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punkshort · 1 year ago

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look what we've become - ch.1

Chapter Summary: Tommy asks for your help proposing to Maria, causing both you and Joel to reflect on your own relationship.

Chapter Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, fear of commitment, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v unprotected sex, dirty talk

WC: 6.1K

Series masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: hi everyone! if you're new and didn't read the first story, this follows a slightly different timeline. Essentially, Joel and Tommy had a very successful construction business in NYC and reader worked for them pre-outbreak, so I've written in this story a slightly younger version of Joel given the timeline.

Thank you to everyone who loved the first one so much that it encouraged me to write a sequel! I really hope you like it, and I want to emphasize there will be a happy ending to this story. Thanks for reading!

June 2007

"Can't thank you enough for your help, darlin'," Tommy said, his voice trying and failing to hide the anxiety that plagued his mind.

"Don't mention it," you told him, finishing up the final touches on the bouquet of flowers, wrapping a beautiful satin ribbon around the stems before handing it over. "What's the occasion?"

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me," he blurted out, and your hands instantly flew to your mouth, covering your excited gasp.

"Tommy!" you squealed, bouncing on the balls of your feet, trying to contain your energy before giving up and rounding your workstation to wrap your arms around him, being mindful not to crush the flowers he was holding. "I'm so happy for you, oh my god!"

"Well, thanks, but she ain't agreed, yet," he said, running a shaky hand through his long hair.

"She's going to say yes, don't be silly," you told him, a smile permanently etched on your face. You and Maria have been close friends ever since you met three years ago. You considered her to be your closest friend in Jackson, and you were thrilled at the idea of your best friend about to experience the happiest moment of her life. Tommy had come a long way from the man you knew before the outbreak, his days of chasing every girl that tossed him a smile long behind him.

"So, how are you going to do it?" you asked excitedly as he shifted back and forth on his feet. He paused and flicked his eyes up.

"Uh," he said, growing shifty. "Well, I dunno. Do I gotta plan somethin'?"

"Yes!" you said, rolling your eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

"Well, shit, I didn't think that far ahead!" he exclaimed, turning to pace around the greenhouse.

"Don't stress, we'll figure something out," you assured him, scooting back so you could lift your hips and sit on your workstation tabletop. "Did you find a ring?"

"Yeah, I got that, at least," he said, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he dug it out of his pocket. You plucked it from his fingers carefully so you could get a better look at the three round, shiny diamonds set on the center of a gold band.

"It's perfect," you told him warmly, handing it back. He allowed a small smile as he shoved it back into the safety of his pocket.

"Will you help me figure out how to do it?" he asked.

"Of course I will," you told him. "She doesn't like a fuss. It should be private. Small. Romantic. And you need to come up with something thoughtful to say." He nodded, his gaze traveling to the wall, lost in thought before he shifted his eyes back to you.

"Like what?"

"Tommy! Come on!" you scolded him, shoving his shoulder.

"I ain't good at all that, cut me some slack!" he said with a grin. "I need an example. What would you wanna hear?"

You paused, your smile frozen on your face as you felt your blood run cold. Your smile began to slowly slip as your heart slammed in your chest, anxiety creeping up your neck, ears ringing. Naturally, you were thinking about Joel bending down on one knee, professing his love to you and begging you to be his forever. A thought that should have filled you with warmth, but instead, scared you shitless. And your reaction itself made it even worse. Why would the thought of Joel proposing scare you? You never wanted anyone else. Once you met, it just wasn't a question anymore. You were his, and he was yours. An understanding, it didn't need to be said. So why does the thought of him saying it make you feel like you're falling down an endless hole in the ground?

"Um," you managed to squeak out, but Tommy had already moved on, wrapped up in his own dilemma.

"I think I know what I could say," he said, not noticing your sudden paralysis. "Can you do me a favor, though? Could you round up any candles you ain't usin'? Preferably unscented, don't need the whole place smellin' like a mix of cookies, pine and roses."

"Yeah, of course. I'll look when I get home and bring them over," you mumbled.

"Great, thanks again, darlin'! I'll see you in a bit," he said with a more confident smile, rushing out the door to leave you with your thoughts, your legs swinging mindlessly over the edge of the workstation. The workstation Joel had thoughtfully built for you because he insisted you needed somewhere proper to work in the greenhouse.

And he also broke the only desk you had.

You hung your head, feeling shameful and confused. Why hadn't you ever thought about this before? What would you have done if he proposed and you never sorted out your feelings about marriage? About kids?

"Shit," you whispered, the mere thought of kids making your throat squeeze shut. Bringing a child into this world? He wouldn't want to do that, would he?

Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. Maybe he felt the same as you. Why change something that's working so well? You both loved each other, what difference did it make? But the devil on your shoulder threw back a counter argument.

If it didn't make a difference, then why didn't you want to do it?

You rubbed the heels of your hands into your eyes aggressively. You really needed to stop making problems out of nothing. This wasn't about you and Joel, it was about Tommy and Maria.

You sighed and made your way down the long aisle towards the door, deciding it was close enough to the end of your shift.

"Hey, I was callin' your name, didn't you hear me?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin and turned around to find Joel leaning against the doorframe of the spare bedroom. He eyed up the half empty box next to you on the floor and looked back at you questioningly.

"No, sorry, guess I was lost in my thoughts or something," you told him, turning back to rifle through the plastic storage tote. Joel took a few steps into the room and sat down on the spare bed, the springs squeaking under his weight.

"What're you thinkin' about?" he asked as he watched you pulling out each candle and giving them a sniff before deciding which pile to add them to.

"Huh?" you asked him, still jumpy from your revelation earlier. "Oh, it's nothing, really." Even to your own ears, the excuse sounded lame, so you weren't surprised when Joel didn't buy it.

"Must be somethin' if it's got you all distracted," he urged you gently. You shook your head and gave him a believing smile.

"No, really, it's nothing. Just thinking about work. I left early today, I'm just thinking about what I need to do tomorrow," you lied as you finished up going through the candles, snapping the plastic tote lid back on and shoving it into the spare closet.

"Why'd you leave early?" Joel asked with his eyebrows knit. "Feelin' okay?"

He's always so thoughtful, so concerned about you. It made the pit in your stomach worsen, the guilt flaring.

"Oh, yeah, fine. I just told Tommy I would get him these extra candles as soon as possible, so I'm gonna head over there real quick," you explained. As you leaned down to pick up the box, Joel's hand shot out to stop you, choosing instead to lift it up himself.

"I can do it," he said, then looked back down at the open box curiously. "Why does he need so many candles?"

"Well," you said, turning to leave the room so your face wouldn't give anything away when you told him. "He's going to propose to Maria. He has some special thing planned, involving candles, I guess. We should probably standby in case he lights the house on fire," you joked over your shoulder as you made your way down to the kitchen. You knew you were rambling a bit, but you hoped Joel didn't pick up on your nervousness.

"He's what?" Joel exclaimed, stopping dead in his tracks in the hallway, still holding the box of candles. You turned your attention towards him again as you leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Yep, he told me today. He asked me to make a bouquet for him at work," you told him, studying his face carefully. Joel looked stunned as he stared out the window behind you while he processed the information.

"Well, goddamn," he said, finally snapping out of it with a smirk. "I'll take these over so I can give him shit for not tellin' me sooner." He readjusted the box in his arms before he turned around towards the front door, his reaction giving you a bit of relief. He was just happy for his brother, and didn't appear to be overthinking your own relationship, like you couldn't stop doing.

Naturally, you worried about nothing. You were both perfectly content with the way things were. Feeling silly for even being nervous in the first place, you followed him to the front door and stopped him before he left.

"Hey, wait," you said from the door, causing him to turn around just as he was about to descend the stairs. "How about a kiss before you go?"

He grinned and, dropping the box in a chair by the front door, reached forward with both hands to cradle your face and pulled you towards him, his lips pressing firmly against yours. Your fingers gripped the front of his T-shirt as you sighed contentedly against him, his usual scent of gunpowder, sweat and something uniquely him filling your nostrils. You opened your mouth and licked gently at his lips, causing him to smile and slide his tongue alongside yours with a quiet groan while one of his hands released your jaw to get tangled in your hair. He gave your head a gentle tug backwards in an attempt to get you to open your mouth wider, but when a soft moan escaped your lips from the sensation, he felt himself stiffen in his jeans. He pulled you back further so you lost contact and he looked down at your flushed face, his hands still in your hair and on your jaw.

"I'll take these later," he said huskily, nodding to the candles next to the door as he walked you backwards inside the house.

"No, no, you have to take them now," you giggled as his mouth latched onto your neck. "He needs them before Maria gets home." He growled against your skin and begrudgingly pulled away, his eyes raking up and down your body before he stepped backwards.

"Don't move, I'll be back in ten minutes," he told you, grabbing the box and jogging down the steps. You laughed and closed the door behind him, wondering why you let yourself get worked up over nothing. Everything was great between you, you were never more sure of anything in your life. In the back of your mind, you knew you had to figure out why you had such a negative reaction to the thought of marriage in the first place, but you decided to put that off for another day.

"Can't believe you didn't tell me, you little shit," Joel teased with a smirk the minute Tommy swung the door open. He pushed his way into the house and glanced around quickly to make sure Maria wasn't there before turning back to Tommy.

"Heard you needed some mood lighting," Joel said, raising an eyebrow when Tommy ruefully snatched the box from his arms.

"Yeah, thanks," was all Tommy could manage, his nerves getting the best of him the more time passed.

"Nervous or somethin'?" Joel asked his brother as he casually took in the half-done scene he was setting in the living room. Candles were randomly dispersed throughout the room and two empty wine glasses were placed on top of the mantle.

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' nervous, 'course I'm nervous, shit," Tommy said as he raked a hand through his hair and got to work sifting through the box.

"Well, it ain't like she's gonna say 'no'," said Joel in a poor attempt at easing his brother's nerves.

