“Anthony, come look at Benedict’s work and tell him it is better than he gives himself credit for.”

Violet watched her son take his ledgers and come sit by Benedict, who had cleared enough of his supplies away for his brother, right underneath where you were laying. Not caring, you rested your chin on top of his head so you wouldn’t lose balance as you pointed to where you liked Benedict’s sketch. You couldn’t help but laugh as Anthony stiffened up for a moment.

“You’re worse than Brimsley. I already told you that I am not a lady. Calm yourself.”

“Brimsley?”

“The Queen’s temporarily former valet. He moved to Kew with us.”

“The family now stays at Kew?”

“No, just the princess. It was a gift of sorts as she’s the only child to live there. It is a chance to live alone and like a proper adult before her introduction to society.”

Gregory became interested once again. “We’ll get to see the princess soon? When?”

“Roughly four months if all goes well… You know, I must take you all to Kew one day.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Violet smiled as she continued heading to her destination. You and Anthony seemed to be headed towards friendship. If you really did take him to Kew then he would get to meet the princess alone.

(part 3)

THIS FIC TAGLIST:

@fredsbetch @cherrylovers-world @chrystinaamanda @grassclippers @flyestvenustrap

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107 @i-have-no-life-charlie @daykrisr999

#benedict fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton

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stupidlittlespirit · 22 days ago

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Rating: SFW (later chapters will be NSFW) Type: Long form, multi-chapter, Stanford Pines x Reader Tags: Mutual pining, no pronouns used, teasing, a special appearance from Stan, mentions of the kids, housekeeper!Reader, tw: my horrible jokes. Word count: 5,729 My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3! Ch.2 here

In which a simple expedition with Ford goes increasingly sideways and you learn more than enough about thermodynamics to last you a lifetime.

A/N: This has been quite an undertaking to produce. I created this fic as somewhat of a universe in which base a number of my post-portal!Ford one-shots etc in, and that meant I had to lay a lot of groundwork in it. I wanted to have a setting where I didn't need to keep giving background on what the Reader's role is and how/why they feel a certain way in every fic, and to also offer a kind of timeline that could be explored through future works. Because of that, in this fic there will be vague allusions to some small events happening to set us up for the current day and if people are interested in reading more about those events in full detail then I'd really love to explore them properly with you guys.

Just as an aside - Reader will mention they don't have a father in a throwaway line. It can be taken as just a joke or as literal. Up to you.

Anyway, most of this fic is already completed and I'll be posting a new chapter every couple of days or so. You can wait to read it all in one go or enjoy it in chapters. There will be roughly 5 in total. Enjoy!

Sometimes, in life, things align so perfectly that a person can't stop themselves from considering the possibility of cosmic interference.

Deities. The universe. Some other unseen, all powerful entity of murky origin. All of their existences seem far more plausible when events in one's life fall effortlessly into place and line up to give them the exact thing they've always wanted.

Today is one of those days.

You're busy chopping onions when the planets orient themselves for you.

The broad kitchen knife in your hand knocks rhythmically against the oak board underneath it with every slice you make and the little ribbons of milk-white flesh stack neatly between blade and vegetable, but your attention is, quite irresponsibly, elsewhere.

You really ought to be keeping track of your fingers but you're far too preoccupied with gazing out of the bay window in front of you to really care all that much. The thing is huge; its frame is rimmed with rich mahogany and it has one broad, square pane sitting in the centre, beset by two more, slimmer, rectangular pieces. It drinks in the waning daylight outside and on sunnier evenings, the pretty little stained panels that skirt the tops of each one glow a rich blue, showing off the depictions of constellations inside, like someone has captured part of the night sky and trapped it within the glass for their own private amusement.

Today, the clouds block the sun and the cerulean glass is dull, but you don’t mind too much. You’re not making use of the window to admire the art, lovely as it may be. You’re far more focused on what’s taking place on the lawn, beyond the bounds of the warm interior of the house.

Out on the well-kept grass, two figures are vigorously working out. Well, one is. The other looks like he’d rather keel over and die than spend another second out there, but he’s doing his best all the same and that’s what matters, you suppose.

Steam rises from Ford’s figure as he pauses in his work to help his nephew grip a mid-sized dumbbell correctly. It curls off and around his body like smoke, rising from its sweaty source and wafting into the unseasonably cool air. His cheeks are pink, likely both from exertion and the chill in the weather, and the colour blooms all the way across his face, stretching far enough to even tickle the tips of his ears.

He looks gorgeous.

Dressed in all-black, he’s wearing a short sleeve t-shirt and sweats, paired with dirty blue trainers. Where the skin of his throat and arms should be exposed, however, they’re instead wrapped up tight in what you presume to be some kind of fancy thermal shirt. You’ve never seen him wear anything that shows off his skin, yet somehow the way it clings to the curves of his biceps and forearms is even more revealing than seeing them bare.

Granted, this isn't the first time you've spied on one of his workout sessions like this (in almost exactly the same way), but every time he shows up, it feels like you've been blessed by the Heavens.

Ford, for what it’s worth, hasn’t noticed anything untoward. Not as far as you’re aware, anyway. He’s usually too lost in whatever he’s doing to pay you much mind and if he does catch your presence in the window, you’re always quick to make yourself look busy.

Ford works out four times a week, like clockwork, on the front lawn of the house he shares with his brother. He doesn't always have his nephew with him (Dipper clearly only ever wants to do his best for his great-uncle, however exercise is hardly the kid's forte and you can't say you blame him), which means that oftentimes you get the absolute pleasure of observing a clueless Ford lift weights and stretch his quads for sixty minutes whilst you break from your other chores to prepare them all dinner.

You've been working for the Pines’ for the better part of a year now and getting hired had been a complete accident:

Upon moving to Gravity Falls eighteen months ago and landing the first job you had come across in the local paper (an underpaid, exhausting waitressing gig at the local diner) you’d run into the kids one afternoon on a rare day off.

Mabel had almost smashed your ankle to bits after she and her brother had lost control of their overstuffed trolley and once they had finished their litany of apologies, you’d taken note of the cart’s contents: primarily filled with sugar riddled snacks and items with so little nutritional value that you’d been astounded they’d been legal to sell, neither one of the kids appeared to know how they were going to lug all their so-called food home or what they were going to make for dinner.

Without much else to do, you’d volunteered to lend a hand. They had explained their task: “Grunkle Stan says his back hurts too much to waste time in the store these days and he promised that if we helped, he’d make Grunkle Ford teach us how to drive so we can do it even faster!” Mabel had enthusiastically informed you, eyes bright and metaphorical tail bushy, and despite your confusion over the concept of a ‘Grunkle’, the idea of two apparently-just-turned fourteen year olds at the wheel had been less than thrilling.

Some gentle sweet talking had convinced them to swap out some of their items for things a little more suitable and you’d carried their bags back on a short walk to the house where you’d met the infamous Stan lounging on its porch, his feet up on some empty crates.

At Mabel’s excited introduction of you and her retelling of your recipe ideas, Stan had given you a once over before he’d asked how you felt about replacing the kids as dinner gofer. As it turned out, sending two hyperactive children out to get groceries every week had apparently (shockingly) not been working out too well for the older brothers, and one offer of help had turned into several paid offers.

After only a few short weeks of assisting them, you’d been offered a full time position as housekeeper. The decision to take them up on it had been easy; waitressing barely covered the bills for your decrepit little cabin on the outskirts of town and spending hours every day walking the same five metre route to and from the kitchen six days a week was monotonous enough that you’d been considering moving on anyway.

You’d jumped at the chance.

Technically, your job here is to help with the household tasks that Stan is too lazy to do and that Ford is too busy researching or gallivanting around in the forest to take on, but more often than not, you’re stuck doing whatever little thing Stan thinks up so that he can, as he puts it: ‘enjoy his retirement, sweetheart’. The work extends to any little chore they might need help with, and when the kids head home for summer and Ford and Stan set sail for a few months again, it falls to you to keep the place standing until they return.

Hence why you’re slaving away in their roomy kitchen this evening, gazing out at Ford like you’re some kind of yearning protagonist in a classic romance novel and turning over several thoughts in your mind that you’re sure would get you fired if you revealed them in detail to anyone else. You exhale softly as you watch him show Dipper how to correctly pull off a bicep curl, his arm flexing beneath his shirt.

Behind you, at the dinner table, Stan pauses where he's rustling through his daily newspaper at a leisurely pace and his chair creaks as he shifts in it. “Keep sighing like that and you’ll fog the windows up before he’s finished.”

You start, having completely forgotten his presence, and narrowly you swerve the kitchen knife to avoid chopping off the tip of your index finger. “Jesus, Stan!” you huff. “I almost cut my hand off! They should put a bell on you.”

Stan laughs under his breath. “Oh, they’ve tried, trust me,” he mutters darkly. “Besides, that’s what you get for not paying attention.”

“I am paying attention,” you lie. “I was just…. Thinking.”

“About what?” Stan asks, in a way that suggests he already knows. He probably does.

Stan is the only other person besides yourself who’s aware of your affection for Ford.

The crush had started small, blossoming slowly over time into something more significant, and Stan had worked it out before you’d even caught it yourself.

For all his faults, the guy is as perceptive as they come and admittedly, he’s a lot of fun in his own right. He’s cantankerous and rough around the edges, and yet he’s got a heart of gold that he hides deep underneath his gaudy chains and string vests. At first, he’d been grumpy and standoffish about your presence, despite being the one to hire you in the first place, but as time has gone by and you’ve proven yourself to be competent at both the work and at giving as good you get, he’s dropped his guard and dragged you into his jokes and games.

Although he’s less than thrilled about your private sentiments towards his brother, he's charming in his own special way and he only ever uses it to rag on you when he’s feeling mean. To the best of your knowledge, he hasn’t said a word to anyone else about it. Stan is an ass, but he’s not cruel.

And while you’re not going to divulge your most intimate thoughts to him, you’ll always rise to a little back and forth with him. He seems to enjoy having a verbal sparring partner.

“How old did you say your brother was again?” You ask with feigned innocence, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“What?” Stan grunts, folding the top of his paper down enough to glower at you over it.

“I said, remind me how old your brother is again,” you repeat, turning your attention back to watching Ford lean down to stretch his hamstrings again. It looks like he’s cooling down for the day now which means he’ll be doing static stretches for the next ten minutes, and every time he does so you’re treated to a wonderful view of his ass.

“Same age as me,” Stan says, and at your silence he tacks on: “We’re twins,” like you’re an idiot.

“So….?”

“He’s sixty-two, genius.”

“Huh,” you mutter quietly. “Interesting….”

It's hard to remember when Ford is so agile and active, and for all your interest in him, you've never actually asked his age. Sixty-two is perfectly doable though, in every conceivable sense of the word…..

Stan rustles his paper again. “If you’re thinkin’ about what I think you’re thinkin’ about, and I know you are, don’t even think about it.”

You snort. He has such a way with words.

"I told you last time, stay away from him. He's...." Stan pauses, as though he intends to say something else but thinks better of it. "He's old enough to be your father."

“I don’t have a father,” you say absentmindedly.

It’s Stan’s turn to snort now. “Y’know, that makes a lot of sense, actually.”

You tear your gaze away from Ford’s routine to flip Stan the bird, sticking your tongue out for good measure before you reach for the glass mixing bowl to your right. Now that your evening matinee is ending, you really ought to get a move on with dinner.

“Anyway, I didn’t hire you to gawp at my brother like he’s a piece of meat on the discount shelf,” Stan grouches. “You’re s’posed to be cooking.”

“I'm not gawping, I just happen to be facing the same way that he's doing all his stuff in,” you say defensively, before adding in a muttered: “Besides, he definitely wouldn’t be on the discount shelf.”

“Uh huh,” Stan says, clearly not believing a word.

Rather than defend your actions, you focus on your work: Tonight's dinner is wild mushroom pie. You've only made it once before but it's nice and filling, and you're supposed to be helping everyone eat better. Bad diets run in the family apparently (although where Ford is concerned, he just as often skips meals altogether some days) and so far, they've all been amenable to trying something new. The kids had been reluctant to test out vegetables at first but after a few valiant efforts to make them as palatable as possible they'd come round.

A lot of the work is already done; a pot of stock is simmering away on the hob, the onions from earlier are ready to be tossed into the slowly-warming frying pan and a red, ceramic pie dish is neatly lined with pastry and ready to go whenever you need it. For now, the next task is to prepare the star ingredient: Wild mushrooms.

You’ll be the first to admit, quite happily, that you're not the most outdoorsy of people and you're going to cheat a little bit on the ‘wild’ requirements. You'd picked up a packet of the things last weekend at the supermarket with the intention of doing one thing or another with them, and it does say on the label that they're wild, so you'll let yourself off on that one. Although, knowing Gravity Falls you're really hoping that ‘wild’ isn't a play on words and they turn out to be some kind of feral man-eating fungi. You're not in the mood to be hunted down by a hungry creature today.

Leaving your pots and pans to simmer, you check in the pantry for the little box only to come up empty handed. There's no sign of it anywhere in there, not even when you rummage around right at the back, and you call out to Stan in confusion: “Have you seen the mushrooms I brought back last week?”

“The ones in the brown container?” Stan asks.

“Yeah….”

“Mabel fed ‘em to Waddles last night,” he says, and when you stick your head around the pantry door to stare at him in disbelief, he shrugs without looking up. “What was I supposed to do, tell her no?”

You know what he means; She’s upstairs right now giving the damn pig a manicure makeover with your old (and apparently animal safe) nail polishes because you hadn’t had it in you to deny her them when she’d been upset about her own limited supplies.

It’s extraordinarily hard to refuse Mabel anything and you can appreciate the difficulty, but still.

“Stan, I told you what I was planning to cook tonight!” You groan, kicking the pantry door shut. “How am I supposed to make a mushroom pie with no mushrooms?”

You can’t exactly nip to the store today either. Every single shop in town is shut. The news this morning had warned of a major storm blowing in and informed everyone that they best stay at home lest they keep an inflatable raft in their back pocket, and no one sells those outdated things anymore. Too many accidental indoor deployments, apparently.

According to Ford, this place is susceptible to irrational weather spells and the increasingly aggressive changes in pressure and temperature that have spawned with global warming have only made them more volatile. Last summer there had been a spate of hailstorms that had puked up football-sized pieces of ice and smashed the windscreen of your car to pieces. You’re still sore about that one….

“What am I supposed to do?” You lament, sparing a miserable glance at the half-done recipe on the stove.

From behind you, a deep voice makes you jump: “Is something wrong?”

You almost leap out of your skin, swivelling on the spot to find the source hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.

Both brothers have the ability to be supernaturally quiet when they want to be. While Stan uses his subtlety less often, Ford skulks around like a well practised alley cat a lot of the time and he frequently scares the shit out of you. He must have finished his routine and crept back inside unannounced.