"Don't matter. I gotta do it right. It'll mean a lot to her, she's probably got some fantasy in her head already 'bout how it'll go. I can't screw this up," Tommy said as he pushed past Joel to balance more candles on the bookshelf.

"Nah, you're overthinkin' it, they just like the ring so they can show it off," Joel replied, thinking back briefly to the time when he was engaged before the outbreak. Amy hardly cared about the effort he put into the proposal, but her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw the huge diamond he picked out.

"Oh, brother, you couldn't be more wrong. Your own girl told me I need to do somethin' thoughtful. Somethin' romantic. Shit, you're lucky you got me before you swiped the biggest rock you could find and think that'll be enough to make her happy," Tommy grinned as he nudged Joel's shoulder playfully, making his way back into the kitchen to pick out a bottle of wine.

Joel chewed on his lower lip and cracked his knuckles before scratching his beard, his eyes flicking around the room, lost in thought, while Tommy began to light the candles. Tommy noticed the sudden silence and paused, straightening up and raising an eyebrow at his brother.

"You already got a ring, don't you?"

Joel met his gaze for a moment before clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair.

"I've had it for months," Joel admitted, bringing his thumb and pointer finger up to rub his eyes.

"Holy shit, Joel! Why didn't you say anythin'?" Tommy exclaimed, walking over to clap his brother on the back.

"I don't know. You never said anythin', either," he said with a shrug.

"Well, when are you gonna do it?" Tommy asked, turning back to light the candles, grateful for the distraction.

"Don't know. Never seems like the right time," said Joel as he picked up the bottle of red wine Tommy placed on the mantle, scrutinizing the label. "And it's a good thing, too, seein' as I need to rethink how I'm gonna ask her, apparently."

"Yeah, well, one of these days I can ask Maria for advice, if you want," Tommy said, brushing his palms on the sides of his jeans as he made his way to the window, peering out to make sure she wasn't coming home early. "Least I could do, since I got help from your girl."

"Yeah, maybe," Joel replied as he distractedly ran his palm over his mouth.

"Alright, get the hell out of here, I gotta change and put the flowers in a vase before Maria gets home," Tommy said, pushing Joel towards the front door. He opened the door but Joel paused, turning around quickly and enveloping Tommy in a rare, quick hug.

"Congrats, brother. She's gonna love it," he said, gesturing vaguely around the living room. Tommy grinned and nodded.

"Thanks. Now leave, I mean it," he said, giving Joel a shove. Joel laughed and shook his head.

"I'm leavin', I'm leavin'," he said with a wave over his shoulder. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way slowly down the street.

He was telling Tommy the truth about the ring. He hadn't gone out looking for it, but one day, months ago, when he was on patrol with Eugene, he just happened to see it. They had been exploring an abandoned shopping mall, and when he walked by the jewelry store, he had glanced inside at the broken glass display cases and spotted what he thought was the perfect ring for you. It was an oval diamond set on a delicate, white gold band. He had picked it up and examined it thoughtfully, imagining what it would look like on your finger. He briefly looked at the other choices, and none of the others seemed to resonate with him the way that one did. So he pocketed it before Eugene noticed he was lingering, and hid it in an old shoe he had in the closet when he got home.

When he first came home with the ring, he couldn't stop fantasizing about how he would ask you, what he would say, what you would say. But he hadn't been in any rush to ask, and he hadn't really thought about it much after that, he just knew he wanted to spend his life with you. He had almost forgotten all about it until you told him about Tommy's plan earlier that day. But now that his brother had him thinking about it again, the idea of officially making you his and calling you his wife made him feel excited.

He walked through the front door and kicked his boots off before he made his way down the hallway and into the kitchen, where he saw you drying some plates and putting them away. You glanced over your shoulder when you heard him enter the room before turning back to your task.

"Little longer than ten minutes," you teased. You were drying your hands on the dish towel when his arms snaked around your waist and he buried his face in the back of your neck. You squirmed, his grip loosening so you could turn around and gently circle your arms around his neck. "What took you so long?"

He shrugged and leaned down to press a chaste kiss where your neck met your shoulder.

"Just got to talkin'," he murmured, pressing another kiss in the same spot. You hummed and tilted your head to the side a bit, closing your eyes.

"I was thinking, maybe we should throw them an engagement party," you whispered, trying to stay focused as his lips brushed along your neck, his scruffy beard giving you goosebumps. "I can ask Carrie to help, she loves that kind of thing."

"That'd be nice," he mumbled in agreement, flipping his head in the other direction so he could continue his torture on the opposite side of your neck. "We can have it here."

"Yeah," you sighed as you shifted your weight, trying to ignore the ache growing between you legs. "I thought we could - "

You inhaled sharply when he pinched the skin of your collarbone between his teeth, leaving an angry red mark there. Your fingers found their way into his dark curls, gripping them tightly as your breathing became shallow.

"Hm?" he asked, hiding his smirk against your skin.

"Thought we could do it outside," you mumbled, quickly finishing your thought.

"Whatever you want," he said, his voice gravelly as he pulled you into him roughly, earning a small yelp from you. His lips latched onto yours, softly humming against your mouth, the warm exhale from your nose fanning gently over his face. You pulled away, breaking the kiss as he began slowly walking you backwards towards the stairs, his eyes dark as he stared you down.

"Maybe Julia's class can make decorations. I think Maria would like that," you said breathlessly, gazing up at him, meeting his heated stare. "What do you think?"

Joel gave you half a smirk when the backs of your legs bumped up against the lowest step.

"I think you better get up to bed right now before I toss you over my shoulder and do it myself," he said lowly, sending a shiver down your spine.

A playful grin spread across your face as you turned on your heel and raced up the stairs, Joel following hot on your trail, taking them two at a time.

You barely pushed the bedroom door open before his hands were on you, eagerly skirting over your hips and up your arms before coming to rest on your jaw, cradling your head in his hands tenderly as his tongue slid between your lips, reveling in your warmth. Being with you always felt like home to him, it was where he was always meant to be.

"So beautiful," he mumbled against your mouth before he pressed his lips against yours again, his fingers gripping your head a little tighter, like he was afraid you would float away.

Your fingers deftly worked on undoing his jeans as he continued to walk you towards the bed. Just as you were about to reach below his waistband, he scooped down to pick you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, clinging to him as he softly placed you both down.

He lifted his head up a fraction to look down at you underneath him, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, looking at you with admiration. His eyes flicked up to the open closet door, the urge to confirm the shoe with the ring in it was still in its rightful place, that you hadn't accidentally found it.

"What is it?" you asked him breathlessly, noticing how his attention had been stolen away. He quickly brought his gaze back down to you with a sly smile.

"Nothin'," he said with a shake of his head, then leaned down to part your lips again with his tongue, curling his fingers along the back of your neck, deepening the kiss with slow, leisurely licks inside your mouth. Your fingers danced over his broad shoulders for a moment before you made your way down his chest and stomach, pausing to gently rake your nails through the coarse hair at the top of his boxers, then plunging down to wrap your hand around his stiff cock.

He groaned softly into your mouth when you gave him a squeeze, his hips shallowly thrusting forward into your hand as you stroked him up and down.

"Slow down," Joel gasped, tearing himself away from your mouth and flexing his fingers around your wrist, stopping you. "Wanna take my time with you tonight," he drawled, taking your hand away and pinning it lightly into the mattress.

"Joel," you whined, lifting your hips up from the bed, frustrated. He tutted and shook his head.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you. You know I always do," he said huskily, his mouth latching onto your neck. "Wanna take care of you for the rest of my life," he added quietly, his voice muffled against your skin and lost in the sounds of your moans. You tipped your head back, your free hand sliding through his thick curls, fingernails raking against his scalp just the way he likes.

He let go of your hand so he could lift your shirt over your head, followed quickly by your bra. Slowly, his eyes swept over your bare chest, his knuckles brushing against your nipple and watching as it perked up in response, then once he was satisfied, did the same to the other.

"So soft," he muttered to himself before diving down and sucking one into his mouth, the tip of his tongue flicking against your nipple before he flattened it against your sensitive skin, licking slow, hot stripes up and down. He lifted his mouth from your skin and blew gently over the wetness his tongue left behind. You gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around nothing as he switched sides, giving the same attention to your other breast while his fingers roamed around your waist, then dipped down to squeeze your ass and hips.

You whined his name and tugged on his hair, begging him to touch you, vaguely wondering why he was in the mood to take things so painfully slow, but you were unable to form a coherent thought other than why are my fucking jeans still on?

"Joel, please," you whimpered, pathetically jutting your hips upwards, trying to find friction against him to no avail. He finally released your breast and looked up at you, your chest heaving, hair a mess and your eyes glazed over, already looking completely wrecked. He smirked at the sight and pushed himself up, hovering over you.

"Alright, sweetheart, I'll give you one," he said, much to your relief as his hand came between you to pop open your jeans. He pulled down the zipper and you hooked your thumbs into your belt loops, helping to pull them down as quickly as you could and kicked them off. His eyes glanced down, feeling his cock twitch when saw the dark spot leaking through your panties.

He looped his fingers around the sides of your underwear and pulled them off, then flattened his palms on the insides of your thighs so he could admire the mess he made of you. He ran his middle finger up the length of your seam, testing the waters before dipping inside, marveling at how soaked you were already. His eyes drifted up to your face, mesmerized as you writhed underneath him, your eyes screwed shut and your brows pinched as you focused on his second finger entering your aching cunt.

"Oh, fuck, Joel," you whimpered, snapping your eyes open just to find him already gazing down at you, his eyes dark and filled with want. You rocked your hips forward, trying to make him go faster, but he continued to slowly pump both fingers in and out, in and out, curling his fingertips as he reached inside, brushing against the spot that he knows makes you fall apart.