He gives you an apologetic smile, holding one hand up to ease your fear. “Apologies,” he laughs under his breath. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Ford is still dressed in his workout clothes, his thick, wavy hair roguishly dishevelled and slightly damp at the temples, and he looks just as lovely up close as he had done from the window. Perhaps even lovelier.

You swallow thickly, your brain short circuiting at the sight of him. “Uh, yes?” You say, though it's more of a question than an answer.

Ford looks at you expectantly, evidently waiting for you to expand on your problem, and Stan smirks at your lack of grace.

You shake your head minutely, desperately pulling yourself together and hoping he'll assume your speechless state is just because he's made you jump and not because your heart is climbing up your throat.

“I'm making pie,” you say, jerking your thumb over at the pots. “And someone,” You pause to fix Stan with an annoyed look and he rolls his eyes. “Let Mabel feed them all to Waddles, and…. I don’t have a back up plan.”

You feel a little stupid admitting it aloud.

Ford hums thoughtfully, heavy brows creasing together as he leans against the doorframe.

“That's quite the conundrum….” He says, frowning at the flagstone tiles under your feet.

His dark eyes flicker back and forth quickly, and you can tell he's trying to think up a solution.

After a long pause, he snaps his fingers and speaks up again: “You know, I did stumble across a nice little patch of mushrooms not far from here about a month ago. We could take a walk up there and grab some, if you'd like?”

“In the forest?” You ask, brows raised.

“Where else?” Ford grins, and you feel your stomach fill with butterflies. “They're edible, of course, I've tested them myself.”

“Are you telling me you ate random mushrooms you found on the ground, Doctor Pines?” You ask, mildly appalled. “They could have killed you.”

Ford waves a hand dismissively. “Unlikely. My travels have given me something of an iron stomach. It takes more than a Death Cap to put me down these days.”

At the mention of ‘travels’, you perk up a bit.

Ford's history is more than a little murky to you. In the time you’ve been working for the family, you’ve only heard second-hand snippets or passing mentions of his alleged escapades. The kids have let slip to you several times about his adventures and, despite initially assuming they'd been making things up for fun, the stories had eventually begun to seem a little too consistent to simply be make-believe.

One evening, when the kids had been safely tucked up in bed and Ford had been locked away in his study, you’d brought the subject up to Stan over a nightcap on the porch.

Stan had sighed, lit a cigar, and sworn you to secrecy before giving you a rough outline of his brother’s complex background: his outstandingly impressive academic history, their less-than-ideal family rift and some kind of accident that had sent Ford careening into, quite literally, another dimension. Stan hadn’t gone into excessive detail, and you hadn’t pushed despite desperately wanting to, but by his own admission he had felt that if you were to be working around them then you’d be better off at least having some idea of their strange history.

And strange it is.

You yourself have only lived in Gravity Falls for the better part of eighteen months and becoming accustomed to the weirdness of this place has been unusually easy. Residents take the bizarre in such casual stride that you’re more likely to stick out should you make a fuss about it all and after a while, seeing the odd oddity around had quickly become the norm.

At Stan’s vague reveal of his brother’s disappearance and, as everyone else calls them, his travels, the notion had been surprisingly easy to fathom in the context of such an already weird place. Utterly incredible, yet somehow very in line with this town.

Ford has never brought it up to you himself beyond a rare, fleeting mention, but you’re aware that he’s apparently spent significant time in places that other people might only dream of.

You’re sure he knows of your vague awareness but you know better than to poke around in other people’s sore wounds without permission.

Stan had warned that neither he nor his brother were predisposed to telling everyone and anyone about his time away and you can’t really blame them. From what you know (and can imagine), it can’t have been all fun and games.

“I think he’s got, like, PTSD or somethin’,” Stan had said that night, sounding genuinely heartbroken about it. “So don’t go sniffing around him, alright? He’s…. It’s difficult. Everyone’s been through a lot. Maybe we’ll tell you about it properly one day.”

You understand, of course. Whatever has gone on in their lives is clearly significant and you’re still an outsider. A year is no time at all in the grand scheme of things and they’re a tightly-knit, protective family. They’ve no reason to fill you in on their traumatic family history just because you help around the house and you’ve no right to know it, but you’re willing to earn their trust and if the stories come with it, then so be it.

Although slow to start, things have been going well so far and you’re closer than ever with them, so every titbit Ford drops has you on tenterhooks immediately.

“Besides,” Ford says, still on the subject of his thrilling mushroom discoveries, “their lack of toxicity isn’t even the most exciting part!” He adjusts his glasses and you can tell he's gearing up into scientist-mode.

Behind you, Stan sighs, long-suffering.

“I thought they tasted significantly more intense than a regular mushroom, so once I’d confirmed that they were safe for general human consumption, I asked Dipper to try them. He reported them to be, in his words, 'beefy'. Now, Umami is the most commonly associated flavour with regard to mushrooms because of naturally occurring glutamate, but monosodium glutamate, which would deepen the flavour even more and fall in line with mine and Dipper's taste tests, isn't, and I doubt the gnomes are out there spraying crops with MSG. They haven't the tools for that, I've checked. Anyway, I asked Mabel to try them and she said they tasted, quote, ‘like chocolate stirred by puppies and angels’,”

Here, Ford pauses to laugh fondly before he goes on:

“Which is most certainly not a common flavour of mushroom. So my hypothesis is that they change taste based on whoever touches them and I've been meaning to test them again, seeing as we ate the first batch before I could record the findings properly. We'd be killing two birds with one stone, really.”

You have to fight back a smile. The way he lights up when he talks about his stupid fucking mushrooms is beyond cute and you always enjoy watching him get passionate about his projects, especially when he veers off course on silly tangents that he deems relevant.

But Ford has never asked you to accompany him before which makes this event all the more alluring. It's a privilege to be invited along and as much as you want to jump at the chance, you do have one worry:

“What about the storm?”

At the table, Stan pushes his chair back with a screech and stands up. “Exactly. TV said it's gonna be a bad one and I'm not paying for another newspaper ad if you kill our housekeeper just because you wanna show off again.”

Ford sputters. “I'm not showing off, Stanley! This is about science!”

It should be worrying that his main concern is his pride over your potential death-by-negligence, but the way the top of his ears turn red at his brother's accusation overrules your concern. He's disgustingly adorable when he gets embarrassed.

Dipper chooses that exact moment to trot past his great uncle's side and into the kitchen, giving you a bright, exhausted smile. He’s shed his workout gear for a t-shirt and a fresh pair of sweats, and his hair is slightly damp. “Dinner smells good,” he yawns. “I'm starving. I got ten whole reps in today, right, Grunkle Ford?” He looks especially proud about it.

Ford shucks off his ire to give his nephew a warm smile. “That you did, my boy. Up two compared to last week, by my calculations. You're going to be giving me a run for my money before the summer is over.”

Dipper rubs the back of his neck, bashful, but the way he's beaming betrays his excitement. “I wouldn't go that far….”

“Nice work, dude,” you grin, offering a hand out for a high five.

He takes the bait and slaps your palm with his before fetching himself a soda. “So, how long ‘til dinner?”

You wince inwardly. He'll be hungry enough to eat a horse by now and you can't let him subsist on snacks after all the exercise he's done today. It won't help him build the muscle you know he so desperately wants if all he eats are chips, dips and sodas.

“You better stock up on snacks tonight, kid,” Stan chuckles as he reaches for his own bag of chips that he already has open the table top. “Somebody forgot to get ingredients.”

You shoot Stan a venomous look and at Dipper's disappointed little ‘wait, what?’, you turn back to Ford. Storm be damned, the idea of letting down a child makes you feel worse than getting stuck in a downpour ever could, and you know you'll regret it but what other choice do you have? You've done stupider things for less.

“You're sure the patch isn't far from here?” You ask Ford, giving in with a sigh. “And we'll beat the storm?”

Ford beams at your change of heart, and that, combined with the knowledge of a well-fed charge, instantly makes your agreement worth it. His moods vary like the wind sometimes and you’re always eager to see him happy because you know that it means he’ll spend more time talking to you.

“We'll be in and out in under an hour, you have my word,” he assures you. “I know that place like the back of my hand.”

You sigh again. “Fine. I'll go with you to get the mushrooms.”

Dipper slips back out of the kitchen. Usually, you're sure he'd inquire about your task and ask to come along, but it seems he really is thoroughly exhausted from his gym session and he takes an early leave. Poor kid.

Ford nods, pleased. “Give me a moment to shower and change. I'll put together some supplies and then we can leave.”

“Sure,” you smile. “And thank you, Doctor Pines. I appreciate the help.”

Ford grins, giving you a nod, and then he’s following his nephew out of the kitchen, sweeping down the hallway to sort out his things.

You make use of the spare time to tidy up a little and lower the gas on the stock as low as it will go, then take the pan off the heat. If Ford means what he says about getting in and out quickly, you might have a chance at saving the rest of the prep and it would be a shame to have to start everything over again.

You clean up your workstation and make sure everything is safely put aside before taking a seat at the table to wait.

It's then that you realise Stan is watching you closely. He’s smirking, and it always makes you a little nervous when he wears that mischievous look.

“What?” You ask him hesitantly.

“You can just call him Ford, y’know,” Stan says, slumping back in his chair and looking amused. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t mind….”

You roll your eyes, shrugging one shoulder. “Not this again. I told you before, he's never asked me to call him anything else. I did the same for you when I first started, didn't I?”

“Yeah, and I told you to stop because you made me sound like my old man,” Stan gripes through a mouthful of potato chips.

“Exactly, and that's your prerogative,” you say, a little defensively.

You're telling the truth; Ford hasn’t ever asked you to call him something less formal, even if you might like to try the taste of something more intimate on your tongue. “Ford has earned his title, I’m not going to take it away from him.”

Stan snorts. “Oh, I bet he loves that.”

“What?”

“You, stroking his ego and running around after him like a lost puppy,” Stan says, amused.

“First of all, I run around for everyone in this house like a lost puppy, it's literally my job,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Secondly, I’m not stroking his ego. The guy’s smart and he’s got an armful for doctorates. I’m just…. Acknowledging that.”

“Uh huh,” Stan says, sceptical.

“What now?” You huff.

“Nothing.”

“Stan,” you say sternly. “Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh come on,” he says, trying and failing to keep the smirk off of his face. “Could you be any more obvious? You're worse than Dipper was when he came back after all that time, hanging off his every word and getting all googly-eyed over him like the sun shines out of his ass.”

“I don’t-“

“‘Yes Doctor Pines, no Doctor Pines’,” Stan simpers, putting on a poor imitation of your voice. “Take me out to the woods and experiment on me, Doctor Pines!’”

You can feel your face heat up. “You're such an asshole sometimes, you know that? And he isn’t experimenting on me, he asked me to help hi-”

“Show me your magic mushroo -“

Someone clears their throat in the kitchen doorway and both you and Stan whip your heads around to follow the source of the noise. Much to your horror, Ford is waiting for you, clad in jeans and a trademark red turtleneck along with a pair of filthy hiking boots. There's a sizable backpack slung over one of his broad shoulders and he doesn’t look very amused at his brother's antics.

“Are you done?” He asks, levelling Stan with a searing look.

Stan opens his mouth, still grinning, and Ford cuts him off instantly. “Actually forget that, I know you’re not,” he says. “You never are.”

Then he turns his attention to you.

You’re trying very hard not to melt into a humiliated puddle on the floor and under his gaze you feel yourself slip just a little further down into your seat.

His gaze softens somewhat, almost sympathetic, and he gestures vaguely towards the front door down the hall. “If you're not too busy being harassed, I'm ready to set off,” he says.

You really rather wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right now, but alas, you do need those stupid mushrooms…..

“Sure,” you say faintly, scrambling up from your seat.

Ford heads off towards the foyer and you try to compose yourself with a deep breath before you follow him, glancing back to stick your tongue out at Stan again.

Stanley laughs at your awkwardness and as you hurriedly trot towards the hall, he pretends to fan himself dramatically.

“Three bags full, Doctor Pines,” Stan grins, and then you're shutting the kitchen door on him before you put your job on the line with the insult you're lining up in your head.

Stan thinks he's endlessly funny when it comes to winding you up over Ford and if you show how much he gets under your skin with it, he'll only get worse. You think he might be doing it in the hopes of putting you off his brother, but he’ll need to try a lot harder than that.

Instead of encouraging him, you follow in Ford's footsteps down the short, oak panelled hallway until you reach the front door.

Ford has already donned his reliable tan trench coat, patiently waiting for you to pull your own jacket and boots on. So much of the town is woven between the forest that you practically live in hiking shoes these days and it doesn't take you long to be readily dressed and warm.

Once you’re sorted, Ford swings the heavy oak front door open. A well-timed gust of cool wind blusters in as he does so, ruffling your clothes and hair, and instantly you realise the weather is much more intimidating when face to face with it.

It's incredibly dull out here. In the short time that Ford and Dipper have ended their routine and you've packed your things up, the sky has gotten impossibly darker. The winds must have herded more clouds overhead than you’d realised and the light has faded so much that you'd be forgiven for assuming it to be almost night time. When you check your watch, however, it still reads barely 6PM.

Ford must catch the concern on your face because he picks up on your worry straight away. “It's just overcast,” he reassures you. “I’ve seen plenty of storms like this in the time I’ve lived here. We'll have enough time to make it there and back before it gets too dark, and I brought torches as a precaution.”

That makes you feel a little better, at least. You know he’s an experienced outdoorsman and he’d probably be able to find his way around here blindfolded and hogtied. If you have to go out in risky weather with anyone, Ford is your best bet.

With the stride of a uniquely confident man, Ford steps out into the evening with a sharp breath inward and a contented sigh, taking in the awaiting scent of petrichor. He holds the door open for you with one hand and gestures for you to follow with the other, offering you a rakish grin.

“Shall we?”

And when he smiles at you like that, what choice do you have?

A/N: Yay! You made it to the end!

So firstly, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to post another work! These take a bit of time for me to write because I tend to write the entire work in one go from start to finish before I begin posting and I've also been unwell/busy, so it took a backseat for a bit but here we are!

Secondly, as I posted at the start, this is going to be a small series and will start as a decently sized multi-chapter fic. There will be smut and I already have most of it written. Your patience will be rewarded!

Please consider supporting me on ao3 also :)

#stanford pines x reader #ford pines x reader #stanford pines/reader #ford pines/reader #stanford pines #ford pines #reader insert #surprise! Figured I'd give you guys something while I finish the rest #gravity falls/reader #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls

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mysteria157 · 6 months ago

Text

Moment Two: Your Daughter's First Pair

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: fluff, profanity (not really), sexual suggestion, slight angst (very minimal).

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: Nanami joins you and your daughter for a family tradition, but he may not be as strong as he thinks.

Set in the It Had To Be You universe but you don't need a lot of backstory to follow along.

Notes: This was a random thought that I had based on something that has always been a thing in my family that I wanted to write out. There is nothing significant about this, I have not written Nanami in a LONG time, so I'm trying to warm myself up again. I am so rusty but I'm using fleeting moments of inspiration and taking advantage of it.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Happy reading!

Divider: @saradika | Header: myself

MINORS DNI

“You don’t need to hold her so tight.”

“I’m protecting her.”

“And what am I, a goat?”

He raises a brow at your jest, autumn wheat and elegant but nonetheless annoyed as he glares at you. He doesn’t mean it, you know that—it’s all nerves.

“Ken, we don’t have to do this you know? If you’re against the idea, we can wait a few more years.”

“I’m not against it,” he reassures you, adjusting your daughter in his arms. Ulani babbles up at him, her chubby hands digging into a sharply cut cheekbone. He carries on without complaint, already used to her behavior. “This is a tradition, and I understand it but…”

You turn a key chain in one hand, your thumb smoothing along the glittery face of a dog—or is it a cat? The rack is filled with key chains of different colors, animals and objects, bringing back memories of middle school when you would drag your best friend Omelia into this same store in Sendai before it closed down. Despite the many years that have passed, the store chain still has its subtle hues of purples and pinks, earrings punched through purple cardboard paper, pens with wonky erasers, and headbands of different designs.

“But what?” you try to finish for him, smiling up at his nervous form as he lets Ulani talk to him in her own baby language.

Kento pulls in a deep breath as if to steel his nerves and prepare for the inevitable. He’s praying to whoever will listen, trying to use every coping mechanism in the book. He’s wearing jeans that hug his fit thighs and a dark blue short sleeve that shows too much bicep for your liking (you should give him a dress code). There are only so many single and married women and men that you can glare at in a day, and the redhead over by the register is pushing it.

“Will it hurt her?” your boyfriend’s low timber pulls you back, filled with apprehension, and he keeps mahogany eyes on his daughter to avoid showing you just how scared he is. You rub his back to soothe him, tracing the bands of muscle that are tense behind the soft fabric.

“I-I’m worried.”

“And you shouldn’t be. It’s a simple thing, lasts two seconds. Just like when she got her first shots.”

That’s not enough for him, because now Kento furrows his eyebrows in frustration, bouncing his daughter in his arms to entertain her and also soothe himself. “There are a lot of things to consider. The risk of infection. Rejection. What if she hates them? What if they get caught on her clothes? Or her curls? Or—”

“Are we ready?” one of the employee’s sing songs from behind you both, walking towards the singular chair perched against the glass wall of the store.

“I—” Kento croaks, clearing his throat and swallowing loudly. He looks down at you. “Are we?”

In the time you’ve known him, you’ve only seen Kento visibly nervous a handful of times. That stoic demeanor is a smooth, stone-like shell to everyone else besides family and close friends, but you know the weak spots and have glimpsed into the fragmented sections only visible to your eyes. Right now, he’s nervous and fearful beyond belief. That all encompassing love and attention that he shows you from sunup to sundown extends to his daughter as well. If there is one person besides you, who can make Nanami Kento show his emotions freely and without reservation no matter the date, place, or time, it’s Ulani.

“How about you hold her?” you suggest and give him a small push towards the black chair. Two employees work at the small kiosk next to him, unwrapping sterile materials and cotton swabs. Kento’s eyes watch every movement, searching for any sign of threat that can give him the ammunition to take his daughter and never come back. You can practically hear his thoughts:

“Is that up to code?”

“How long has that been sealed?”

“What is the name of the manufacturer so that I can ensure it’s reputable?”

Your roll your own eyes, knowing how right you might be.

When you found out your pediatrician would be on her own maternity leave, you let Kento research every establishment in Tokyo until he found one in Shibuya. Reputable, good reviews, and well-practiced in this procedure.

Of course, you’re nervous too. She’s your daughter, a combination of you and Kento, conceived from a very drunken night of disdain but grown out of eventual love and adoration. The thought of her crying in pain makes that maternal part of you flare with anger and the consuming need to protect her forever. But you’ve prepared for this for awhile.

Kento? Not so much.

“Is that clean?” your boyfriend asks one of the employees, clutching his daughter a little tighter. It’s a little rude, but the employee smiles at him in a way that conveys understanding of his trepidation. This isn’t their first rodeo.

“Completely sterile from the package. I promise she’s in great hands.” Deep eyes free of steampunk-esque glasses flicker up at her in doubt, but he simply sniffs and looks back to his daughter instead to withhold a scathing remark. “How about one of us on each side, and we do it at once?” she suggests, addressing him directly. It helps, as he gives her a somber but curt nod.

He situates Ulani in his arms so she’s sitting fully on his lap, his large hands holding her up with a slight tremble. The sight is enough to remind you again that this is new territory for him. What has always been a normal tradition for you and the other females in your life, is a foreign concept for him.

Ear piercings are a milestone in a young girl’s life. You got yours as a baby, and so did your mother. Omelia got hers as a baby, as did all her female cousins, as did her mother and the mother before her. If you interacted with your mother’s side of the family, then maybe you would know if your cousins also did the same.

But that’s another thought for another time, and you refuse to let painful memories tarnish what should be a memory you are crafting on your own, right now.

You step closer and run your hands through thick blond locks that are free of gel. You brush the strands from his forehead, letting the soft texture slip past your fingertips as he relaxes instantly. With his place in his chair, he’s at the perfect height to rest his head on your stomach, and he does so a second later.

One of his hands brushes light brown curls from his daughters ears. You can feel the unease radiating from him with every deep breath he takes, and you scratch that spot at his nape that makes him shudder, hoping it will help.

The muscles in Kento’s neck bunch together instead when one of the employee’s leans toward Ulani to make marks in deep purple, and even your own stomach turns in response at what’s to come.

“Okay, we will do this on three. How’s that sound honey?” one of the employees coos at your daughter. Ulani, who is a carbon copy of her father, stares up at her, observant and sinking into her daddy before offering a gummy smile. “She’s so pretty.”

“She’s beautiful,” Kento corrects, slightly rough but still appreciative of the compliment. “Aren’t you, my dove?”

He tickles her side and offers a rare chuckle as she squeals up at him, wiggling in her father’s embrace. The sight makes your heart do flips because this is your world, day in and day out. Just you, Kento, and the person you’ve created together.

You step around to squat in front of him so you’re eye level with your daughter, a hand coming up to wiggle the toes covered in a tan sock. Her eyes catch you immediately, and she holds your gaze long enough for the two employees to position themselves on each side of her.

Kento holds his breath.

“Alright, here we go. One. Two. Three.”

They both move in sync, pressing down on the plastic gun so the studs slide through the soft lobe of Ulani’s lower ears. Kento’s eyebrows furl together immediately. Ulani’s eyes widen for a second before her face contorts, her mouth opening in a silent cry. Your heart hammers and your chest tightens in an sudden flood of sadness and desperation that crashes against you like a tumultuous wave when Ulani takes one heaving breath in….

And screams.

His reaction is quick. Kento bounces one leg at a tempo that alarms you, his handsome face flying through different stages of grief, anger, and pain as he watches the employees adjust the diamond earrings to ensure they heal without complication. His mouth opens and closes, jaw grinding to keep his rudeness in check, because you know what he wants to say.

He was the same way when she got her shots; all glares and sharp stares at everyone else because they were the source of her discomfort. But like that time before, you are the cooling balm for his hot anger as you wiggle your daughters toes and murmur soothing words at her, to show him that she’s going to be just fine.

“It’s okay, baby,” you smile softly and it’s enough to capture her attention even though she’s squealing and crying from the sharp but quick pain in her ears. But all too quickly, you’re not enough for her, because the daughter that you carried for almost ten months turns away and reaches for her father, crying loudly in his arms. It’s a sting that you prepared for, but nonetheless hurts with a severity that takes a few seconds for you to recover from.

By the time you pay one of the employees and exit the store, Ulani has already calmed down. Kento digs into the diaper bag on his shoulder and pulls out a cotton cloth, wiping her nose as she sniffles and whines into his shoulder.

“I know honey, I know,” he coos to her, wiping the tears from her light brown skin and swaying back and forth. “But you were so strong, weren’t you? Hmm? A lot stronger than me.”

He pulls her away from his neck, smiling softly at her, and that one smile makes your chest bloom with satisfaction. It’s times like these that remind you how your life has surprisingly fallen into place. Who would have thought that the man who used to drive you insane would be the only one fit for you?

That small twinge of hurt you felt minutes ago when Ulani turned away from you resurfaces, but reassurance cools it’s prickly edges. Even though this is a moment you may have been more connected with, it’s Kento who feels the painful side of it a lot more.

So you give him his own moment. You watch quietly as he kisses her chubby cheeks repeatedly, smiling into her skin at the giggles that leave her. You fall into the hum of the world around you as you watch him tuck away the cotton cloth and smooth the curls away from Ulani’s ears, finally admiring the diamonds that twinkle on each side. The lobes will be red for a few days, but for Ulani, she will never think of them again until she’s old enough to pay attention. Until she’s old enough to change them out to match the outfits she decides to wear, different colors and gemstones, and multiples if she ever has a streak of expression in her teenage years. Like you did.

Kento finally looks down at you, chestnut browns sparkling as he takes you in from head to toe. The harsh Shibuya sun beats down on bustling city square, but the rays are soft when they touch him. Tan skin is illuminated gold on his cheekbones, his hair luminous in the sun. You reach up to run a hand through his locks for the second time this afternoon, your heart still not used to the incessant hammering that arises when he leans into your touch.

You lift an accusatory eyebrow at him and hold back a chuckle when you speak. “Our daughter was the soldier this afternoon, and yet I’m coddling you?”

“Keep coddling,” he demands, voice tinged with mirth as he turns to place a kiss inside of your palm and then leans back into your stroking. “Today was very painful for me, have you no shame?”

You snort and dig your nails into his scalp in retaliation, enjoying the groan that rumbles in the air from your ministrations. “Don’t blame this one moment on your entire day. You had a great run, remember?”

“My slowest three mile run yet.” Quick on the draw, and you already know where this is going. Kento rarely complains, but when he does, it is about the most trivial things as a means to get and keep your attention.

“You made me pancakes this morning.”

“Not my best work. Too much cinnamon in the batter.”

“We made out two hours ago?”

“Ulani woke from her nap and interrupted what would have been a very enjoyable afternoon.” That complaint leaves his mouth in a grumble, and you purse your lips to hold off the laughter that sits in the back of your throat. He’s truly pouting, and god do you love him.

“And now seeing your daughter cry from her first ear piercing was icing on the cake of a bad day, I imagine?”

“Exactly.”

You finally giggle and playfully pull a strand of his hair. He narrows his eyes at you, mischievous yet still carrying that ingrained indifference that you know and love. Ulani shrieks in his arms, finally past her blip of crying and now ready for her parent’s attention. You take in her drool of a smile, slightly red ears, and brown onesie-dress, and the possibilities flood your mind. It’s…very overwhelming when the thoughts hit you: how she will grow into herself, develop her personality, her wants and desires, her hobbies and her dreams.

“Pay attention to me,” he interrupts your thoughts, and you can’t help the bark of laughter that you give him in response. Ulani mimics you, completely oblivious.

“You’re such a baby, and we have a baby,” you tease, snorting at his level expression and dusty cheeks, slightly shy but absorbing your presence. “You and Ulani have had it rough today. So how about a reward?” You look to your daughter when you ask, knowing damn well she has no idea what you’re saying but you want to include her anyway.

“How about frozen yogurt?” I.e., the unsweetened applesauce in the diaper bag for Ulani and matcha-flavored frozen yogurt for Kento from a favorite vendor a few blocks away. It’s an obsession of his that’s been appearing in the freezer with numbing regularity.

Kento remains unphased by your suggestion, though his lips twitch with the desire to smirk down at you.

“Seeing our daughter in pain was more heartbreaking than I thought. Food may not help, I’m afraid.”

Kento is milking his “pain” at this point, and you’re far too in love with him not to entertain the idea you know is floating in his head. You love this about him, just how playful he is when it comes to you.

“You’re a tough nut to crack.” You tap your chin as if you’re thinking hard, humming in contemplation. “How about…” you trail off, a hand sliding up a muscular bicep before massaging his nape again, relishing in the shudder he gives in response, his eyes twitching to hold back the urge to roll into his head in satisfaction. “Since you’ve suffered so much today…we can go home…and I’ll do that thing you like.”

You have the privilege and skill of being able to read Nanami Kento like a book. You don’t miss the glee that dances across his features—the uptick of one side of his mouth, the slow brow lift, the darkening of his irises. He knows exactly what that thing is. You’re pretty good at it—a master at it—and he made you promise that the day he ever turns that thing down, is the day you can leave him.

His cheeks explode in blush, jaw ticking before he clears his throat and smooths a sweaty hand down the dark blue of his shirt.

“I see,” he ponders, looking up to the sky as if in deep thought, and you know if you roll your eyes again, they’ll get stuck. “Well.” He situates Ulani in his arms and presses a few kisses to her cheek again to pull those giggles from her that you both love. “Who am I to deny your mother?” he suggests to his daughter. “Not a moment to waste, Ulani.”

“You’ve got to be kidding—”

“Quickly, before you change your mind.” He slides a hand to the small of your back as a means to hurry you along, pressing softly and turning you in the direction of the car.

You try to bat his hands away from you, giggles growing in volume as he dodges all your attempts to get rid of him. “I’m not going to change my mind, Ken—”

“Quickly.”

He takes your hand and you let him pull you, beaming at his back as he increases his pace. Ulani is happy as can be in her father’s arms and babbling as he talks softly to her.

“A snack before nap time sounds good, doesn’t it? What kind of applesauce would you like today?” She gurgles. “Cinnamon again? Hmmm, we should always try new things, Dove. What about the strawberry ones I bought you yesterday?” A squeal. “Strawberry it is. I think…”

The rest of their conversation fades into the background as you walk with them, warmth coursing through your veins with each step. It’s a warmth that catches you off guard, but has been ever present since Ulani’s birth. And you love every bit of how it feels. How it flows through you with every breath you take. How it only grows every minute, every hour, every day that you create a life with them.

After Ulani is buckled in her car seat and you slide your seat belt into its latch, Kento leans across the armrest, a warm hand sliding against your cheek in a gentle caress before he slants his lips against yours. It’s a surprise, but the shock dies as quickly as it forms as you melt into his touch—full lips that know your own and soft blonde locks brushing your face.