"That feel better?" he breathed, and you nodded, clutching the sheets in your fist as the fire in your stomach began to burn, the warmth creeping up your chest and neck with every plunge of his fingers. His thumb brushed gently over your clit and you cried out, your body stiffening underneath him as you felt your orgasm steadily approach, your breath coming in short gasps when he finally began to circle the swollen bundle of nerves.

"Faster," you croaked, tipping your head back, but he shook his head and continued his torturous pace.

"It'll feel better this way," he said, and you groaned. "Do you trust me?" he asked, and you brought your head back down so you could look at him again.

"Yes," you whispered, watching as his eyes lit up and a smug grin spread across his face.

"Then let go," he ordered. You inhaled sharply as you felt your walls clench down and your release drip down his fingers, your orgasm slowly ripping through you with a strangled moan. You reached out and grabbed his wrist when it became too much, your body relaxing onto the bed and your eyes fluttering shut.

He slid his fingers out, earning a hiss from you before he popped them into his mouth. You opened your eyes weakly as you watched him suck his fingers, his other hand palming his erection over his jeans and looking down at you panting beneath him, his gaze dark.

"I need more," he murmured as he shimmied down the bed to settle his face between your legs, his hands sliding up your shaky thighs to pin them down to the mattress.

"Wait, Joel," you told him breathlessly. "Too soon, I - it's too much," you said, pulling feebly at his hair. He ignored you, too lost in his own thoughts, the fantasy of making you his and calling you his wife consuming him.

He licked a stripe through your folds, his tongue plunging inside briefly before taking another long, slow drag. You wiggled under his hold with a gasp, your body involuntarily trying to squirm away from overstimulation, but his large hands pinned you down as his tongue probed further inside you.

He knew he was pushing you to your limits, but he couldn't stop. He felt like a man possessed. He alternated between licking and nibbling at your sensitive cunt, trying to avoid your most sensitive area until he knew you could handle it. Only when he finally felt your legs relax under his palms and heard your breathy moans of encouragement did he venture up to press his tongue flat against your clit. Your fingers tugged at his curls, his eyes rolling to the back of his head with a moan. He always loved it when you pulled on his hair. He sucked your clit into his mouth, swirling it around his tongue slowly, trying to drag out the pleasure as long as possible.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The pressure building inside you too intense. You felt like you were vibrating, Joel's expert hands and mouth making your body pulse and thrum, your breaths shallow and sharp.

You tried to say his name, but it came out as a pathetic whimper instead. The way he lapped at your fluttering cunt was making you dizzy. You were hyper aware of how rough his facial hair felt on your raw skin, a stark contrast to how soft his tongue felt on your folds. The muscles in your stomach began to clench as you felt yourself rocketing towards your second orgasm.

Joel felt you twitch under his forearm and knew you were close. He pressed his face further into you, thrusting his hips into the mattress to find some relief while he sucked and nibbled on your swollen clit, your moans morphing into high pitched cries, fingers frantically grasping and slipping through his curls.

Your back arched off the bed, tears trickling down your cheeks as you fell over the edge, your body jerking underneath him while you screamed his name. His hands clutched your legs, trying to keep himself attached as he worked you through it.

He finally pulled back with a gasp when you managed to writhe away, desperate to give your trembling body a break, completely overwhelmed. You each panted for breath as you stared at one another for a moment, your legs still shaking from the aftershock.

"Christ, Joel," you rasped, your voice hoarse as you wiped your tears away with the back of your hand.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, running a hand through his hair before wiping his mouth, his gaze softening as he took in your wrecked state. "Can't get enough of you."

"I can see that," you teased, the corners of your mouth turning upwards into a smirk. Your eyes flicked down to his pants, noticing his cock straining painfully against the denim. "Come here," you whispered, beckoning him with your arms. He grinned and quickly pulled his shirt over his head before kicking off his boxers and jeans. He crawled up the bed slowly, hovering over your body. You ran your hands gently over his arms, sending a shiver down his spine, before grasping the back of his neck and pulling him down for a deep kiss. He moaned against your mouth, his lips gently massaging your own while his tongue gave you a taste of your arousal.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" he asked, looking down between your bodies where your hand was directing his cock to your entrance.

"We're gonna find out," you said with a sigh, feeling his thick head notch against you. He pushed forward and you gasped at the familiar sting of being stretched open. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pressed on, slowing giving you every inch of him before bottoming out with a groan of relief.

"Fuck," he whispered, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck while he took a moment to just appreciate the feel of you. You wiggled your hips slightly underneath him to get more comfortable as your body relaxed and adjusted to his size.

"I'll never get tired of that feeling," you murmured into his hair.

"Hope not," he said, lifting his head up with a smirk. He held your gaze as he slowly dragged his cock in and out, in and out until your head tilted back and your eyes slid shut, your lips parted as you gasped softly each time he pushed back inside. He nibbled tenderly at your jaw, fucking you with deep, long strokes while your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer each time.

"God, you feel so good," you moaned, yanking his face up and kissing him messily, your fingertips digging into his skin. He kept up the slow pace, savoring the feeling of just being close and intimate, while each powerful thrust caused tip of his cock to make contact with the most sensitive spot inside you, stoking the flames and pushing you to the edge.

"Fuck, I love you so fuckin' much, you know that?" he gasped, his lips hovering above your open mouth as he gazed down at you, watching your eyes glaze over with each slow drag, in and out. "D'you - shit - d'you see what you do to me? Huh?" He gripped your jaw when he saw your eyes begin to flutter close, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. "Look at me, sweetheart. Need you to look at me," he begged, his climax quickly approaching but he refused to pick up the pace, enjoying the slow way he was fucking you way too much.

"Yes," you whispered, forcing your eyes open to give him what he needed. He nodded, loosening his grip on your jaw and letting his hand fall limply. He looked down, watching as his cock disappeared inside you and coming back out, coated in your slick. He groaned at the sight and glanced back up at you, your gaze still transfixed on his face, just as he asked.

"Can't believe you're really mine," he muttered to himself in disbelief with a small shake of his head, his eyes roaming over your face and chest. "Can't believe I'm the one that gets to fuck you."

"I'm yours," you whimpered, biting down on your lower lip as you felt your body begin to tense up, like a band ready to snap.

"Yeah?" he asked hopefully, his wide eyes locking back onto yours. He knew you didn't mean it the way he wanted to hear it, that it was just something you said in the heat of the moment, but he didn't care. He allowed himself to have the fantasy, anyway.

"Just you, only you," you babbled, knowing exactly what he liked to hear. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, fucking into you a little faster now.

"Keep talkin', just like that," he said through gritted teeth, his arms wrapping around your ribs as his hips snapped into you, eliciting a low moan from your throat.

"N-nobody else, all y-yours, only want you," you rambled before the band snapped and your vision went spotty. You cried out and clenched down around him, the intensity of a third orgasm depleting all your energy and almost immediately, your muscles went slack.

"That's right, good girl," Joel said, watching you fall apart under him. "All mine. Mine - mine - mine!" he grunted, each word punctuated with a harsh thrust before pulling out just in time to come all over your stomach, watching in a daze as each burst of his hot spend coated your soft skin.

He collapsed next to you, both struggling to catch your breath. Your arm draped over your eyes and you contemplated falling asleep just like that, not even sure you had the strength to stand anyway. After a moment, he reached over to his nightstand to snatch up a handkerchief, and he gently cleaned you up as your breathing stabilized. Gingerly, he lifted your arm away from your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek, then your swollen lips before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Wow," you whispered hoarsely, finally opening your eyes. He chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, wow," he said, laying back down next to you. "That was somethin' else," he added, rubbing his palms roughly over his face.

You rolled onto your side, wincing at the soreness in your legs and hips already, and draped an arm across his body.

"Where did all that come from?" you asked sleepily, nuzzling your face into his chest. He shrugged.

"Don't know," he lied as he rubbed small circles across your back. You hummed, accepting his response without a second thought. His eyes drifted back over to the closet briefly before reaching over and turning off the light, tugging the sheets over your bodies and resuming the circles on your back until he heard your breathing slow, confirming you were asleep.

He stared in the dark at the ceiling, thinking about how and when he should ask you to marry him. He didn't want to take away from Tommy and Maria, so he figured he should put it off for a while, but that didn't stop him from closing his eyes that night and dreaming about what it would be like to be your husband.

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow - lmk if I missed anyone or if you want to be removed

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infamous-light · 6 months ago

Text

You Belong to Me Ch. 2

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

The winding hallways of Castle Dimitrescu seemed to stretch on endlessly, leading you deeper into the heart of the imposing structure.

The palms of your hands, once steady, now grew cold and clammy as you approached Lady Dimitrescu's bedchambers. You were about to begin your new role as her personal servant, a position that no one else has held before. Your mind buzzed with questions, doubts, and uncertainties.

What if you made a mistake? What if you failed to live up to her expectations?

The weight of this responsibility pressed down on you like a leaden blanket, threatening to overwhelm you before you had the chance to even begin. You swallowed hard, trying to calm the nervous flutter in your stomach.

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of a set of double wooden doors, looming over you like a menacing shadow. Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the silent hallway.

“Come in.” Her voice, low yet authoritative, carried through the barrier of the door.

With a trembling hand, you reached out to grasp the polished golden handle, feeling its cool metal beneath your fingertips.

Here we go.

Then, you pushed the door open.

Stepping inside, you were immediately enveloped in the grandeur of Lady Dimitrescu's bedroom.

The room exuded an air of timeless elegance, each piece and decor chosen to reflect the aristocratic taste of its owner. Silk draperies hung down in graceful folds, their deep crimson hue contrasting sharply with the white furniture. Near the back, a grand, four-poster bed was pressed against the wall, its velvet canopy cascading down like a waterfall of blood. The bed itself was lavishly covered with plush, satin pillows and a heavy, fur-lined duvet. To the side of the bed stood a nightstand, its surface organized with an array of books and papers.

A large fireplace took up the right side of the bedroom, its mantlepiece adorned with an assortment of antique trinkets. Hanging above the mantlepiece was an old vintage clock, its hands steadily ticking along.

As your eyes continued to roam her bedroom, they finally landed on Lady Dimitrescu herself. She was seated at her vanity, delicately combing through her dark hair. You almost jumped out of your skin when her piercing gaze, framed by long lashes, locked onto yours through the reflection of her vanity mirror.

“Ah, there you are,” Lady Dimitrescu said as she set her hairbrush down. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You bowed your head, trying to keep your breathing steady. “My Lady.”

She rose with fluid grace, her movements both mesmerizing and intimidating. Her towering presence filled the room, and you could feel the heat of her gaze lingering on you, appraising you. Each step she took was deliberate, her long nightgown whispering against the wooden floor as she approached you.

“Do you know,” Lady Dimitrescu purred, lifting your chin with a single, bare finger, forcing you to meet her eyes. “How much I despise being kept waiting?”

Your heart raced, a rapid staccato in your chest. Glancing to your right, you saw the time on the clock.

9:01 A.M.

Your hands fidgeted slightly, and your voice came out a bit shakier than you would have liked. “I’m sorry, my Lady. It won’t happen again.”

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, and she traced her finger along your jawline, sending tingles down your spine.

“No, it won’t,” she murmured. “Because I have very specific expectations for you,” she leaned in closer, her lips grazing your ear as she whispered. “And I expect you to meet them.”

“Yes, my Lady.” You said quietly.

Lady Dimitrescu pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again.

“Good,” she said, her smile widening. “Now, I want you to draw me a bath. Make sure the water is just right – hot enough to steam, but not so hot that it scalds. Add a generous amount of lavender oil. I find it most relaxing in the morning.”

You nodded, eager to get this over with, and turned toward the adjoining bathroom. As you prepared the bath, the sound of water filling the large, circular tub mingled with the soft rustle of her nightgown as she moved about her bedroom. Reaching for the small bottle of lavender oil, you uncorked it and let a few drops fall into the steaming water. You swirled the water with your hand, dispersing the oil, and then straightened back up. You couldn’t shake the feeling of her eyes on you, watching your every move.

When the bath was ready, you turned around to find her completely nude by the doorway. Her eyes held yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You quickly averted your gaze, feeling a rush of heat creeping up your neck. Her lips curled into a playful smirk.

Lady Dimitrescu walked past you with a grace that belied her towering stature. You could feel the heat radiating off her as she passed, a mixture of fear and fascination rooting you to the spot. She paused briefly at the edge of the tub, casting a sidelong glance in your direction, her eyes glimmering with amusement. With an almost theatrical flourish, she dipped one long, slender leg into the water, followed by the other. The water rippled and sloshed around her as she sank into the depths, her body disappearing beneath the surface until only her head remained above the water.

She reclined against the side of the tub, letting out a sigh of contentment as the warmth soothed her skin. Unsure of what to do next, you began to step away, your movements hesitant.

“I didn’t say you could leave, now did I?” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice low and silky.

You immediately stopped in place and lowered your head.

“No, my Lady.” Your response was barely above a whisper.

“Come closer.” Her command was firm but soft.

You swallowed thickly, the tension between you two palpable, hanging in the air like a dense fog. Her eyes darkened, and for a moment, you felt like prey caught in the gaze of a hunter. Despite her relaxed pose, there was a coiled strength about her, a sense of latent power ready to spring.

You must have hesitated a second too long, because without warning, she reached out, her long fingers wrapping around your wrist with a firmness that left no room for resistance. She then tugged you down to the water's edge in one swift move.

“Don't be afraid, darling,” Lady Dimitrescu whispered. The warmth of her touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your skin tingle. “I won’t bite. Much.” The corner of her lips quirked up slightly, as if amused by her own joke.

Personally, you didn’t find it very funny.

Her fingers danced lightly over your wrist, her touch featherlight yet deliberate. Her index finger came to rest over your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. She drew you in closer, her presence overwhelming and intoxicating.

“You’re such a nervous little thing, aren’t you?” she cooed, her voice a soothing lullaby tinged with amusement. “But perhaps a little fear can be exhilarating, don't you think?”

Your throat went dry, the words stuck like sandpaper as you tried to respond. “I-I suppose so, my Lady.”

Lady Dimitrescu chuckled, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

“There’s nothing quite like the taste of fear, the thrill of the unknown. I quite enjoy playing with my food, though,” she paused, going quiet. Just as quickly as the intimacy had risen, it vanished. “You’re much more than just a plaything.”

Her eyes glinted with a dangerous light as she studied you.

“Help me wash my hair.” She demanded quite suddenly.

You knelt there, slightly dazed, trying to process the whiplash of emotions she had just put you through.

The shift in her demeanor was startling but you didn’t have time to dwell on that as you rose from your position by the bathtub. You walked over to a shelf lined with a variety of shampoo bottles and grabbed a few. You turned around and made your way back over, standing behind her. The scent of sandalwood and peppermint hit your nostrils as you poured a generous amount into your palm. Gently, you began to massage the shampoo into her hair, your movements careful and precise. Lady Dimitrescu leaned back into your touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as you worked the lather through her locks.

You couldn’t help but wonder how this had become your life.

***

You could hear the faint sounds of water splashing as Lady Dimitrescu prepared to emerge from her bath. You stood just beyond the threshold, made to wait by the doorway.

After what felt like an eternity, she stepped out with a fluffy towel wrapped around her large frame. She regarded you with a burning gaze, her golden eyes shining with a mixture of expectation and impatience.

“Go get my dress.”

“Yes, my Lady.” You replied promptly.

You moved toward the wardrobe that stood against the wall and opened the doors to reveal a multitude of white dresses. Carefully, you lifted one of the dresses from its hanger, feeling the fine fabric between your fingers. As you turned back toward Lady Dimitrescu, she allowed the towel to slip from her body, revealing her alabaster skin, smooth but slightly scarred. You looked away respectfully and focused on the task at hand, though the image of her naked body remained vivid in your mind.

She walked over to her dressing area and began to slip into her undergarments. Holding the dress out for her, you watched as she stepped into it, her long legs sliding effortlessly through the garment. Once the dress was in place, she adjusted it meticulously, ensuring every detail was perfect.

“Help me with the laces.” She instructed, turning her back to you.

The long, delicate laces of the dress dangled down her back, waiting to be tied. You hesitated for a moment, realizing her height made it difficult to reach the top laces. Lady Dimitrescu noticed your hesitation and glanced over her shoulder.

“Grab the step ladder in the corner of the room.” She directed, her tone patient but firm.

Nodding, you walked over to the corner and retrieved the step ladder, placing it carefully behind her. You began to climb the ladder and once you reached the last rung, you found yourself almost at eye level with the back of her head. With steady hands, you began to weave the laces through the eyelets, pulling them snug but not too tight.

As you worked, the proximity to her felt both intimidating and intimate. It made your hands shake slightly but you forced yourself to push through it. A moment later, you tied them off with a final, careful knot.

Stepping down from the ladder, you took in the sight of Lady Dimitrescu now fully dressed, her dress hugging her form perfectly.

She turned to you, her gaze steady. “I must say, you did an excellent job.”

You blinked rapidly a few times. The unexpected compliment caught you off guard.

“Uh - thank you, my Lady.”

She clasped her hands together, a pleasant smile spreading across her face. “Now, let's attend breakfast, shall we? My daughters are already waiting for us.”

Uncertainty arose within you. You’ve never worked in the kitchen before, but you don’t have much of a choice. You reassured yourself that you're resourceful and quick to learn.

“Of course, my Lady. I'll have the preparations made immediately.”

She let out a soft, almost amused sigh. “No, you misunderstand. I would like for you to have breakfast with me and my daughters.”

The words hung in the air, their weight settling heavily in the bedroom. The blood drained from your face. The thought of being around all three of her daughters at the same time made your heart almost stop beating.

“What?” You croaked out before you could stop yourself.

Lady Dimitrescu's eyes flashed dangerously. The space seemed to shrink around you as she took a deliberate step closer, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Did I stutter?” Her voice was icy.

“N-No, my Lady. I apologize for my misstep.”

She continued to regard you with that menacing glint in her eyes.

“Good,” her tone softened slightly but lost none of its edge. “Then let's not waste any more time, yes?”

You nodded quickly. She turned away, seemingly satisfied with your response.

“Come.”

You followed after her, trying to keep pace with her long, purposeful strides. The morning would be like no other, and you could only pray that you would emerge from it unscathed.

***

The grand double doors of the dining room were pushed open by Lady Dimitrescu with a flourish.

As you stepped inside, your eyes immediately fell upon her daughters, gathered at the far end of the long, polished dining table. They looked almost serene under the sunlight streaming in through the tall, arched windows but you knew better. Apprehension tightened around your chest like a vice. Memories of their previous acts of cruelty flashed through your mind. You had seen the aftermath of their games, the bruised bodies, and the blood-stained floors, and now, being in their presence, you felt like a gazelle being dragged into the lion’s den.

You forced your legs to move, stepping further into the dining room. Each step felt heavier than the last as the sisters' gazes followed you, as if sizing you up.

Bela, the eldest, sat to the right of her mother's chair, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her face. Her eyes, a bright shade of gold, locked onto yours as you neared the table. There was an intensity to her gaze, flickering over you with a cold, calculating look that made goosebumps travel across your arms. Though you had only seen her in passing, you knew enough about Bela to be cautious. She wasn't as outwardly violent as her two younger sisters, but she could still dish out a swift punishment just like her mother.

Across from her, Cassandra was sprawled lazily in her chair as if it were a throne. She regarded you with a smirk, her eyes glittering with amusement. There was a predatory air about her, a sense of dangerous playfulness that set your nerves on edge. Cassandra seemed to be savoring your discomfort like fine wine.