That affection that he pulls from you every day is given back in this moment—freely and without restraint—in the parking lot of Claire’s in Shibuya, where your daughter got her ears pierced for the first time.

When he pulls away and whispers his love for you against your lips, you repeat it back to him without thinking. It’s a motion that you both carry out whenever you can.

“No more piercings. My heart will probably give out.”

“Do you feel better?” you ask in a tone that is filled with the teasing nature that sticks to you like a second skin.

He loves it, but doesn’t take the bait, and instead kisses your lips again, each cheek, and the tip of your nose. “I will soon.” The innuendo is so obvious you can taste it. He’s been with you too long to be a blushing and awkward man. “Once Ulani is asleep.” You push him away with a giggling huff and savor the deep chuckle that falls from his lips, permeating the air of the car.

As Kento drives through the crowded streets towards your shared home in Nakameguro, the hand not on the steering wheel envelops yours, a thumb stroking the skin of your palm. You look out the window and observe the colors and cars that zoom by, and the sound of a deep breath behind you makes you look back. And when you do, your heart gives a painful but welcoming lurch as you gaze at her. Your daughter already asleep, her head dipping to the side—curly locks askew and sticking to the drool on her face, and her new diamond earrings shining back at you.

Thanks for reading!

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strawberrystepmom · 26 days ago

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cw: omegaverse. alpha!narumi x omega f!reader. breaking news: commander gen narumi of the jakdf has proudly announced his search for a mate is over! | word count: 2.4k, reading time: 10 minutes.

The wool and silk dress you spent big money on when you were first given a role which required quarterly presentations hangs next to the mirror. You sigh looking at it. Briefly, you wish you’d packed something that felt more romantic than this.

It seems like it confirms how you know Gen feels about the whole process that brought you two together. It’s professional - an arrangement. No love is to be found here.

You remove the dress from the hanger, pulling it up over your legs, smoothing down the midi length skirt, and securing each of the olive green cap sleeves securely over your shoulder. It’s professional looking enough you probably won’t stick out next to your alpha who is going to be in full dress uniform.

It doesn’t feel right but there isn’t anything you can do about it now, adjusting the neckline to cover the wrong spots and show off the right ones. Fiddling with your hair is next and finally slipping into the shoes you always wear with this dress.

Smoothing the fabric down over your hips, you walk carefully on your heels lest the residual effects of the most intense week of “mating” one could imagine render your still sore and achy knees and thighs unable to manage.

You could hardly walk the first day after the two of you fucked. Gen tended to you as well as you’d expect for someone you don’t feel even enjoys your company, holding you and marking you with his scent between trips to the small en suite kitchen to figure out meals. The frenzied mating began to slow into a drip as the week passed but you still feel everything, every position you were folded into and every possessive touch he left behind.

Unfortunately, you think you may actually like him. Terrible news for your heart when you consider he’s spent no less than 10 days running his mouth about how much he doesn’t like you.

“There she is, the lucky lady.”

As you clack toward the set, Director Miyamo from the partnership program beams at you, one of her arms spread and fanning out over the small room in front of you both. She’s a fairly unassuming looking woman, middle aged with a tidy bob and perfectly pressed pantsuit. You know from the fact sheet beneath her photo on the official website for the match program that she has overseen over 150 pairings, calling it her life’s purpose.

She’s an excellent representative for her country.

You’ve met her American counterpart, Mr. Shand, more times than you can recall throughout this process and it wouldn’t be out of line to say that they’re strangely similar. They know what they have to do and what this program means to the governments of both countries though you’d much rather have a fellow woman guide you through this awkward process than a man who says the word omega as though it’s a problem for him to solve and not a biological disposition you didn’t pick.

Narumi hasn’t arrived yet and you don’t imagine he’ll do so in a timely fashion. Slight disregard for other people’s time is something you’ve come to find out is a feature and not a bug when it comes to him. You have much more to learn and adapt to yet, it just so happens that this is the habit that is currently irritating you the most.

“I know this is a strange formality,” she starts to catch your attention, browsed raised enthusiastically. “Still, it means the world to our program and its future when our participants agree to share their success with others who are hoping to find mates of their own.”

You thought you’d feel more comfortable on your own instead of standing by his side like you will be shortly. You were wrong, instead standing with your arms folded over your stomach, palms hugging their opposite elbow. Nodding quietly, you offer her a tight smile that hopefully doesn’t give you away.

“How are you settling in? Have you continued your work with the geological service?”

At least work is something familiar that you know you can discuss. Another polite smile and nod, you unfold your arms and let them dangle at your sides.

“Things are going well so far, thank you for asking.”

She smiles at your intentional politeness. How different you are from your mate whose lateness becomes more rude with each second that passes. The back of your neck burns but you can’t tell if it’s the fresh bonding mark that your hair and neckline manage to only barely cover or because you’re embarrassed.

Work talk at least makes the burn stop so you clear your throat and return to it, that same tight smile on your face.

“I have been granted special permission to maintain my role from abroad which surprised me. They’ve accommodated me so much more than I expected.”

The stinging feeling at the base of your neck returns, the uncomfortable sensation no longer something you can ignore. Your face twitches, nose scrunching slightly. The director smiles knowingly, closing the distance between the two of you by leaning in.

“Is your mark burning?”

You nod, embarrassed by your inability to stay cool.

She shrugs to try and comfort you, the practiced smile on her face becoming something a tad more natural and warm unexpectedly. She’s perhaps too used to having these discussions with woefully uninformed alpha and omega both.

“It means he must be close by,” she explains and you once again nod wordlessly, reaching to covertly press your fingertips against the outline of Gen’s teeth.

It’s no longer just your neck that feels warm, your entire face heats while your mind replays the exact events that led to said mark. There are many things you could say about this man you barely know who you are now linked with in ways you cannot take back but he is far from a selfish lover.

“Thank you for telling me, I had no idea.”

That same smile remains on her face, surprisingly patient.

“Most people in the program know very little about what comes after mating. Part of what we do is education and emphasizing the importance of i —“

Halfway through her sentence, the man of the hour makes his appearance. The burning sensation of your mark turns into something far more pleasant as he approaches, a gentle shimmery numbness overcoming your tense and stressed body. The few heads in the room turn toward the commanding alpha who saunters into the room looking every bit the recently satiated and mated man he is.

“There you are.”

He nods in your direction, looking you up and down. You do the same in return, face heating while you greedily take in the sight of him in dress uniform. He’s a good looking man but you’ve seen him nude or in nothing but boxers and a white t-shirt more times than you’ve seen him clothed.

The perfectly tailored uniform rests across his broad chest, medals decorating the front of it. You swallow thickly and smile at him, tilting your head to the side and shifting your weight to your heels.

“You look good,” he reaches out and fixes the edge of your sleeve, hooking his finger beneath it and pulling it downward while you glance away.

Sneaking a glance at him, you find him already looking down at you with his usual little smirk. Despite yourself, you smile and reach to straighten out the pockets of his jacket in return.

“So do you, handsome. Definitely looking like Commander Narumi today.”

Now he looks away from you, turning toward Director Miyamo and letting her fill him in on how today will work. You’ll pose for a few photos, give a brief taped interview to go on the website and to be sent to news networks, and then you’ll be allowed to return to the temporary quarters you’ve been granted until a space the bonded pair can share becomes available.

You wish you knew better how to deal with the deluge of feelings Gen creates inside of you. A little bit of you is scared, terrified that he will never care about you more than beyond what your body means for him. A little bit more is cautiously optimistic that you can win him, “likable” being one of the things always written at the top of your performance reviews at work.

The problem is that you don’t want to have to win his affection, you want it to come naturally. He reacts so strangely to your blatant attraction toward him, how can this ever happen?

Sighing softly, you return to the prior posture of your arms crossed over your stomach and your elbows resting in your palms. It’s safe, you’ve done it your whole life when feeling insecure.

Narumi places his hand on your elbow, turning from the director toward you.

“Let’s get this show on the road.”

You smile and follow along, letting him gently guide you. A few steps lands you both in front of a large photography backdrop, a plain gray watercolor pattern that you both manage to stand out against.

“Okay, can you two stand very close together?” The photographer motions with their hand from behind the camera and lights, indicating how little space they’d like between the two of you.

Gen’s arm falls naturally around your shoulders, thumb rubbing a small circle against your bonding mark. You yelp but he shushes you, tossing you a look with his eyes that makes you smile and shake your head in response.

“Actually Commander, can you put that arm around her waist? And you,” the photographer points at you. “Hold hands with him in front of you and put your other arm at your side.

It feels awkward at first to lace your fingers with his but the fit is arguably perfect, his long digits that have curled inside of you more than they’ve curled around your palm suddenly holding your hand delicately.

“Perfect. Now look at each other, big smiles.”

You do as instructed and he does the same, eyes half lidded when he glances down at you. This is what makes you believe you aren’t just imagining things. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he looks positively smitten. Or he’s just the world's best actor. You haven’t really decided yet.

“You look beautiful together,” Miyamo opines from behind the photographer. Your smile deepens and so does his, the two of you locked in eye contact that is making your skin crawl and that clawing at your insides feeling return.

Are you about to go into heat just because he’s looking at you? It’s like a jolt of caffeine to your system to realize what’s happening but you play it off the best you can, shifting your feet slightly.

“You’re acting weird. You okay?” He asks and you smile tightly, nodding. All you can do is nod and nod and agree and agree and..

“Can we have a second?”

It surprises you that he speaks up on your behalf at all but his word is law so everyone agrees.

“Of course, we’ll give you two the room for a few minutes. We’ll begin shooting again in five minutes.”

The small team shuffles out and shuts the door behind them, leaving nothing but you two behind.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out unexpectedly. It’s shameful that you’re struggling to adapt the way that you are and you look toward the ground, remaining locked in your weird embrace with Narumi.

“For what?”

His eyes don’t move from you, still locked on your pretty little face. It definitely makes things easier that his mate is beautiful and patient and sweet and accomplished in her own right.

“Being weird, I guess.”

Chuckling, he slides his hand from your waist back to your shoulders and begins rubbing your bite again. Your back arches and eyes flutter closed, a humiliated groan escaping you.

“I think I’m going into heat again.”

The rubbing stops, his thumb simply resting on the mark now while his eyes widen.

“Again?”

Stomping your foot petulantly, your face twists from pleasure to irritation.

“Yes again and apparently this bonding mark stings when you’re close but not close enough.“ Huffing, your bottom lip twitches. “I‘m hot and horny and I feel so weird and nobody cares about my opinion anymore and you don’t even want to be around me and…”

Trailing off, you notice he’s frozen in place.

“I’m sorry,” you spit again and he shakes his head. His thumb remains in place against your bonding mark and his face becomes an unreadable mask.

“Stop apologizing for nothing. It’s fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Attempting to compose yourself and exhaling loudly, the director peeks into the room to check on you two and quickly it fills up again. The photographer begins snapping photos immediately and before you know it, you’re being ushered into comfortable seats to answer a few questions.

“Commander, what were your thoughts upon meeting your mate?”

This is not one of the questions you anticipated hearing him answer. You shift in the chair, keeping a smile across your lips while stealing a glance at him.

“At first I was skeptical and surprised but in her initial interview I remember thinking she seemed like a good person.”

The director smiles at his answer, looking into the camera. “And is she?”

Narumi nods, hiding a little smile of his own. His slicked back hair hides nothing and he has to wear whatever his feelings are on his face, turning to look at you with that same smile.

“Yeah. I think she is.”

Now it’s your turn to smile, feeling even more awkward about your prior outburst. Maybe you’re just crazy and he isn’t sending weird mixed messages constantly.

“And you? How did you feel about your alpha?”

Thinking for a moment, you clear your throat and recross your legs.

“I thought he seemed like someone I’d enjoy spending my time with and he is. We have a lot to learn about each other but I look forward to learning it all every day.”

The smile on his face grows and the director continues her explanation of how the program works while the two of you bask in probably the most honest example of whatever is going on here yet.

As of today, not only Japan but the whole world will know that Gen Narumi has met his match in more ways than one.

#narumi x reader #narumi x you #gen narumi x reader #narumi imagines #kn8 x reader #kendall writes #genken #cw omegaverse

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brain-rot-central · 8 months ago

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Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 4

A/N: Confrontation time. Here we go, y'all. I'm tagging this as borderline non-con for the ending. It steps into some murky territory that some may feel uncomfortable with. But hey, we're dealing with AA, after all. I'll also be linking a post reference within the text here; please click the link when you see it! It'll help you visualize a certain part. 🌝 Thank you all for the support thus far! I hope you enjoy reading ❤️

Rating: Explicit Word count: 7.7k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (named) Warnings: 18+, non-con (somewhat; literally touches the border of it), absolutely dubcon, mentions of pregnancy, mention of virginity loss, loss of innocence, manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, discussions of death and murder, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, PiV sex, PiV sex while pregnant, blood drinking, mother-fuckin' vampire sex boiiiiiiiiii (sorry these tags are way too serious and I am not)

Summary: Tav arrives at the Crimson Palace, poised for a confrontation with Astarion. A delicate dance ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as she enters, but once they do, the sight before her nearly robs her of all speech and reason.

Illuminated by candelabras, Tav gasps in awe at the renovations to the interior of the manor. The once drab and outdated decor has been ripped out, heart and soul, and replaced with… white. So much white.

White walls, white marble flooring with golden accents, tall white marble columns. A generous crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, Tav looking up. Her vision comes down to settle on the plush red carpet lining the foyer, stretching through the hall and into the ballroom. The reflection of the candlelight shimmers along the marble floors. A sunset on the water… Tav notes offhandedly to herself.

A commemoration to their moment of triumph over the Absolute.

They all stood atop the dock watching the sun set over the horizon, sunlight glinting off the sea. The moment the tadpole vanished, Astarion became free. Truly and completely free.

A life regained, a future unwritten.

Reborn anew.

As she continues to drink in the new additions to the palace, Tav sees a figure approach from the corner of her eye. She turns her head to observe an older human woman making her way down the carpet, a smile set upon her slightly wrinkled face.

“Good evening, young miss,” the woman greets with a short bow. “Have you come to ask for an audience with Lord Ancunín?”

Tav remains silent for a moment as she quickly gives the woman a glance over. Gray hair with a time-worn face, albeit one that still shows the beauty she once beheld. She wears a simple long black dress with long sleeves, a white apron tied around her waist. Her shoes are black with a big metal buckle adorning the top of each. “I beg pardon for my current appearance,” the woman offers, giving the apron a quick pat down. “It isn’t often we have visitors this time in the evening.”

“No…” Tav begins, voice trailing off as she regroups her thoughts. “Not an audience, no. I’m…” Her chest thumps as she ponders their relationship. “...A friend of Astarion's. Is he home?”