Next to Bela, Daniela sat in stark contrast to her sisters. She greeted you with a wide, almost manic smile, her eyes alight with an unsettling enthusiasm. Unlike Bela's cool demeanor or Cassandra's mocking danger, Daniela's energy was chaotic and unpredictable. You were grateful that you never had to interact with her either since you were first brought to this castle.

You flinched as Lady Dimitrescu’s hand suddenly landed on your left shoulder, her grip solid but gentle. She guided you around the table and led you to an open seat next to Cassandra.

“Good morning, girls,” Lady Dimitrescu greeted as she took her seat at the head of the table. “I apologize for the delay.”

“No worries, mother. I’m happy that you’re able to be here with us.” Bela said, her voice warm. You could have sworn you’d seen her eyes sparkle with fondness as she glanced at her mother.

But your attention soon shifted to the food in front of you. The table itself was a sight to behold. A colorful assortment of freshly cut fruits and warm bread rolls were all laid out before you. Bowls of creamy porridge, still steaming, were placed around the table as well. It's a feast fit for royalty, a sight you never imagined you'd see in your life. As you grew up, meals were meager, often consisting of whatever scraps could be put together. You remembered the days when even a simple loaf of bread was a rare treat.

The doors near the back of the dining room suddenly swung open, and two maids stepped out, pushing a silver cart. The cart held a few wine glasses and one large, red wine bottle. As the maids approached, their eyes met yours. You saw a flicker of emotions – shock, confusion, and concern – pass across their faces but they quickly masked their expressions and continued with their duties. Each glass was carefully filled to just the right level. As soon as that was done, they immediately left without another glance in your direction.

You didn’t recognize them, but the weight of their stares left a lingering discomfort in your gut. You could already hear the whispers that would soon circulate among the staff. What will Catalina think once she hears about you dining with the Dimitrescu family?

You gazed down at the bowl of porridge in front of you. Your stomach rumbled in anticipation, and you just realized that you hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, so you picked up your spoon and dug in.

The first bite was heavenly, the creamy texture and subtle sweetness dancing on your taste buds. You closed your eyes, savoring the moment, letting the warmth spread through your body. You were halfway through your meal when you felt something unsettling.

A strange, tickling sensation crept up your left arm. You glanced down and saw a small fly scurrying up your sleeve. You yelped and dropped the spoon, letting it clatter loudly against the table. Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze snapped toward you and then to her middle child.

“Cassandra.” Lady Dimitrescu's voice was a blend of warning and irritation.

You followed her gaze and Cassandra sat there with an expression of exaggerated innocence. She batted her eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “What? What happened?”

Cassandra's eyes shifted to yours for a moment, the smirk now fully formed.

“Your games are not amusing, Cassandra,” Lady Dimitrescu began, her tone firm. “As we discussed last night. She will be sharing future meals with us from now on. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

Wait. They talked about you?

Before you could dwell too long on the thought, Daniela’s voice chimed in. “I’m finally happy I’m allowed to be around you now. Having to wait all this time was torture.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion, trying to make sense of what she just said. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind that, dear. Let us enjoy this meal together.” Lady Dimitrescu interjected smoothly, her tone brooking no argument.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling like a pawn in a game you didn't fully understand.

Just then, a prickling sensation ran down the back of your neck. It was the unmistakable feeling of being watched. You tried to ignore it at first, but the intensity grew until you couldn't help but glance around the table. Your eyes landed on Bela. She watched you with an inscrutable expression, her eyes dark and unreadable. There was something unsettling in the way she held your gaze, neither hostile nor friendly, but piercing, as if she could see through you.

You couldn't shake the feeling that Bela knew something – something you desperately needed to uncover. But for now, all you could do was play along.

@ion-news @fanfiction8080 @cryiner

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil fanfic #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil #resident evil 8

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zablife · 8 months ago

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Lovefool

Tommy x gf reader

Summary: An infatuated Tommy finds his gf in a state of confusion, leading him to question her devotion. Will she say she loves him and not another?

Author's Note: Requested by @runnning-outof-time who asked for a story set in the room pictured above. Image credit goes to K for that lovely image in the center of the moodboard!

The soft glow of the fading afternoon sunlight gave an ethereal quality to your family’s drawing room, the pale ivory walls bathed in swaths of peach and gold that welcomed Tommy in despite his late arrival.

Arms full of flowers and lips overflowing with apologies, he carefully approached the center of the room. As he waited to see how you might receive him, his eager blue eyes roved the intricate scrollwork of the plaster moldings which cascaded from the ceiling and walls like clouds come down from heaven.

The high shine of the polished parquet floors reflected the warmth of the sun’s radiance upon your skin, bringing his gaze back to you and the sight left him enchanted. He stuttered out a quiet breath in appreciation of your angelic form in a white satin gown and matching gloves. But as Tommy moved to place a kiss upon your cheek, you shrunk way from him, an unreadable expression crossing your face.

Bringing the bouquet to your nose, you inhaled their rich perfume deeply, a hint of satisfied contentment settling over you. It was not to last. Tommy watched as your mood soon shifted like the wind, your hands relinquishing the colorful blooms moments later to a nearby table.

With an aching dread growing in his chest, he noted the distance between you as you retreated to the semicircular alcove of tall windows. Without so much as a backward glance, you walked into the light, leaving him far behind.

It was not the welcome to which he'd grown accustomed. The evenings of months past were spent intertwined on the sofa as you read from one of your favorite novels, stopping for him to brush the tendrils from your vision so you might continue or share a bit of gossip with him.

An uncharacteristic air of despondency seemed to take hold now as you looked out into the open space before you. Many moments passed in silence, your arms clutched tightly against your body before you finally proclaimed, “You shouldn’t have come tonight, Tom.”

“Why? Are you expecting someone else?” he asked with a half hearted laugh. A harsh gulp followed your silence, afraid to hear the answer.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” you confirmed, pulling back the heavy brocade curtains. Your eyes scanned the front lawn for movement, sensing only the shadows passing over the hedgerow.

As the sun dipped in the sky, a single beam of sunlight graced the ornate marble fountain. The light danced across the rippling water, twinkling back at you in an array of glittering gold and you smiled to yourself as you thought of the magic this particular hour held. In the days after your introduction to Tommy and his love of horses, you would often stroll the grounds near the stables before dinner. However, your joy was quickly stolen by thoughts of what your father had said at breakfast.

Tommy sighed heavily behind you and you glanced over your shoulder to see him slowly approaching.

“Tommy, please, don’t,” you shook your head softly as he began to reach for you.

“What’s wrong, eh?” his tone was gentle, but the concern he held was evident by the crease of his brow as he noted your puffy lower lip, swollen from your incessant biting. He’d come to notice it was a nervous habit of yours, albeit one that made you even more attractive. He would have kissed your ruby red lips if you hadn’t looked so distressed.

“Father says I ought to consider my options for the future. I’m afraid that no longer includes you,” you confessed flatly, afraid you’d lose control of your emotions if you didn’t hold tightly to the facade of well-mannered elegance.

Tommy's jaw clenched involuntarily at the thought of your father's duplicitousness, but also chided himself for being so thoroughly distracted by the mess Michael had made of everyone's finances recently. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he attempted a calming breath before asking, “And what of your mother?”

“Mother says I shouldn’t bother with someone who doesn’t deserve me,” you answered without considering how hurtful your declaration sounded. As soon as the words left your mouth, you recoiled slightly at the harshness. Eyes flicking up toward Tommy’s crestfallen face, you added defensively, “You’ve been away for weeks now with so few calls."

“I see,” Tommy uttered on a low breath. It was true the board meetings and paperwork had taken more of his time than he would have liked. “There were things I had to take care of,” Tommy began to explain before you cut him off.

“Yes, I understand, but that doesn't change the fact that mother says you’re not serious about me," you argued.

Fidgeting with your gloves you admitted that your parents had invited a handsome Bostonian named Jack Nelson to dinner one evening. With their blessing he'd taken you to the pictures and then dancing. Soon he was a regular guest at your parents' home, usurping Tommy's place at the table.

Tommy felt all the air leave the room as he recognized the name of the rival gangster. They'd seen one another two weeks earlier in London and exchanged cryptic remarks about his penchant for blue bloods and aspiration which made perfect sense now.

“You’d consider Jack Nelson’s proposal?” Tommy winced as he recalled the unsettling curl of the man's upper lip when he smirked.

“I don't know, I’m lost in confusion,” you cried, eyes brimming with tears.

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, unable to believe what he’d just heard. Surely you had to know the difference between his love for you and whatever false promises Jack had made.

The sound of tires crunching against the gravel drive signaled an end to your discussion and you quickly dried your tears. Chin raised high, you prepared to take your leave when Tommy reached for your arm.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded.

"But...my parents...they're expecting me" you stuttered, lost in the deep blue pools of his eyes so close to you they now threatened to swallow you.

Tommy's palm caressed your arm, warmth spreading up you like the last ray of sunlight fading from view. You couldn't help leaning into his touch, needing to hear what he would say.

“I'm sorry I wasn't here, but you have to know...I haven’t spent a day without thinking about you,” he confessed, eyes glistening hopefully.

A single tear cascaded down your cheek at his admission, savoring the words you'd longed to hear even though you knew they came too late.

Tommy's heart clenched in his chest at the sight of it, silently willing you to listen a moment longer. "Does he know?"

"Know what?" you whispered.

"That you like simple daisies most? Or that you're allergic to lavender?" he asked in a pinched voice, a lump growing in his throat at the thought of your hand slipping from his and losing you forever.

"Oh, Tommy..." you sighed, realizing he'd recognized your habit of pressing the delicate white flowers into your books when he brought them to you and how you sneezed when you'd passed the rows of purple blooms your mother planted in the garden. "I...I don't think anyone ever thought to notice," you admitted sadly. Your comfort had never been a priority to anyone before.