“The young Master is in, yes; though I'm afraid he's currently occupied.” As if sensing Tav’s disappointment, the woman questions, “May I ask who you are?”

Tav nods her head respectfully. “I'm Tav.” The woman quirks a questioning brow. “Tavaria,” she adds quickly. “I was a traveling companion to Astarion over a year ago.”

And much more…

A spark shoots across the woman's vision and Tav recoils backward, readying herself.

“Ah!” the woman exclaims joyfully, “Lady Tavaria!” The woman bows earnestly. “Lord Ancunín extends his warmest greetings to you. Welcome to the Crimson Palace.”

With a smile, Tav softens her stance. She bows in return. “Thank you. It's… definitely different than before,” she comments while looking around the room.

“Ah, yes,” the woman agrees, “Master Astarion has renovated the manor to his distinct liking after the untimely passing of its prior occupant.”

“I see,” Tav states with a laugh. “This is all… very Astarion.” Elegant and refined.

All for show.

Continuing her observation of the room, a painting hanging on the middle wall catches Tav's eyes. She walks toward the painting, stopping just in front of it.

It's a black and white piece, looking to have been drawn in charcoal, depicting a man and woman sharing an intimate embrace. Both are naked, the woman's face obscured by her pose as she bows her back while offering her throat to the man. His head rests within her neck, his long black hair flowing down his back. The accompanying piece focuses solely on the man. The lustful look demonstrated in the man's half-lidded eyes as he looks up from the woman's throat has Tav shaking where she stands.

She's seen that look before. Not unlike how Astarion has looked at her.

The servant woman smiles, still standing in the same spot, clasping her hands together. “You must be exhausted, dearie,” she says, cutting through the silence. “Shall I direct you to your chambers?”

Tav blinks rapidly and turns her head to the woman. “I’m sorry, but did you say ‘my chambers?’” She shakes her head with a short laugh. “I don't live here.”

“But of course, my lady,” offers the servant. “Master Astarion has asked that we offer it as an option should you ever visit the manor.” She nods her head with another beatific smile. “There is no obligation. It is simply a kind gesture.” She bows, courteously, “My apologies for any offense I may have given, Lady Tavaria.”

Tav nods briefly, turning away from the woman as her mind races. He made me a bloody bedroom? She lifts her head and once again finds the picture on the wall. A chill travels up her neck as she locks eyes with the intense gaze of the man in the painting. Her breath hitches.

“Do you know when Astarion will be available?” Tav asks hurriedly, looking toward the woman.

The servant shakes her head. “I'm afraid I do not, though I can set you up in the study while you wait?” Smiling again, the woman walks across the room to a set of double doors on the far right. She opens them wide and gestures to Tav, welcoming her to enter.

Clutching her satchel, Tav walks through the threshold and into the office. It's rather standard when compared to the rest of the manor; dark green carpeting and wood panel walls. Multiple bookcases that are carved into the walls, holding a plethora of tomes. A couple glass display cases are near the large window on the far side of the room. The evening sunlight pours in from the wide window and onto the chaise lounge adjacent to it; a relaxing spot for one who wishes to bask in the sun.

The solid, dark wooden desk across from the double doors has a number of loose papers strewn about the top. An ornate wooden chair sits behind the desk, purple velvet upholstery with golden Damask patterns lining the back and seat. Two simple royal blue armchairs sit before the desk, signaling the office’s likely use for business gatherings.

“Please, make yourself at home,” the older woman says from behind as she enters the room. She walks over to the desk and gathers the documents into a single pile. “Would you care for something to drink, my lady? I'd be happy to bring you something after informing Lord Ancunín of your presence.”

Tav turns her head in acknowledgement of the older woman. “I'm quite well, thank you.” She furrows her brow. “Though, I didn't catch your name before.”

The woman freezes momentarily before bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaims in embarrassment, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Where are my manners today?” She quickly bows. “Magdalena, my lady. A true pleasure to make your acquaintance. My sincerest apologies.”

“It’s quite alright, Magdalena. No harm done,” Tav says with a calming wave of her hand. She walks toward the grand window and turns to face the older woman again. “Thank you for your hospitality thus far. I’ll settle myself in.”

With a nod of her head, Magdalena begins to exit the study. “Of course, Lady Tavaria. I’ll inform Master Astarion of your presence at once.” The doors close behind her with a soft click, and suddenly, Tav is alone.

She removes the satchel from around her chest, depositing the bag onto the chaise lounge. Her hat and scarf are next to join as she shakes out her hair. Tav tries to look through the frosted glass window without success. The opacity is too intense to make out anything more than muddled blobs. Turning around, she begins to walk the perimeter of the room, stopping in front of a large glass display case with a large book resting within. The cover of the book is adorned with skin, stitched into the pattern of a screaming face. An amethyst jewel sits within the face’s open mouth. Tav recalls the long nights and early mornings Astarion spent reasoning with this book until finally uncovering its secrets.

The Necromancy of Thay.

Of course he kept it.

She continues on, noting each small trinket that sits within the shelves of the grand bookcases. Slipping her hands behind her back, Tav peers over the wooden desk and observes the pile of documents on top. She pops her head up to briefly scan the room. Satisfied that she has clear advantage, she takes a hand to swipe over the letters.

There are various invitations to grand balls in distant kingdoms, letters of gratitude from high nobles, bills of sale… Tav’s eyes widen as she spots a familiar name amongst the many signatures.

With deepest admiration, Araj Oblodra

Tav reaches over and picks up the letter off the desk, holding it steady with both hands as she skims through the contents. From what she gathers, it sounds as if Araj has learned of Astarion’s new circumstances. She’s highly apologetic for her past behavior and would very much like an opportunity to show her sincerest gratitude. The letter goes on further to imply that they take the chance to get to know one another better, and perhaps they can even become allies.

Tav scoffs as she places the piece of paper back down on the desk.

She resumes her roaming when she settles on a small jewelry case on the top left of the desk. Walking around the edge, Tav fixates on the case, a startled gasp slips past her lips as she recognizes the jewelry within.

Resting atop a red velvet cushion lay a golden ring with a turquoise stone in its center. One half of a matching set of rings she had found during their journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Tav was in possession of both rings for quite some time, going back and forth with herself about whether giving him one half would be too much.

She’d grown to like him; really-really like him, but she’d no idea if he felt the same. It wasn’t until the night of Astarion’s confession that Tav made her decision. Feeling the tension within his body as she wrapped her arms around his waist, yet fighting through his hesitation to return her embrace. It was enough to convince her that he truly did want to give them a try.

She presented the ring to him the following morning as they packed up camp.

“...A bit soon for a proposal, no?” quips Astarion, expression smug.

Tav stands before him. A ring with a golden aura lays within the palm of her hand, held out in silent offer. “N-no!” she stammers, the ghost of a blush tinting her cheeks. She averts her gaze as she says, “It's an enchanted ring.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow in question. “I can see that quite clearly, dear. But what does it do?”

Turning to look at him under her eyes, Tav replies shyly, “...It allows me to cast a special protection spell on you.” Her cheeks burn hot, her skin beginning to prickle.

His eyes darken as he leans forward. “Oh,” Astarion teases, voice velvet, “you wish to be my Knight?” He begins to move into her, hovering his lips just above hers. “You want to save a poor, innocent maiden such as I,” he coos. “Is that it, darling?”

They spent the majority of the following night rutting feverishly against one another, sharing a mutual need to scrub their underclothes in the river the morning after. From that point forward, each wore their respective ring around the fourth finger of the left hand.

Commotion outside the office brings Tav back to the present. She hears the voice of a woman, though not of the servant from earlier. Tav sneaks closer toward the doors, placing her ear to the wood to hopefully catch some of the conversation.

Still muffled, she thinks with a scowl. Drawing a deep breath in, Tav makes a quick split decision and grabs hold of the doorknob, twisting it gently. She feels the lock unlatch and pulls the door open just enough to allow for a small sliver of visibility. Tav strains against the door as she tries to find a better angle.

A tall elven woman with long blonde hair stands in the foyer exchanging words with Magdalena. Dressed in professional attire, she hands the maid a business card as they exchange pleasantries. Tav catches the woman's head beginning to turn toward the direction of the office and Tav quickly steps out of sight, holding her breath, heart flying within her chest. A few moments pass without incident before Tav slowly inches toward the crack in the door. She finds Magdalena bowing as the elf takes her leave of the manor.

There isn't much time to ponder who this mysterious woman is – the sound of footsteps marching along marble flooring fills the air.

“Good evening, Master,” greets Magdalena, kneeling in a curtsy.

“Good evening, my dear.” A man's voice, deep and smooth. Perfectly poised. Her stomach lurches; she knows that voice.

Tav holds her breath as talk continues just beyond the door. She quickly scans the room to determine which is closer – the blue armchair sitting before the desk, or the chaise lounge near the window.

As the man's footsteps draw closer to the door Tav bolts for the armchair, sitting promptly. She adjusts herself to appear as if she's been waiting patiently for his arrival all this time.

“Odd that the door is already open,” Tav hears the man comment from just beyond the door.

Shit.

A flash of embarrassing heat crawls up her neck. Magdalena mutters something to Astarion under her breath, but it's too quiet for Tav to make out. The doors suddenly swing open and Tav remains still, trying desperately to settle the overactive current that is her nerves.

She smells him first before she sees him – the signature scent of rosemary, bergamot and brandy encompassing the quaint office. “Thank you, Magdalena. Now, please, carry on,” he says smoothly.

Tav hears the man begin to approach from behind, placing the palms of his hands atop her shoulders. “I’m sure you've done a fine job at making our Lady feel welcome, hmm?” He squeezes her shoulders, Tav flinching beneath his grasp.

Tav tries desperately to resist the urge to look at him. When she closes her eyes she envisions the sharpness of his jaw behind her mind's eye, coupled with the smell of his cologne that’s currently assaulting her senses – she simply cannot look at him. If she does, she's going to fall.

She'll forget about the murders. Forget how angry she is that he dared come to her in a state of blood-crazed lust. That she carries a child he knows nothing about, that he can never know anything about.

If she looks at his face, so perfectly sculpted by the Gods themselves, she's going to forget every reason as to why she should stay far, far away from this man. Longing for nothing more than to fall into his arms for the rest of eternity.

“Y-yes,” Tav replies, nervously. “You've been ever so kind, Magdalena. Thank you.” Finally, she turns, eyes meeting with the servant woman. Tav feels the pale elf's searing gaze upon her skin as she deliberately looks past him, the hands on her shoulders relaxing.

“Wonderful,” he sings with a wave of his hand. “Now leave us, Magdalena.” He walks around Tav, coming to lean against the lip of the office desk. “The Lady and I have much to discuss,” he purrs, leaning over as he places a hand upon her jaw. Slowly he tilts her face upright, staring directly into her eyes. “Isn't that right, love?”

Within an instant, she feels faint. An unsettling warmth begins to spread. “Yes, Astarion,” Tav murmurs softly as his fingers slip down her neck. Her eyes flutter closed as the hand inevitably falls free of her. Astarion slowly leans back and upright, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He breaks eye contact to focus on Magdalena.

The servant woman bows, closing the doors behind her with an audible ‘thud’ as she takes her leave. The room is silent then. Tav’s heart pounds in her ears as she stares beyond Astarion again, focusing on the ring box at the corner of the desk. She only realizes how rapidly she's breathing as the sound reaches her ears.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s smooth voice cuts through. “You look as though you've seen a ghost.”

Raising her head, Tav meets his eyes. He stands before her, concern written across his features. For a split second, Tav sees him – the dashing rogue she fell in love with.

The way Astarion is knitting his brow, wide glassy eyes studying her. It's all very much like him.

“I’m fine,” she forces out, swallowing hard.

“Did Magdalena offend you?” Astarion asks urgently.

Tav shakes her head. “No, she truly has been pleasant.”

He leans over her again. Astarion drags a finger delicately up the side of her cheek. “Then why do you cry?”

Immediately Tav raises a hand to her opposite cheek. Moisture coats her fingertips as she finds a stray tear rolling down her cheek. She’s unsure when or why she’s begun to weep, wiping the tear away with the back of her hand. Tav pulls herself out of Astarion’s touch with a slight groan.

“I-I’m fine, really,” she insists. “I… came to see you.”

The vampire's expression softens as he tilts his head. “I haven't come to you in some time,” Astarion says, walking toward a carafe of wine sitting atop a metal cart near the window. “I apologize for that.” He speaks over his shoulder, pouring the wine out into a glass. He gestures with the carafe briefly to Tav; she shakes her head. “Although, I can't say I anticipated you showing up here.” Placing the carafe back down on the cart, Astarion turns, lips pulling into a smirk as he brings the wine glass to his lips. “Is it true then, what they say? Has absence made your heart grow fonder?”

Tav stands and turns to Astarion, giving him a full glance over. He wears a simple white dress shirt, the top few buttons undone revealing glimpses of his sculpted chest. His trousers are something she’s unfamiliar with – a type of woven cotton in a particular vertical design, and dyed blue. Indigo blue. He's wearing a black belt, threaded into loops within the pants around his hips. Tav imagines there's a fastener under the belt buckle, but also something else to help secure the garment. Something metal running down the front seam of the pants. Her eyes finish their course down his legs to find a simple pair of polished black loafers.

“...I'll take that as a yes,” Astarion comments with a quirk of his brow. He returns from across the room to once again take his place leaning against the desk in front of Tav, setting the wine glass down.

“N-no,” Tav blurts out, “I mean yes, but…” She feels the warmth of embarrassment crawl up her neck, nipping along her skin as it floods her face.

A hand rises to move her hair gently aside. Astarion leans forward and dips his head into the crook of her neck, planting chaste kisses along the tender flesh. “I missed you,” he whispers into her skin. Hot puffs of breath spread over her neck and Tav shudders. Almost instinctively, she raises her head to allow Astarion better access to her throat; her eyes flutter closed. His hand in her hair winds around the back of her head, gently guiding Tav’s head further to the side before falling to her hip.

Tav gasps as Astarion pulls their bodies flush against one another. His arousal has yet to awaken, though she can still feel the outline of him against her core. She groans as he rolls her hips into her again and again; slow, languid thrusts that have bolts of pleasure shooting up from between her thighs and spreading like wildfire through her body.

“Astarion…” Tav protests weakly, raising a hand to cover Astarion's on her hip. “I didn't come here for this.”

He purrs into her throat, gently nipping and teasing the skin around her scars with blunted teeth. “Oh, no? Are you sure?” Astarion pulls her into him again while imitating a piercing bite into her neck.

She moans, louder than she means to, finally feeling the rigidness of his cock firmly against her sex. Her head falls against his shoulder as he continues rolling his hips against her, hardly noticing Astarion moving his hand from her hip to her lower back. A spark of panic zaps through her addled mind as she realizes where this is heading.

“Y-yes, I'm sure,” she insists, somehow managing to pull herself out of Astarion's embrace. The room spins around her as she turns to face him. “There's something I wanted to discuss with you,” she says breathlessly, vision finally starting to clear.

His expression falls, replaced by smug dissatisfaction. “You came halfway across the city… just to talk?” asks Astarion, narrowing his eyes.

Tav nods her head in agreement. “Yes, it's something rather important.”

Astarion groans low in his throat, grabbing the glass of wine off the desk and walking toward the office window. He brings the crimson liquid to his lips and takes a strong sip. “You could have sent a damned pigeon, if that's all you wanted,” he snides over his shoulder.

“Not about this.” Tav feels her throat run dry as she speaks. Her lust has settled for now, replaced by the live wire of anticipation.

“About what?” Astarion growls defensively. He spins around, entire body leaning into his words. Like an animal being cornered.

Tav flinches reflexively. It’s rare that Astarion ever raises his voice to her, even during disagreements. She swallows, hardening her resolve. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, taking another long drink from his wine glass. His face softens. “I'm sorry, love, but I'm having a very rough time ascertaining what could ever be so important that you felt the need to bring yourself here,” he gestures wildly to the floor below him, “to me, just to talk?”

She doesn't respond.

The tension eases from his form as he studies Tav, clearly shaken by his display. He sucks his teeth in defeat. “Oh, for the love of Shar’s cunt, fine,” he groans. “If you're going to look at me like that, then fine, I'll bite.” He comes to rest on the chaise lounge near the window, knees spread wide, his forearms resting over the tops of his thighs. “So, what can I do for you, my friend?”

Tav winces, looking down at her hands as she fidgets her fingers. He's being heavily sarcastic, though at least it's an invitation to continue. “...There was an article recently in the Gazette,” she begins, voice quivering. “That spoke of a murder within the sewers.”

Astarion scoffs. “Unsurprising for those cesspits, but do carry on.”

Her eyes shift momentarily to his face before falling back to the floor. “It's reported that there were five victims in total. Three had their throats slashed, while the other two…” her voice trails off as her throat tightens. Tav tries to swallow, but nothing goes down. Panic rises within her, adrenaline building.

“The other two what, dear?” Astarion's voice is dark, firm. He stands from his place on the lounge, walking slowly over to Tav. He stands before her, brows pulled together, his eyes cast down upon her face. A hand comes up to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me,” he demands.

She gasps, Tav finally saying with some hesitation, “They had fang marks… embedded in their throats. Resembling the scars I bear.” She blinks. “The ones you gave me,” she adds, quietly.

His eyes darken with malice as his face contorts. His grip on her chin tightens, forcibly lifting her head to the side to observe her branding. Astarion pulls in a full breath as he looks over her neck, mouth dropping open in an exasperated exhale.

“...Do you know anything about this?” Tav chokes out, eyelashes fluttering rapidly.

“And why would I know anything about that, hmm?” Astarion lowers his head into the crook of her neck, panting heavily against her skin. Tav shakes from their proximity. He then drags his lips up the side of her face, resting them against her ear. “I'm not the only monster lurking in the shadows,” he whispers.

The hand on her chin falls to her hip, guiding her gently toward the lip of the desk. “I know how you think of me, darling.” Tav sucks in a sharp breath as her backside bumps into the wood. “That I’m the big bad wolf coming to steal you away in the night.” Astarion buries his nose within her hair, inhaling deeply as he pulls their bodies flush together again.

“A-answer the question, Astarion,” Tav insists, her head beginning to cloud.

“Oh, but wouldn't you rather hear what I miss most about you, Tavaria?” he growls into her ear. “What memories play incessantly again and again in my mind?” Astarion grinds himself against her center again, coaxing a suggestive moan out of Tav. Her arms rise to encircle his neck, her resolve beginning to shatter.

“A-Astarion,” Tav whines desperately. “D-don’t…”

He drops his head to rest their foreheads together, lips practically touching. “I miss how you’d writhe in my lap as I'd drink from you,” Astarion confesses. He pulls at her bottom lip, suckling the flesh between his. “The way you flutter around my cock when you fall off the edge for me.” He kisses her more thoroughly this time, groaning softly into her mouth as Tav’s jaw slackens. “But, do you know what I miss above all else?” suggests Astarion, pulling back. He dips his head again into the nape of her neck, a hand rising to gently hold the opposite side of her face.

Tav grasps at the linen of his dress shirt, bunching the fabric within the palms of her hands. She's now rocking her hips in rhythm with his, a smoldering fire now roaring to life deep within her belly. Her body calls for him, and Tav wonders briefly if he can hear it.

The crazed beating of her heart? The lone song it sings only for him? The proof of their union that grows within?

“Your blood,” Astarion speaks against her skin. Suddenly he places his mouth over her scars and sucks voraciously, like a man starved. Tav moans, buckling at the knees momentarily. She grabs at his hair, threading her fingers deep against their roots for leverage. “Gods, there's nothing quite like the vintage of your blood,” he continues as he unlatches from her throat. The delicacy of her skin has given way to a mauve bloom; he smiles as he pulls away.

She shakes beneath him. If it weren't for the desk behind her, Tav would certainly collapse. He's trying to seduce her. Fuck her into submission – make her crave him so that she's more pliable, in whichever way he desires. These are his classic manipulation tactics, not unlike their humble beginnings.

“I know w-what you're doing, Astarion,” Tav says. “Don’t toy with me.”

He laughs – a quick condescending sound breaking free from his lips. “Oh, darling, you've been toying with me for months now. I'm very aware,” Astarion says with a smirk. He cranes his head. “Our dance is always the same – we fight, we kiss, and then I make the sweetest love to you as you weave your fingers between the very threading of my soul, ripping my heart free of my chest,” he adds with a sneer, pounding a fist over his heart.

Astarion pauses for a brief moment to stare at her. He pulls in a quick breath and his face softens. “And I let you, every time.” Tav gasps as the hand holding her face slides to her chin, fingers tracing the outline of her lips. “But you?” he continues, gesturing to a shelf on the wall behind them with a nod of his head, “You keep yours high on a shelf, completely out of reach. No matter how I clamor for it.”

Astarion releases her, hands entirely off her being as he steps back. “I lay myself bare for you every time. But you refuse to see it. Refuse to see me, beyond the glitz and glamor.” He knits his brow again, and Tav swears she sees a hint of moisture gather at the edges of his eyes. “Yet, I say nothing, because this is the only way you allow me to have you. And I’d rather have some of you than nothing at all.”

Silence blankets them both.

Has she been unfair to him? Cruel? Has she so sorely misjudged who he’s become? Tav shifts her gaze down to the floor as the questions mount. Maybe he isn’t this grand demon she’s characterized him to be. His talk of power and control after the ritual – perhaps it was a rush of emotions? The first taste of freedom after so many years of indentured servitude? He seems more settled now, not in so much of a rush to bend the entire city to his will.

Perhaps… she was wrong?

“So, may we skip straight to the finale?” says Astarion, distracting her from her thoughts, “Because I’m not quite sure how much more of this I can take.”

Her mouth hangs open, too stunned to speak. Tav looks up; she meets his eyes.

Maniacal laughter as he bathes in a glowing red aura of 7000 souls extinguished.

His face when the ritual was complete. The way he roared. How he laughed.

No, she's not wrong for mistrusting him. He's worse than a devil themselves.

They stare into one another's eyes, the tension swirling about the room thickening. Tav blinks; he still hasn't answered her question.

“You still haven't answered my question, Astarion.”

She stands firm.

He scoffs, turning his head toward the grand window. Astarion runs a hand over his face; he bites the top of a finger. “No,” he answers sternly, dropping the hand from his mouth. “I don't take particular interest in what happens within the bowels of this city.” He glances down at the fingernails of his closed fist, rubbing them across the front of his shirt. “My days of being a sewer rat are long gone, my dear.”

Tav winces. She's not entirely yet convinced. “Are you sure?”

Slowly, Astarion returns his attention to her. “Yes,” he growls low in this throat, “I am sure.” He tilts his head to the side as he lifts his brow. “Satisfied?”

Briefly she narrows her eyes, studying his face. Something about this… she's seen it before. He's pulled his face into an all-too-perfect expression. Not a muscle out of place.

“Yes, thank you,” she answers. Tav watches his liar’s mask slide off, replaced by a smug expression. He’s truly convinced he has her fooled.

How could she have ever loved such a horrid creature?

“Excellent,” Astarion hums as he clasps his hands. “Shall we return to more pressing matters?” His hands raise to caress the soft edges of her hips. He drops his face to her forehead, planting a soft, lingering kiss. Gently he rocks them together again.

He's turning this into his playground. His bargaining chip.

Sex. Lies. Manipulation.

He falls back on them every time. Seals every deal with the proposition of ‘a little death;’ wielding his body like a finely sharpened tool. In her case, if she doesn't play her cards carefully, Tav could very well be staring face to face with actual death.

“Of course,” she sings to him. “I wouldn't be truthful if I said I hadn't been thinking of this.” She smiles softly to him, in just the way she knows he likes – a smile that reaches her eyes. It's her turn to start dealing her hand.

And just as expected, Astarion folds.

Hands reach behind her knees, Astarion lifting her up and onto the top of the desk. Their kiss is hurried as he slots himself between her splayed thighs, his tongue entwining itself around hers. Astarion's hands travel up again, one landing on her waist while the other palms at a clothed breast. Tav arches her back, pushing her chest into his touch. She sighs as he continues massaging the tender mound, mewling into his mouth as he pulls teasingly at her nipple. Breaking the kiss, she rests her forehead against the bridge of his nose. Her chest heaves as she tries to regain her breath.

Astarion releases her breast and slides his hand up to push the strap of her dress off her shoulder. “Lay down,” he commands with a whisper. Tav hesitates at first, but then moves slowly. She gently lays back onto the surface of the desk; the wood is cold against her exposed skin, sending a chill through her. Astarion leans forward, planting open-mouthed kisses to her neck and the newly exposed area of her shoulder. He travels down, suckling softly at the swell of her breast. She writhes beneath his touch as his hair tickles her chest.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” says Astarion, kissing down the expanse of her abdomen. Tav grasps at silver locks, threading her fingers through Astarion’s hair as he begins hiking up her dress.

“You’ve said that to me before,” she pants heavily while stealing a look between her legs. An involuntary twitch ripples through her as he kisses the inside of her thigh. Tav feels him smirk into her skin.

“And still you’ve yet to seek out its meaning,” comes his prompt response. Astarion hooks his fingers into the hem of her undergarments, Tav lifting her hips enough for him to slide the fabric down her legs. They hang off one ankle as he resumes lavishing attention to her.

She arches off the desk as he kisses her mound, dipping his head momentarily to swipe his tongue teasingly up her slit. “W-uh, what d-does it mean?” she questions in a moan.

Astarion hums as he kneels before her spread legs. “You'll just have to find out for yourself,” he teases. Holding her legs open, he runs the flat of his tongue up her center, stopping to lavish her sensitive bud. He wraps his lips around her clit, suckling gently as he brings a hand to her entrance.

“What are you-” Tav exclaims, clearly panicked. Two of his fingers prod over her entrance, Astarion lightly teasing the tips in and out. Their eyes connect and he finally breaches forward, his eyes now rolling back into his skull as he continues lapping at her cunt. He curls his fingers, jerking his hand back and forth to pass over the intimate spot within. Tav’s vision begins to fill with searing white heat, her body writhing under him. He's bringing her closer and closer to release, and fast. More quickly than ever before.

“Gods, you taste even better than I remember,” he moans softly, adding fuel to the ever-mounting fire within her belly. Astarion kisses her opposite thigh, continuing the assault with his fingers. “Thiramen,” he says softly, sensing her proximity to the precipice.

The fucking Elvish. He surely hasn't forgotten the effect it has on her.

“D-don’t… not fair…” Tav whines, looking down between her legs as she runs her hands through Astarion's hair. Her thighs quake, the coil in her lower belly winding tighter and tighter as it threatens to snap.

Astarion meets her gaze, tongue once again passing over her swollen clit. “Thiramen eath’she,” he says. “Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen...”

Astarion curls his finger with just the right amount of finesse and suddenly Tav’s body ceases. She cries out, loud and wanton, her release spilling into the palm of his hand. Astarion smirks and continues passing his fingers over her spot, coaxing her through the intensity of her pleasure. Tav pulls her knees together and finally rolls away from his touch, too overstimulated to take any more. Her chest heaves as aftershocks of her release rock through her.

The vampire smiles as he stands up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Opening her legs again, he leans over her. Tav’s face is flushed red, her eyes still closed as her mouth hangs open. He makes a quick mental note of her current state to call upon for later use. “So beautiful,” Astarion comments, snaking a hand down to the button of his trousers. With the deftness expected of a skilled rogue, he pops open the button and loosens the fastener.

Tav finally comes to, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Astarion…” she breathes, raking her nails over his bare chest. Looking between their bodies, she follows his hand as he reaches within the waistband of his underclothes, pulling them down his thighs. His cock springs free and Tav gasps. Pre-fluid gathers at the tip of him and her eyes flutter upward to meet his again, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“I'll stop, if you want,” Astarion whispers through kiss-swollen lips. Guiding his length to rest against her sex, he groans softly, resting his head against her forehead. Involuntarily twitches of his hips have his shaft sliding deliciously through her arousal. Both pull in a sharp breath when the head of his cock catches at her entrance, Tav’s body arching off the desk at the sensation.

Shaky hands rise to hold either side of his face, and Tav notices for the first time that evening how warm it is. A soft blush sits high on his face, across the tops of his cheeks. Astarion turns his head into her palm, planting gentle kisses. Any reservations begin to melt away at the gesture. “No,” she breathes, “it's fine. I want this.” Tav runs her thumb back and forth over his cheek. “Even if only for a little while.”

He nods, completely silent, then guides himself along her core. Her hands tangle within moonlit locks as he breeches her entrance. Her sudden pleasured moan is swallowed in a kiss, Astarion groaning out is own into her mouth as his length slips deeper, deeper, until he hits her end. Tav tastes the remnants of her release on his tongue; a bitter sweetness that tickles the back of her throat. An involuntary clenching of her walls around his cock as his tip kisses the end of her tunnel has Astarion moaning again, breaking their kiss. He buries his head within the crook of her neck, resting there for a brief moment as he bottoms out.

They lay still, Tav pressing a heated cheek to the side of his face. Inhaling deeply, she crosses her legs over the small of his back and pulls him impossibly closer. Astarion adjusts the angle of his hips and she gasps as the head of his cock pushes against her cervix again, slightly arching into his embrace. Gently he begins to rock his hips – short, teasing thrusts to test her readiness. He lavishes attention to her neck with languid kisses, suckling at the delicate skin.