Tommy brought you in close to his body, stroking your back gently as he spoke. "You're the most precious thing to me in this world. How could I not have noticed?"

With that you began to weep openly and he embraced you tightly, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss.

"Everything's going to be fine, darling. I'll speak with your father and make things right. I love you," he swore to you with such earnestness you didn't doubt him for a moment.

“I love you too, Tommy,” you answered breathlessly.

Wiping your tears away with pad of his thumb, Tommy's grin widened and his eyes twinkled with mischief as he added, "Then let's go tell that Nelson bastard to fuck off!"

"Yes, let's!" you agreed with a giggle. And you exited the drawing room hand in hand.

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

Tag List:

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby

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ch-errybloosm · 7 months ago

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A NEWWWW LACED SET like and rebloge if you save or use.

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diamonddaze01 · 19 days ago

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The Somerset Affair | Chapter 2: When the Music Stops

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 2 took forever // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 3rd chapter will be up faster than this one i swear!!!

summary: when the music stops and everything goes wrong, will seokmin always be there to defend you?

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

The morning of your debut should have been perfect. Every detail had been painstakingly planned over months, from the delicate lace of your gown to the pearls in your hair. But as you sit in front of your vanity, eyes bloodshot and heavy with fatigue, you know deep in your bones that this day is not destined to go smoothly.

You had stayed up the entire night, restless, thinking about Seokmin. Every word he had said, every smile, every fleeting touch that had seemed so innocent before now felt charged with meaning, occupying your thoughts and stealing away any hope of restful sleep. The result was staring back at you in the mirror: bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath them, and lips that trembled as your maid worked tirelessly to dress you. It’s a pity – no amount of powders or rouge can hide the exhaustion and heartbreak written plainly across your face.

The soft rustling of your white debutante gown fills the room, each movement whispering of elegance and careful tradition. The gown is a masterful creation, carefully chosen by your mother months ago to reflect the quiet dignity of your family’s name. Its bodice is fitted, meticulously embroidered with the finest ivory threads that weave delicate patterns of lilies and vines across the fabric, adding dimension without overpowering.

Around the neckline, a border of tiny pearls catches the morning light, giving the gown a subtle shimmer that, like everything else about it, speaks of refinement over opulence. The gown’s sleeves, long and sheer, are trimmed in lace as fine as a spider’s web, designed to lay gently against your skin rather than cling, as if even the gown itself recognizes the demands of decorum.

The skirts cascade from the waist in a perfect fall of lace and satin, layers upon layers of gossamer fabric that float with your every step. Each layer, though fragile to the touch, is artfully arranged to maintain the gown’s perfect shape, a testament to the skill of its makers and the patience it took to assemble. At the hem, more intricate lacework peeks out, creating a subtle scalloped edge that brushes softly against the floor, finishing the gown with a grace that echoes the restraint of your mother’s discerning eye.

You cannot deny that the gown itself is a marvel, designed to highlight and enhance rather than dominate. It is beautiful, in the way a rose is beautiful—with an elegance that feels both timeless and delicate, whispering that a lady’s virtue lies in restraint, in never asking to be noticed and yet never failing to command attention.

But the corset. Oh, the corset. It felt as though it were designed to squeeze the very life from you.

“Breathe in, my lady,” your maid instructs, her voice strained from the effort of pulling at the stiff fabric. She pulls at the stays until your ribs protest in pain.

“I can’t breathe in anymore,” you bite out, trying and failing to draw in a proper breath. The corset feels like it’s made of iron, constricting your lungs until your vision begins to blur. “It’s too tight. I— I can’t—”

But your lady’s maid is relentless, ignoring your protests as she cinches you even tighter. She ties the final knot with a satisfied sigh. “There. That should hold.”

Hold? It felt more like it was keeping you prisoner, you think grimly, but before you can voice any more complaints, your mother sweeps into the room, her graceful presence filling the space with a quiet authority. Dressed in an elegant gown of soft gray silk, she pauses to take in your appearance, her sharp eyes noting every detail.

Your mother’s eyes scan your dress approvingly, but when her gaze lands on your face, her expression falters. “Dearest, you look... unwell.”

Your heart sinks. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” you confess, eyes cast downward, though you don’t dare mention why. The last thing you need is your mother knowing Seokmin has occupied your thoughts in such a way.

Your mother sighs softly and moves to stand beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “This day is important, darling. I had hoped you would be well-rested, but...” She trails off, her tone not unkind, but laced with concern. “There is no time now to dwell on it. The Queen waits for no one.”

You nod, feeling a rush of guilt, knowing how much effort has gone into preparing you for this moment. But the weight of the corset and your sleepless night are conspiring to make you feel utterly overwhelmed. Your mother notices, of course. She always does.

“Try not to worry too much,” she says, her voice softening, though it still holds that undercurrent of expectation. “You must keep your chin high, shoulders back. No one need know what little sleep you had. You are beautiful, my dear, no matter the circumstances.”

Her words, though comforting, do little to ease the anxiety building in your chest. But there’s no time left. Your lady’s maid places the final pearl pins in your hair, and your mother gives you a reassuring squeeze before she gestures toward the door. “It’s time.”

Your nerves flutter violently as you’re escorted downstairs and into the awaiting carriage. The ride to the palace feels both endless and far too short. Every bump in the road jostles your already-tight corset, pressing against your ribs and leaving you breathless. The palace is as magnificent as you had heard—no, it’s more. The palace itself is a marvel of architecture, an opulent structure that seems more the work of fantasy than reality. Vaulted ceilings soar impossibly high, held aloft by marble columns adorned with delicate carvings of ivy and mythical creatures that seem to come to life in the flickering candlelight. Every archway is flanked by gilded moldings, winding and curling like golden vines, each detail rendered with the precision of a master sculptor.

Each corner, each angle of the palace seems to lead to something grander than the last, as if it were designed to swallow you whole in beauty. And perhaps it is, you think, as you press a hand over your fluttering heart. For despite the elegance, there is an undeniable sense of intimidation in the sheer scale of it all—a reminder of how small you are in the face of such a place, and of the scrutiny that awaits within these towering, timeworn walls.

You can feel the architecture itself imposing upon you, weighing down like the firm hand of tradition. For a fleeting moment, you imagine yourself wandering through the palace alone, exploring every column and arch, free of the hundreds of eyes upon you. But here, now, with the gaze of history and expectation pressing down, you straighten your shoulders, drawing in a steadying breath, and follow your Mama into the Great Hall.

The hall is grander than anything you had even dared to imagine. The polished marble floors shine like glass, capturing reflections in delicate ripples that turn the passing gowns of debutantes into pools of lace and silk. Chandeliers hang from above, so immense and dazzling that they appear to drip crystal stars. They illuminate the room with a glow that is almost celestial, casting every inch of the hall in a warmth befitting the Queen herself.

To your right and left, mirrors taller than any man stretch to the ceiling, framed in gold leaf as intricate as lacework. The mirrors hold your gaze as you pass, capturing the girls beside you as they float forward with their mothers, each one a shimmering, blushing vision in white. You see yourself in these mirrors too, and although the gown fits you perfectly, somehow you feel like you’re wearing another’s skin. For a moment, you imagine your reflection whispering back, “Are you really here?”

The walls are covered in the richest velvet, deep greens and ruby reds that somehow make the hall feel even grander, as if you’ve stepped into the very heart of royalty itself. Enormous portraits of past queens and kings line the hall, each gaze strong and serene, as if they’re assessing every girl who dares to walk beneath their painted eyes. Somewhere in your chest, a knot forms and tightens. It’s strange, the feeling of being surrounded by so much opulence, as if the walls are watching, waiting for something that only they understand.

And perhaps that’s why your breath is so unsteady, why your heartbeat seems to echo through the hall in time with your footsteps. The palace, beautiful as it is, leaves you feeling like a creature of some lesser world, an intruder who has somehow wandered into a realm that does not belong to you. It’s not so much a place as a spectacle, a stunning, overbearing reminder of all that you must live up to, of all the scrutiny you’ll face from these grand walls, these glittering chandeliers, and yes, the very Queen herself. Every step feels like you are walking deeper into a lion’s den, where your every move will be scrutinized, your worth as a young lady judged by the sharpest eyes in the kingdom.

You move with the other debutantes, each girl dressed in white, adorned with jewels and delicate veils, the picture of youth and grace. The line seems to stretch forever as you wait your turn to be announced. The air is thick with anticipation, the rustle of satin and silk as the ladies murmur quietly to one another, some excited, others as nervous as you feel. Your own dress, despite its beauty, feels like a trap. The corset restricts your every breath, and the weight of expectation presses on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the room, your nerves growing worse by the second. And then, in the far corner, you spot them. Minghao stands with an air of composure, his eyes quietly observing the room, his presence as regal as ever. Your brother watches the proceedings with a detached elegance, his eyes flickering over the debutantes without much interest. His gaze flicks to you, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of calm knowing your brother is watching.

But next to him, is Seokmin.

He stands taller than most, his posture rigid but his face warm, though tinged with concern. While your brother is a portrait of his birthright and title, Seokmin is different. His gaze is sharper, more intent, and when his eyes find yours, the familiar comfort of his presence makes your heart stutter. You try to remind yourself to breathe, but the memory of his touch, his words, from the night prior clings to you like a shadow.

Seokmin’s expression softens when he sees you, and for a moment, the whole room seems to fall away. His lips quirk in a small, reassuring smile, and though you try to return it, your own face feels tight, your nerves too frayed to muster anything convincing.

As if sensing your unease, Seokmin’s eyes narrow with concern. Does he notice how your corset presses too tightly into your ribs? Or how your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep? The warmth in his gaze is mixed with a flicker of something unreadable, something almost protective. You are painfully aware of his gaze, and the thought of him watching you stumble through this day feels like too much to bear.

The line of debutantes inches forward, each young lady presented with grace and poise, or at least, the appearance of it. Your nerves churn violently in your stomach as your name is finally called. Your mother tightens her grip, ever so slightly, and it’s a silent reminder – You are a Xu. Do not falter.

“Miss Y/N Xu, sister of the Duke of Somerset,” the herald crows, and every eye in the room fixes on you. “Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Dowager Duchess of Somerset.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you take your first step forward, your skirts swishing around you. The weight of the gown, the tightness of your corset, and the heavy stares from all corners of the room press down on you. You try to steady your breathing, but the corset refuses to allow for even that small comfort.

Just as you take a step, disaster strikes.

Your heel catches on the hem of your gown.

You stumble forward, arms flailing slightly to catch yourself, but the weight of your skirts and the tightness of your corset make it impossible to recover gracefully. A collective gasp echoes through the room, and you feel your cheeks flush with mortification.

The whispers are instant, rippling through the crowd like wildfire. You can feel the stares—sharp, judgmental, unforgiving. Your mother’s grip tightens, and though she says nothing, you can feel her disapproval radiating through her hold. She doesn’t need to scold you—not in public. But the sting of her disappointment is enough to make you want to shrink into the floor.

Still, you manage to regain your footing, if only barely. You take a shaky breath and continue forward, your knees trembling with each step. But it gets worse. With every move, the corset seems to tighten further, squeezing the breath from your lungs until black spots dance in the corners of your vision.

Just as you’re about to curtsy before the Queen, your knees buckle.

A choking cough rips from your throat, loud and desperate, echoing through the grand hall. You’re bent over at the waist, gasping for breath, your corset pressing tighter with every moment. You cough again, and again, unable to stop, your eyes watering as you struggle to compose yourself.

The Queen, perched on her throne in all her regal glory, watches with a raised eyebrow, her disapproval palpable. Her expression is one of distaste, as if you are a spectacle—an amusing disaster.

Your mother murmurs beside you, “Steady yourself,” and her grip tightens with fury and disappointment in equal measure. It’s too late. Your corset has robbed you of the ability to breathe, and the weight of the entire room’s gaze crushes you. Your vision swims again, and for one horrifying moment, you think you might faint right there in front of the Queen.

Finally, you manage to straighten yourself, gasping for air, your face flushed and tear-streaked. You risk a glance toward the far side of the room, where Minghao and Seokmin still stand.

Minghao’s face is impassive, though his eyes are dark with what could only be disappointment. Seokmin, on the other hand, looks as though he might bolt across the room to help you. His hands clench at his sides, his jaw tight as his eyes flick between you and the Queen.

The Queen’s cold, cutting voice slices through the silence. “Miss Xu,” she says slowly, her tone dripping with disapproval. “It seems you are... unwell.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You manage a wobbly curtsy, your knees nearly giving out beneath you again as you lower yourself.

“Perhaps Miss Y/N should reconsider her readiness for society,” the Queen continues icily. “A young lady of such delicate constitution may not be suited for the rigors of court.”

Her words land like a blow. You rise slowly, trying to keep your chin held high, though your hands tremble and your vision remains blurry from the humiliation. All you want is for this moment to end. To disappear.

As you retreat, the whispers rise in volume, filling the grand hall with gossip and speculation. You can feel the weight of every gaze on you, every judgment passed in an instant. But it is Seokmin’s gaze that you search for in the crowd. His eyes meet yours, and though they are filled with concern, they are also gentle, understanding. A small comfort in the midst of your disaster.

Your mother, ever composed, whispers to you as she leads you from the room, her voice calm but firm. “We will speak of this later, darling. But for now, we must leave with grace.”

You nod weakly, still too breathless and embarrassed to respond. And as you step out of the grand hall, the day that was supposed to mark your entrance into society feels like anything but. All you can think about is how miserably everything went wrong—and how, even in the midst of it all, Seokmin’s gaze had found yours, steady and unwavering.

The silence presses on as the carriage trundles through the city streets, each wheel hitting the cobbles with a sound like a hammer to your heart. You’re trapped, here in this carriage, with no escape from your mother’s disappointment or the day’s memories—the whispered laughter, the blunder before the Queen, and the sheer, unbearable heat of your mortification.

Minghao’s hand rests over yours for only a heartbeat, but it’s enough to keep you from crumbling entirely. Though he releases your hand quickly to avoid Mama’s watchful eye, the gesture is enough to ground you, pulling you back to this place instead of letting you spiral into all the things you could have, should have done differently.

At last, your mother clears her throat, a carefully composed sound that cuts through the quiet like a knife.

“Well,” she says, her voice clipped and precise, “that was… quite the spectacle.” Her tone is a blend of disappointment and a tight, forced restraint. “I had hoped, naturally, for a… more dignified presentation.”

You swallow, feeling the flush of embarrassment burn anew. “I—” you start, but the words catch, failing under the weight of everything you wish to explain and the knowledge that no explanation will undo what’s done.

She adjusts her gloves with a sharp, precise tug, a calculated movement that somehow manages to convey her frustration without a single word. “I trust,” she begins slowly, every syllable measured, “that you understand the gravity of today’s events.”

You swallow, focusing on the intricate embroidery of your gown, tracing the delicate threads to distract yourself from the pressing sting of her words.

“Mother, I—” you stammer, but she holds up a gloved hand, silencing you before the words even form.

“We spent months preparing for this moment,” she continues, her voice tight with restrained emotion. “Months, to ensure you would have the debut any young lady of our family should. Your dress, your bearing, every detail was attended to so you would represent us with grace, with decorum. And yet, today…” She trails off, her eyes gliding over you with a look that could curdle milk.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Minghao interjects quietly, and though his tone is gentle, there’s a faint edge to his words, as though even he cannot quite hold back his defense. He shoots a quick, sidelong glance at you, a small, reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Queen’s hall was suffocating, and the entire affair was clearly designed to unnerve anyone in attendance.”

Your mother’s expression softens just a fraction as she regards her son, but she’s hardly swayed. “The Queen’s hall has been the site of countless debuts. If anything, the occasion called for composure, not… fainting spells.”

You clench your fists, the fabric of your dress twisting between your fingers, and look resolutely at the floor. As painful as it is to hear, you know your mother is not entirely wrong. Today was supposed to be your moment of triumph, the day you stepped forward as a young woman ready for society, carrying your family’s reputation with poise and dignity.

But instead, you remember the heat that had pressed in from all sides, the feeling of your corset cutting into your ribs, how your hands had trembled with each step. It was supposed to have been an easy task, to walk forward, cursty, and meet the Queen’s gaze with calm respect. And yet, you had felt every gaze upon you like a burn, each stumble echoing through the endless hall. And then, Seokmin’s eyes finding yours, calm and steady…

The memory stirs something warm within you, a faint flicker of relief that somehow dampens the embarrassment. The Queen’s gaze may have been unyielding, your mother’s disappointment all-consuming, but for that one moment, you had felt tethered, no longer alone.

Outside, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city as the carriage continues its steady roll homeward. The silence stretches again, and the weight of it settles around you like an invisible veil. Minghao catches your eye, and though he says nothing, the look he gives you speaks volumes—a quiet reassurance, a reminder that this one day does not define you, that he still believes in you despite every misstep.

Your mother finally sighs, a faint softening in her shoulders. “We’ll regroup,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “There will be more opportunities, of course, but we’ll need to be mindful, thoughtful. A second chance may not be as kind.” She glances at you, and though her expression remains stern, there’s a glimmer of something almost like understanding.

The carriage ride stretches on in silence once more, each of you lost in thoughts. You glance out the window, watching the city roll by, lanterns casting fleeting golden glows against the carriage walls. It feels surreal, how a day so longed for turned into a series of mishaps, one after another. But as the carriage rounds a corner, you catch a memory from earlier: Seokmin’s eyes, grounding you, unwavering, somehow knowing how terrifying each step felt, how every misstep seemed amplified beneath the weight of so many watching.

As the carriage wheels finally begin to slow, approaching the gates of your family estate, you feel a shift within yourself. Today may have been a disaster, and yet, Seokmin’s gaze and Minghao’s quiet support linger, like small anchors in the storm of the day.

The drawing room is a sanctuary of elegance, its ornate moldings and rich fabrics designed to impress. Tall windows frame the view of the manicured gardens outside, sunlight pouring through in golden streams that dance across the polished wooden floor. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, it feels more like a gilded cage today. The delicate scent of lavender from the nearby vase does little to soothe the turmoil within.

You sit hunched over a needlepoint project, your fingers fumbling with the bright threads that feel foreign against your skin. The canvas before you, a swirl of colors and patterns, seems to mock your inability to focus. Your mind wanders far beyond the needlework, replaying the events of your disastrous debut like a never-ending nightmare. Each time you think of it, a fresh wave of humiliation washes over you, sharp and unyielding, like a thorn that refuses to dislodge itself from your heart.

“Goodness, how is one expected to focus with this nonsense?” you mutter under your breath, the needle slipping from your fingers yet again and leaving a careless knot in the thread. You curse softly, frustration bubbling to the surface.

Your mother sits comfortably in her armchair, her brow slightly furrowed as she loses herself in the pages of a novel, the rustle of paper punctuating the silence. Minghao lounges on the settee across from you, flipping through a collection of sketches, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at his artistic efforts. Every so often, his gaze flickers towards you, a mixture of concern and curiosity etched into his features, but he respects your silence, understanding that you are still recovering from the scarring events of your debut into polite society.

Just then, the door swings open, and Seokmin steps into the room, his presence a burst of light that seems to chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts. It has been years since the butler last announced his arrival—his visits are far too frequent now, and you can’t help but feel a mix of warmth and apprehension at his entrance. His usually buoyant demeanor is tempered by a trace of concern as he takes in the scene before him, the way your shoulders droop as if weighed down by invisible chains.