This is… passionate. Intimate, Tav realizes. The words he cannot say aloud, that he's too afraid to say aloud, he'll express through this.

This is her Astarion. The man she fell in love with over a year ago. Here, like this, is him. Tav turns her face to plant reassuring kisses against his temple. “You can move, Astarion,” she tells him.

He doesn't lift his face, but she feels how he breathes against her skin. A hand comes up to thread within her hair, the other landing on her hip. He’s silent as he begins to move – pulling out before slowly plunging back in. They stay like this for a bit, Astarion rocking his hips into her core with added fevor. He glides smoothly as her arousal grows, Tav falling easily into their shared rhythm.

“Tav?”

She opens her eyes, unaware of having closed them. “Mmm?” she groans softly, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he adjusts his angle.

“Do you trust me?”

It takes a moment, but she’s sure she hears a sort of sternness in his voice. Tav peels her head back to meet his eyes. They're wild – dark crimson pools that threaten to swallow her whole. Astarion breathes heavily through his nose, eyes cast down as he awaits an answer.

She opens her mouth to speak but the words catch in her throat. With a wandering eye she finds the ring laying next to her on the corner of the desk. Light gleams on the gold band, reflecting off the glass of encasement.

He kept the ring, she argues to herself. He kept his half of the rings.

Were he so terrible, would he have done that?

“I do,” Tav answers nervously, blinking rapidly.

“May I ask a favor?”

Astarion stills his movements. He holds himself up by his elbows, but not before guiding Tav to lay flat on the surface of the desk. She nods her head slowly as she looks up to him, inviting him to continue.

In an instant, her stomach twists.

He smiles.

“It's been so long since I've supped of you, darling,” Astarion says, voice smooth as velvet. “Would you be ever so kind to grant me another taste?”

A chill runs up her spine. The room is cold, suddenly so very cold. She's ripped violently from the benevolent illusion of the moment, finding herself face to face with the very creature of tales long past.

The innocent maidens.

They always come for the innocent maidens.

She was nowhere near innocent – not for many years. But a maiden? Yes, of this she was sure.

She never did tell Astarion, but he was her first as much as she was his. Her mind may have still been fractured, but somehow she had certainty of that one fact. The moment he breached her maidenhead was the beginning of everything. Bit by bit he carved out pieces of her. Took them, stole them for himself. More and more she gave, all in an effort to appease his ever-growing lust for power and control.

Astarion is, and was, a rolling thunderstorm – lightning fit to strike for no reason other than he can.

And now he's asking, again, for more.

An overwhelming urge to cry is building within her, but she won't. She chose this. To be here, with him. Like this. The consequences of her actions playing out in real time.

Her stomach twists again and she winces in pain. She understands his craving for blood well. The pregnancy has been kicking up old feelings; she believed them to be settled after the rejection of her Father. Can she really deny him his hunger?

Tav lifts her face to meet his gaze. Astarion is looking down at her with a blank expression. He silently awaits her answer.

“...D-do not turn me, Astarion,” comes her shaky response.

A deep rumble travels up his chest as he twists his face into a foreboding smile. “Of course not, my love,” he purrs, like a cat that finally got the cream. His hand twists within Tav’s hair, guiding her head upward to expose the long column of her throat. His eyes find her scars again and he sucks in a sharp breath, involuntarily jerking his hips into her core. Astarion’s arousal has flagged, though the promise of her blood has him twitching back to life.

Tav groans as she feels him swell within her, hooking her legs back around the small of his waist. Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes as she feels his gaze upon her. “Be gentle, please,” she pleads. Trembling hands rise to hold his shoulders as he moves into position, his mouth hovering above her neck.

Astarion peppers the underside of her jaw with kisses as he trails down her neck. “I would never dream of being anything but,” he speaks into her skin. He swipes his tongue over her mark, his mark, enclosing his mouth over the spot and suckling lightly. “You'll barely feel a thing.”

She could stop this. She should stop this. But instead, she lies in wait, bracing herself for the icy sting of his fangs piercing her flesh. Tav feels the points of his teeth press into her neck; she screws her eyes shut as they sink in, hands flying to the top of his head. She groans, gripping handfuls of silver hair.

He's right – the pain is only momentary, replaced by a familiar, comforting warmth. Astarion sucks in earnest, mouthfuls of her blood rushing down his throat. With his cock fully replenished, Astarion resumes a steady rhythm, thrusting in time with each pull of blood into his mouth. He groans against her skin.

He desires this, he desires me, Tav reassures herself. The edges of her vision are beginning to darken; a telltale sign that she's reaching her limit. “Astarion,” she says meekly, trying to alert him of her condition.

Yet, he continues to drink.

She pants against his forehead as she tries desperately to break free of his hold. Her strength is quickly fading, more of her vision fading with each pull of her blood into his mouth. Still his thrusts continue; a numbness starts to spread from her core throughout her limbs.

“Astarion…” Tav calls again, voice barely above a whisper.

The ceiling is the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes. Even behind her closed lids the room spins. One hand slips from the top of Astarion's head and onto the table, followed shortly by the other.

As she slips closer and closer into unconsciousness, Tav makes peace with the fact that she chose this. She knew this was a possibility. She knew he desired this, and she gave it to him. Willing.

He outplayed her.

A single thought races across her mind before she fades, of the artwork in the foyer.

The vampire bites the woman he desires.

Finally, Tav succumbs to the dark.

Astarion continues to drink.

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

A/N: PHEW. Well. The art I referenced above I believe is a scene from a manga called "Blood Sucker," but I couldn't find an actual panel depicting the image above, even with reverse image searching. If anyone can find the actual reference, please feel free to inform me and I'll adjust the link. Translations for the Elvish are as followed: Ai armiel telere maenen hir - "You hold my heart forever" Thiramen - "I love you/my love" when referring to soulmates Thiramen eath’she - "I love you forever," again, in the context of soulmates Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen - "Let go for me, my love," Sources are here & here

Hope you had fun reading!!

#astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 astarion #fanfiction #astarion smut #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x named tav #astarion ancunin #bg3 #my writing #astarion x durge #astarion x female tav #astarion x female dark urge #sotlc

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hayleythesugarbowl · 1 year ago

Note

if you get some free time can you please write something halloween-y about shayne topp? i feel like he’d be the perfect fall boyfriend omg

Worth the Wait || Shayne Topp x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist • shayne hcs ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ summary: shayne is determined to find out what your halloween costume is this year but you won’t tell him, and when the holiday is finally here he finds it very much worth the wait

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none that i can think of except maybe some mild swearing

a/n: omg yes you’re totally right about Shayne being the perfect fall bf i love him so much!! i just had this idea and went with it so i hope it’s something like what you wanted. enjoy!! 🪐💌🍓

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Just give me a hint, (Y/n)!”

“Shayne, I told you, you’re just going to have to wait,” you laughed, squeezing his hand.

He put his free hand inside the pocket of his jeans, sighing.

He had been at this for the whole of what was supposed to a romantic walk through the park. Ever since you had told him you knew what you were going to wear for the annual Halloween party you’d be attending together, he wouldn’t let it go. You had told him multiple times that it was a surprise, but he was persistent.

You looked up at the trees and their leaves in shades of orange and pale red as a few leaves from the tree closest to you floated down to where you and Shayne were walking, one brushing the front of Shayne’s sweater before falling gently to the ground.

“Fine,” he pouted, “Don’t tell me.”

“Maybe I won’t,” you said, rubbing your arms with your hands to keep them warm. Ok, you admitted to yourself, Short sleeves were a bad idea.

Shayne took his hand from yours, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You leaned in to his side, grateful for the warmth of him as the light breeze blew your hair away from your face.

“What do you say we go get some coffee? My treat,” he said, nodding his head towards the coffee shop on the other side of the road.

“Sounds warm,” you nodded, changing directions. He stopped walking, standing in front of you.

“…Only if you tell me what you’re wearing for Halloween.”

“You’re impossible,” you shoved at him, continuing to walk in the direction of the coffee shop.

He jogged to keep up with you, “Seems like a fair trade to me!”

You continued walking, turning backwards to raise an eyebrow at him, “Then I guess I can’t order a pumpkin spice latte for you this time.”

You may have said that a little louder than necessary and a few people nearby looked up at you and Shayne

“They’re delicious and the perfect fall treat!” He defended enthusiastically, looking around and throwing his hands up in defeat.

You giggled, your fingers on the door handle. “You were saying?”

“I’ll get us a table.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

“Are you ready?” Shayne called impatiently from the other room. He had waited—or rather, you had made him wait—for nearly two weeks to see what your Halloween costume was. Seeing as it was finally the day of the party, and you had no other choice, you relented and had promised to show him your outfit.

“Almost,” you called back, rolling your eyes in amusement. “Are you?”

He laughed. “Should I be scared?”

“Oh definitely,” you said, holding back laughter yourself, “I’m hideous.”

You glanced at your outfit in the mirror. In the weeks since you’d had the idea for your costume this year, you had snuck one of Shayne’s most worn t-shirts out of his closet and you now wore it along with a cheap, short blonde wig you ordered online.

Ok, so maybe you didn’t look exactly like Shayne, but it was what you were going for at least. The only thing was, you didn’t have any of his pants readily available and his shirt was long enough on you that you had decided to just…not wear any. That part, you thought, a grin forming on your face, Shayne deserved.

You stepped out of your room and walked down the hall to the living room where Shayne sat, book in hand, waiting for you to show him your costume.

You gazed at the Halloween decorations adorning your living room. You and Shayne kind of went all out when it came to this holiday. Ghosts and pumpkins—and this one paining of a witch that you swore was always watching you—covered every available space. You couldn’t help but smile at the sheer amount of it all.

You took a few more steps toward the front room and Shayne caught sight of you, his eyes widening as he took in you…well, him.

“Damn, (Y/n),” he said, running a hand through his hair as he looked you up and down.

“Well, what do you think?” You asked, spinning around to give him the full affect.

“I think you look sexier as me than I ever have.”

You let out a laugh, stepping closer to him.

“Is it weird if I really want to kiss me right now?” He took a step towards you too, closing the distance.

“Not really, I want to kiss you too,” you teased, letting him pull you in by your waist.

“That,” he said looking at your costume again before bringing his lips to yours, “was definitely worth the wait.”

You tugged at the t-shirt, drawing Shayne’s gaze to the movement of the fabric.

“Although I don’t know how I feel about having no pants on.”

“I thought you said it was sexy?”

“Exactly.”

He laughed and you couldn’t help but laugh too, which turned into a surprised shriek as he picked you up before setting you down on the couch where he had been sitting. He sat down next to you and you threw your legs over his, leaning against him as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you again.

You heard your phone buzz multiple times, interrupting your moment as you figured you should check it.

Standing up abruptly you said,“Right, the Halloween party! Court just texted,” you turned to Shayne, “and you still don’t have a costume.”

He brought his hand to the back of his neck, “I didn’t plan anything, I just figured you looked good enough for the both of us so—” He shrugged.

“Not gonna happen,” you stated, grabbing his hand and pulling him up from the couch.” You looked at him ominously, “Besides, I already have a costume planned for you.”

“(Y/n), you’re scaring me,” Shayne said, taking in the look on your face.

“It’s nothing extravagant,” you said, “But you are going to need one of my dresses so let’s go.”

“(Y/n)—” Shayne started as you tried to drag him down the hall.

“Please,” you looked up at him, “for me?”

He stood, as if thinking for a moment, and then sighed, smiling. “Only because I love you.”

You kissed him quickly, and then ran down the hall, in a hurry to get his Halloween costume ready. You couldn’t wait to see the looks on everyone’s faces—including Shayne’s.

“But I’m not wearing anything with ruffles!”

“Of course not,” you called down the hallway, “that wouldn’t match with your wig.”

“My what?”

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ˋ°•*⁀➷ i don’t apologize for the cringe i had fun ahh hope you enjoyed this and happy fall babes!! <3🍂✨ 🎀

#shayne topp x reader #shayne topp #smosh #smosh fanfiction #smosh imagine #smosh pit #smosh squad #smosh x reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #fall #autumn #halloween #halloween fic

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lavendertales · 10 months ago

Text

dinner party || Steven Grant x f!reader

summary: after attending the same book club for weeks, you and Steven run into each other at a dinner party and all of your curiosity and tension finally clash together.

word count: 3.8k

A/N: first fic of the year yaay😌 felt like writing something lighthearted so no warnings besides tension, a hot makeout session & Steven being a sweet literature nerd. I'm actually having a very hard time getting into writing & posting lately but I'm working through it. anyway, feedback is always very much appreciated ❤️

You weren't planning on showing up to this dinner, but according to your friends, "it’ll do you good" to socialize and get out more. While they may have been right about joining the book club to begin with, you don’t want to reveal the real reason why you're attending this event because they’re gonna be all over you, asking incessant questions and badgering you all enthusiastically and frankly, you need some time to process what you're feeling.

What are you feeling exactly?

You're excited about the possibility of seeing Steven again tonight. He’s the big reason why you're going to your book club’s owner’s house for this dinner party in the first place. You can’t help but be attracted to him; that much is clear, blatantly obvious. You are definitely attracted to him. He’s so damn intelligent and curious about things and open-minded and sweet… oh lord, he is so intoxicatingly sweet. And so shy! Steven seemed like the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve and that is like a breath of fresh air to you.

And when he mentioned the dinner party happening tonight… you figured it was the perfect excuse to go. It’s not a sin to want to see someone you're attracted to, right?

And it’s been such a long time since you’ve felt this attracted to someone.

Okay, so bottom line is, you're here tonight to show support for the book club, to have some wine and maybe talk to Steven.

You definitely want to talk to Steven. Or at least see him.

He’s got such a sense of humor too. The kind where he doesn't necessarily intend to joke but it comes out funny anyway and it makes you giggle involuntarily. He can make you laugh by saying dry and bad jokes, and when he talks about poetry and interprets it, about history, the way his eyes flicker when he talks about literature in general...

Yeah, one might say you are dangerously attracted to him.

Maybe tonight is a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t be around him and wine. The combination oozes trouble, and you are not a troublemaker. You are certainly not a reckless person when you drink. You're fun and lighthearted and honest, a little too giggly sometimes, but never reckless. You don't plan on binge drinking, so you should be alright.

Unless your nerves get the best of you and you remain tongue-tied around the sweetness that is Steven Grant.

By the time you soothe you nerves, you are on your second glass of wine, politely engaging with the guests, with Miranda—bless her for starting this book club in the first place—and then you decide to indulge into some appetizers and look around her library. Man, she’s got a huge collection! She has a library in the living room and, from what Miranda herself says, three smaller ones in the three bedrooms.

She says it’s okay to take a look throughout the house—or should you call it a mansion because damn!—and so you look in the first bedroom. You are more interested in the library. The book collection is so damn impressive. She even has first editions of books that would be considered extinct nowadays and you are in absolute awe.

“Oh, hi.”

You turn around so violently you nearly pull a muscle in your neck and spill your drink. There’s Steven, holding his own glass of wine in one of the hands, a boyish grin on his face. You instantly feel your cheeks burn at the sight of him: he’s wearing black suit pants, a turtleneck sweater with the sleeves rolled up and his hair is so curly and luscious it almost makes you sigh.

“Hi,” you finally reply with a flustered smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize anybody was gonna sneak off to look at books.”

“That’s my idea of a party to be honest.”

You both chuckle, and you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s simply something magnetizing about his presence, about the way he makes you feel just by being around you and that’s dangerous. This has the potential to be a fatal attraction and it’s scaring for all the reasons that it's exciting.

Steven approaches you, although visibly hesitant himself. You clear your throat in an attempt to diffuse your own tension. “But it is a great dinner party though,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “Everyone’s so nice.”

“They are, yeah.”

“The music’s nice too. The food is—“

“Nice too?”

You break into nervous laughter. “I’m babbling. I’m sorry. I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”

“That’s alright. It’s—quite endearing, really.”

Your eyes shoot up at him. Your cheeks burn by this point, and you're fairly certain he can see how red they are, too.

“But why are you nervous?” Steven asks and his voice is so sweet and filled with care that it's impossible to not melt.

“Um… this is not a conversation for a second glass of wine.”

“For a third glass maybe?”

Your eyes widen some more and you find yourself absolutely flabbergasted at the notion that this sweet, intelligent and introverted guy is being flirty right now.

He’s flirting with me.

He’s actually flirting with me.

“Maybe,” you decide to tease against your better judgment. “But I wouldn’t want to ruin my image by binge drinking tonight.”

“I was thinking about getting a third glass myself, so I doubt you’d ruin anything.”

It’s tempting. Too tempting.

You shouldn’t.

But he’s so close to you and he looks and smells so good it impairs your judgment. There is no judgment to be done though. You are feeling needier and more impatient than you have in a long time, and you can barely keep it together.

“If you’re having one, then fine,” you reluctantly agree. “But three is where I have to draw the line.”

Steven giggles. The sound is so youthful and pleasant it’s almost like it tickles your skin.

There’s a moment of hesitation and silence between the two of you as you both acknowledge the fact that you should probably head back downstairs, but you remain locked in some sort of trance looking at the books on the shelves, still nursing on your second glasses of wine and stealing glances at each other. The tension is so thick that you're starting to wonder whether a knife would be able to cut through it.

“Can I confess something to you?” you foolishly ask.

Steven offers a polite smile and a nod right next to you and you feel your heart racing.

“I wasn’t totally sure if I wanted to come tonight,” you muster up the courage to say.

“After what I can assume are a lot of dinner parties over the years, this one probably seems a bit dull.”

“No, it’s—“

“Nice?”

You both giggle and exchange a glare that’s filled with yearning. Oh god, the yearning is consuming, devouring from inside out, clawing with unbearable hunger.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “But I’d agree with you in the slightest. It’s just an ordinary dinner party, nothing fancy. And I am all for that. But... I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

Silence. You gulp, afraid to find his eyes this time around.

“I really like—“

No. Stop before you say something you’ll regret and scare him off.

“I really like talking to you,” you smile at him, and you are so relieved to see Steven smile as well. Watching him be so flustered is an absolute delight. “So you’re pretty much the big reason as to why I decided to come tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the other members of the book club, but it’s just—“

“I was looking forward to seeing you tonight too.”

That shuts you up real quick. Your pulse has skyrocketed, and all you can do now is gaze practically shamelessly at this beautiful man, now in front of you. Your knees weaken, your yearning suppresses all other sentiments, and he is all that you can see. All that you want, the sole reason why you can scarcely think straight at the moment.

It’s a primal instinct, to want and to have, and to be had.

The more you look at him, breathless, the more you wonder if he feels like that too. He probably thinks in far more decent terms than you do because you can get a bit too dark on the inside to think straight and decent.

“I really enjoyed getting to know you over these past few weeks, to connect on a human level,” Steven continues. “I mean, who you are. And who you are is… really fucking spectacular.”

You haven’t heard him cuss before and you wouldn't have pegged him as the kind of guy who cusses, but it’s definitely doing something to you. Might be him, might be the wine, or it might be a combination of the both. At this point, it's futile to try to understand.

Tonight is shaping up to be quite the evening after all.

“I’m—not,” you smile flustered. “I try, but sometimes I—I go a little dark.”

“That's alright. Everyone does, don't they?"

You scoff. “How are you so open-minded and okay with the idea that someone is telling you upfront, ‘hey, I’m kind of a mess sometimes’? How are you so—so dreamy?”

Steven laughs, scratching his head, and you realize you might’ve made him a bit uncomfortable with your previous remark. But it’s a genuine question because how is he this dreamy?! Can he actually be the ideal man?

All you know is that Steven makes you feel things you haven’t felt since high school, if maybe ever. You haven’t felt anything this intense in years. It might actually rekindle your hope for the male species.

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” he giggles. “A couple of my former dates might disagree with you. I'm not actually a pro at dating."

“Yeah well, an ex might be bitter enough to think that way. But I do think you’re an amazing guy, and… I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

“I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. The way he says your name right after that sentence, your full first name, with that British accent sprinkled in, oh my God.

You discover, much to your dismay, that you are feeling things you haven’t felt in years. Carnivorous, urgent, tingling and prickling your skin and you're in imminent danger.

“So did you find what you came in here for?” Steven asks all of a sudden and just like that, when your eyes meet, you're a puddle.

Your heart’s thrumming in your ears, pounding away in your chest; so, so loudly you're afraid it might burst out for him to see it too. You haven’t felt this way in a long time, that much has been established; but this just seems incessant and over the top. You barely know him as a regular person and you just wonder… can you be this insanely attracted to someone you barely know?

“I think I did,” you respond eventually, your voice scratchy against your dry throat, like sand on paper. “Except now I’m debating… um… whether I should or should not have it.”

Steven takes a step closer to you, thus indirectly forcing you to look up at him and you swear you feel your knees buckle under the weight of this solitary glare. Then he clears his throat and stares at you, cheeks flushed and all.

“If you really want it, perhaps it means you should have it,” he says. “There should be no hesitation with the things you want.”

“What if—what if I’m not fit to have it? What if I do something to ruin it? Because this thing, it's—it's beautiful and sweet and kind and a lot of the time I'm not. What if when I inevitably hold it in my hands, I'll stain it?”

This would be a great time to claim this is a metaphor about a book on the shelf, but it isn’t. You know it, Steven knows it. There’s no need to pretend, even if no specific words are given.

“I suppose you have to take a chance and see what happens,” Steven says nearly breathless and to my shock, you see his eyes drop straight to your mouth. “It’s a gamble, as with most things.”

You unconsciously lick your lips and bite on your bottom one, and something changes in his eyes. You swear it fucking does. It can’t be just your imagination, however hormone-soaked it may be right now.

“Take Orpheus and Eurydice for instance,” he continues. “Their love was no gamble, no what if’s. They just knew it from the moment their eyes laid on each other. They knew they had to have each other.”

Okay, so citing one of the most infamous love stories of all time is not helping right now because you're really about to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment, for once in this damned life.

What repercussions would there be, anyway? You simply want to kiss him, that’s all; to kiss him on his cheeks, his nose, his lips, down his neck and down his whole body till he’s writhing beneath you and he’s a pleading, mumbling and sweaty mess. Pleading for the kind of release only you could give to him.

Okay, maybe some repercussions. And this isn’t the time or the place for any of that.

Shit, the image of a sweaty, pleading Steven haunts you now as you're met with his blown-out eyes, somehow still kind.

“That’s… I can’t argue against that,” you smile, way too flustered about the images running through your head. “Thank you for the wise words.”

“I have often been told I am somewhat of a wise man,” Steven jokes.

You chuckle. “You really are though. Um, Steven?”

You're not really sure what happens after you call out his name; all you know is that you pull him in by the wrist, our eyes locked in what seems like a pleading glare, both of us begging the other to move, to do something, anything, and then your body is pressed against the bookshelf, one large hand on the small of your back and the other in your hair, while a sweet mouth is a hot furnace on yours, pressing and touching relentlessly.

And you feel like you're straight up in heaven. You taste, see and feel heaven.

Christ, his lips are so soft, and yet the way he kisses is passionate, tender and ferocious all at once. It’s like he’s trying his hardest to let you know he’s gentle and caring but that he wants this so fucking much and the mixture, the entire idea in and of itself, has you absolutely feral. So much so that you kind of groan into his mouth, and that seems to spur him on. He pushes a bit of himself into you, and you're melting. You're melting and burning up and you never want to be apart from him, from any part of him.

You're left confused when you don’t feel his mouth on yours and oddly disappointed, but then you notice why he stopped. Miranda’s in the doorway, her hand on the knob, chuckling at you.

“My apologies,” she smiles at you. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

“No, we were not—it’s not—“you start, losing the string of your own sentence as you manically lick your lips in what appears to be a feeble attempt at memorizing the taste of Steven's lips.

“If it’s urgent, the bedrooms are all free, and the bathroom’s stocked.”

You feel a rush of embarrassment flood you, and your cheeks are even redder than before.

“We weren’t planning on—on any of that,” Steven mumbles.

Miranda cocks an eyebrow at you, and you both feel like two teenagers being scolded—oddly enough. “Didn’t look like that from here. I was wondering how long it will take you two to finally get your act together. Enjoy the evening!”

With that, she leaves, and you feel even more determined to explain yourself, even if… really, there’s no reason to feel this way. You only shared one kiss, albeit a very heated one. Nothing else happened.

Could it have happened? If Miranda hadn’t walked in… would you have gone all the way?

You know you could have, with the way you felt so devoured and consumed by that kiss and by Steven himself.

Steven clears his throat, scratching the back of his head as he looks at you, his whole face red, just like his lips. Now that you’ve had a taste of his lips, of the way he can be when he wants something—someone—you feel feral, in an absolutely unhinged desire for more.

And it scares you as much as it thrills you.

"I'm really, really sorry," Steven apologizes.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I feel like I sort of lured you into this… bookish trap.”

And then something hits me. “Actually… no. I’m not sorry,” you correct yourself.

Steven seems surprised, only pleasantly. “I’m not sorry about this. We didn’t do anything bad, right? Unless the kiss was bad, in which case…”

He giggles, and he’s so damn sweet you could eat him up, spread him on a cracker.

Naked.

Okay babe, focus. Stay on topic.

“It was the stellar opposite of that,” Steven smiles reassuringly, though his eyes maintain that look in them that’s rather… feral as well.

“I’m not sorry about the kiss because… truth be told, I’ve been sort of… thinking about this for quite some time.”

“Yeah? Anything else you thought about?”

Oh shit, when he’s intentionally flirty is just so attractive you can barely hold yourself together in one piece.

“A lot of anything else,” you admit and gosh, how is it possible that your cheeks are burning even more?! “But this is a third glass of wine conversation. Or—maybe for another setting.”

Steven smiles, still flustered himself. His cheeks are rosy, slightly reddened, and it paints such a beautiful image. It is now that you realize he truly is beautiful: his chocolate brown eyes, long eyelashes, gorgeous hair, and simply the kind aura about him that makes you want to be around him at all times. He exudes safety and warmth and you have genuinely become frightened by how much you am into him already.

“Maybe that glass of wine isn’t such a good idea in the end,” Steven mutters affected.

“Oh? How come you changed your mind?”

“Full honesty?”

“I usually appreciate it very much.”

He leans back in, his eyes roaming your figure and your spine tickles with electricity. A hot and cold shiver passes through you; you tremble. You actually tremble. Holy shit.

“It’ll have quite an effect on me and I might want to take Miranda’s advice from before. Get on with what we started.”

Nothing but a faint oh leaves your mouth; and that’s barely the word itself, just a gust of wind that resembles the word oh, because your brain cannot compute anything at the moment besides what he just said.

And what he said is… well.

“And that would not be the gentleman-y thing to do,” he carries on, and his face is so flustered and yet riddled with something akin to neediness that your head starts spinning again.

Of course he wants to do gentleman-y things. Of course. How on brand for someone such as Steven Grant.

But oh how much you'd love to tell him—and show him—that he can easily do the opposite of that.

You can’t get the sensation of his lips pressed against yours out of your mind. You can’t get his taste out from your lips or your mind. It’s like he’s infiltrated far below the skin, straight into your bloodstream, swimming in your veins, becoming one with your entire system, and you find yourself absolutely speechless. You have genuinely no idea what to tell him or what to reply to him, so you kind of just stare at him in disbelief whilst also wishing for more, almost begging through that single stare, begging him to do anything remotely close to that kiss. Any touch right now would send you into a pleasurable orbit, even a breath in your direction would set your whole body on fire, and as you're thinking this, you come to realize maybe it isn’t such a good idea.

After all, you're still at the dinner party where loads of other people are and something like this, with someone as special as Steven, requires to be in a very intimate setting.

“Is there ever a time when you don’t think of the gentleman-y thing to do?” you chuckle and immediately face palm yourself mentally. Why would you so shamelessly pose such a flirty question when both your minds are in very fragile states right now?

Good god, get a grip over yourself, woman.

“Right now would be a very solid example,” he replies and you could so easily faint right now knowing that those words actually came out of his mouth. “But we can’t always give into our very first urges, can we? Otherwise it’d be so much chaos in this already chaotic world.”

Your jaw slightly drops as you look at him in awe. “You are... impossibly poetic.”

Steven chuckles, a soulful and hearty sound, and to know you are capable of rising such crystalline sounds from him, from such a beautiful man, it means so much to you.

“I just say what I think, nothing to it,” he keeps laughing.

“You’re really making things difficult right now, you know?”

“How so?”

“Well… let’s just say I have half a mind to surrender to that very first urge regardless of what might happen.”

“Kind of an unreliable narrator that urge, isn’t it? Saying it wants things, and it wants things badly, but rationality knows that if we do give into it, into that lust, we also become unreliable in a way.”

Your jaw drops further, and you shake my head. “Steven, you have got to stop with this, seriously. You’re making things very hard for me right now.”

“Sorry! I'm sorry.”

But he keeps laughing and laughing, even as he allows you to leave the room first and leads you back into the kitchen where we end up having a glass of water and talking about literature for another hour.

And around midnight, you arrive at the startling realization that you might be falling in love already.

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