“Good morning!” he declares, his voice bright yet careful, testing the waters of your melancholy. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” your mother replies, glancing up from her book, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “In fact, you may be just what our dear girl needs.”

You offer a small, half-hearted smile, the corners of your lips barely lifting. “And what would that be? A distraction or a dose of reality?”

Seokmin approaches, his smile as warm as the sunlight flooding the room. “A bit of both, if you’ll allow me.” He perches himself on the arm of your chair, leaning in just enough to draw your focus from the needlepoint chaos. “That was quite the debut you had, dear friend. How are you holding up?”

“Barely,” you sigh, tossing the errant needlepoint aside as if it were the source of all your woes. “I feel as if I’ve stumbled through a door marked ‘exit’ into an abyss of mortification.”

His eyes widen with sympathy, and in that moment, your heart flutters, torn between admiration and the painful reality that he may never feel the same. Seokmin has a way of making the world feel lighter, yet your feelings for him are a weight that often threatens to pull you under.

“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely, as if you have just shared the most profound wisdom. “The abyss of polite society can be quite unforgiving. I believe it’s marked with ‘no entrance’ signs, but alas, they are easily overlooked.”

Minghao chuckles softly, his attention now fully diverted from his sketches. “You do have a gift for exaggeration, Seokmin.”

“It’s a talent,” Seokmin replies, feigning an air of grandeur, his hand pressing dramatically to his heart. “But truly, do not let the Queen’s judgment define you. You are far too radiant for that.”

You snort, the sound escaping before you can suppress it. “Radiant? Is that what you call it when one trips over their own gown and nearly faints in front of our sovereign?”

“Why, yes! A splendid display of athleticism!” he shoots back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve inadvertently entertained a room full of people—something they are certain to remember for ages.”

“But not in the way I had hoped,” you reply, frustration seeping into your voice as the memory of the evening flashes before your eyes, a storm of embarrassment churning within you.

“Ah, but hope can be a slippery creature,” he counters, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “What matters is how you choose to move forward. I have heard of many a lady whose debut was marred by similar accidents—yet they rise from the ashes like phoenixes, dazzling everyone with their resilience.”

“Is that your way of saying I should make a grand return to society?” You raise an eyebrow, your heart flickering with the suggestion. “Perhaps adorned in feathers and sequins to distract from my previous mistake?”

“I’d be the first to support such a feat,” he replies earnestly, the sincerity in his voice a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. But beneath your amusement lies an aching truth: his encouragement only highlights the chasm between your feelings and his indifference. He will never look at you the way you long for.

“Yes, Lord Lee, what a wonderful idea!” your mother exclaims, her book long forgotten. “The Fitzwilliam Ball is to be held in the coming weeks—what a splendid way for our darling girl to re-enter society!”

Your face falls. A ball? So soon? The very thought sends a tremor of panic racing through you. “Mama, I—”

“Yes, Mother, a splendid idea indeed,” Minghao muses, a teasing glint in his eye. When you turn your glare to him, he sticks his tongue out meanly, and Seokmin suppresses a chuckle.

You take a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety rising in your chest. “I’m not certain I’m ready for another ball, not after—” you start, but the words die on your lips as Seokmin’s gaze locks onto yours. His expression is gentle yet determined, a silent encouragement that stirs something deep within you.

“Ready or not, life moves on,” he says softly, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You have to take the reins, even if the prospect is daunting.”

You want to believe him, to embrace his unwavering optimism, but doubt gnaws at you. Can you truly face another crowd, the whispers, the judgment? Your heart flutters erratically, caught in a tempest of affection and despair. Seokmin’s eyes shine with an earnestness that quickens your pulse, yet it only reminds you of the gulf that lies between your feelings and his casual indifference.

“Life indeed moves on,” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. “But what if I stumble again? What if I make an even greater fool of myself?”

Seokmin’s smile falters for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of understanding that cuts through the air like a knife. “We all stumble, but that’s how we learn to rise,” he replies, his tone steady yet soft. “And besides, I’ll be there. I promise I’ll help you navigate any disaster.”

His words wrap around you like a lifeline, a flicker of hope igniting your heart. But as the warmth of his promise settles in, a cold weight begins to press upon you. You look into his eyes, searching for something more, but find only the steadfast gaze of a friend—someone who would catch you if you fell, but only as a friend.

“Right,” you murmur, the pain of acceptance settling in your chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding, a reminder of the distance between you.

The late evening light filters softly through the sheer curtains of your room, casting a warm glow that barely reaches the pile of books haphazardly stacked beside your bed. These books, filled with tales of love and adventure, have provided a much-needed refuge from the reality of your recent debut. For days now, you’ve chosen to cocoon yourself in their comforting embrace, avoiding the whispers and curious glances of society that followed you after your disastrous introduction.

You had resolutely refused to attend any of the society events your mother deemed essential—the lady’s tea, with its orchestrated conversations and veiled judgments, or the garden party, where laughter seemed to echo around you while you felt only isolation. The thought of facing the same debutantes, the same mamas, their glances lingering a moment too long on you, made your stomach churn. Instead, you preferred the solace of your room, the pages of your books offering both distraction and comfort as you lost yourself in worlds far removed from the judgmental eyes of the ton.

But tonight, your mother is insistent. At last, the Fitzwilliam Ball is upon you, and you have no escape from your mother’s gentle chiding. “Darling,” she calls gently, her voice a melody that pulls you from the pages of your latest escape. The delicate scent of lavender wafts through the air as she steps into the room, her presence commanding yet warm. It is an unusual moment—your lady’s maid typically oversees your dressing, managing the layers of fabric and the intricate details of your ensemble. But today, it is your mother who steps into that role, a significant act that carries with it the weight of her affection and a chance to bridge the gap that your previous missteps had created.

“It’s time to get ready, my dear,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, as she approaches your wardrobe. As she opens the doors, the sight of your gown hanging inside takes your breath away.

The dress, an ethereal creation of lavender silk, shimmers like moonlight trapped in fabric. The bodice is adorned with intricate embroidery that depicts delicate vines and blossoms, each stitch telling a story of artistry and care. The sleeves are fitted, with lace cascading down to create a soft ruffle at the wrist, and the skirt flows in layers, each tier of lace and silk billowing like clouds as it moves. It is a gown befitting a princess, meticulously designed to showcase your family’s esteemed standing while allowing a hint of youthful exuberance to shine through.

“This gown is truly magnificent,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the embroidered flowers as your mother gently lifts it from the wardrobe. “I can’t believe you chose it yourself.”

“Of course, I did. It’s time for your grand re-entrance to society, after all,” she replies, a smile dancing on her lips as she helps you into the gown. The fabric wraps around you like a dream, soft and luxurious, but as your mother laces the bodice, the realization of how tightly it pulls leaves you breathless. Each tug of the laces feels like a reminder of the expectations that have come to define you, but your mother’s presence softens the edges of that pressure.

Yet, it is not discomfort that fills the room. Instead, the sounds of your mother’s laughter and intelligence wrap themselves around you. Your mother’s hands are gentle as she fastens each lace, her fingers brushing against your skin in a manner that reassures you. The stern disappointment of your debut, where you felt like a shadow beneath the weight of expectations, seems to dissipate, replaced by her usual grace and kindness. As she works, her voice drifts like a melody, recounting stories from her own youth, her laughter echoing softly against the mirror as if the memories bring light to the room.

With every loop of ribbon and every gentle tug, she weaves a tapestry of love and support, a tangible reminder that tonight is not merely a duty but a celebration of who you are. As she arranges your hair into an elegant updo, delicately weaving in pearl pins that glimmer like stars, you catch a glimpse of the woman she has always been beneath the layers of propriety. The warmth of her presence washes over you, igniting a flicker of hope that perhaps tonight will mark a new beginning.

“Are you ready?” she asks, stepping back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, taking a moment to admire your reflection. The gown transforms you into a vision of beauty, yet beneath the surface, you feel a tempest of uncertainty swirling within you.

“Now, let’s see what your brother thinks.” Your mother gestures toward the door, and as you descend the staircase, your heart quickens with every step.

At the foot of the stairs, Minghao waits patiently, the embodiment of duty and familial pride. His presence, regal and calm, adds to the moment’s gravity. Dressed in a tailored coat that accentuates his stature, he stands as the dutiful son and duke, ready to escort both you and your mother to the ball. The contrast between his composed demeanor and your own fluttering heart is stark, yet comforting. As you make your way down the stairs, your mother’s gentle squeeze of your hand gives you a modicum of strength, each step drawing you closer to the world outside that awaits your return.

“Sister,” Mighao greets, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I suppose if tonight is your big night, this gown does not offend the eyes.”

“Minghao!” Your mother’s rebuke is instant, a gentle reprimand that lightens the atmosphere with her authority.

“For goodness’ sake, brother,” you admonish, donning a façade of false bravado to hide the anxiety swirling within. “It seems as if you would simply keel over before you ever paid me a proper compliment!” You attempt to feign indignation, but the corners of your mouth betray you with the hint of a smile.

As you reach the bottom step, he extends his arm, a silent invitation to escort both you and your mother to the ball. It’s a gesture of duty, but there’s an undertone of affection that brings warmth to your heart. He may be the dutiful son and duke, poised and impeccably dressed in his tailored attire, but in this moment, he is simply your brother—standing beside you as a steadfast protector against the uncertainties of the evening ahead.

Your mother glances at both of you, her eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of nostalgia. “Shall we?” she prompts, her voice carrying a note of excitement that sends a flutter through your stomach.

With a deep breath, you take Minghao’s arm, feeling the reassuring strength of his presence as he leads you both toward the waiting carriage. The air outside is brisk, filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant hum of music preparing to fill the grand halls. Each step you take resonates with the rhythm of your heartbeat, a mix of trepidation and hope.

As you settle into the plush interior of the carriage, the door closes with a soft click, sealing you away from the familiar confines of home and ushering you into a world of possibility. The grandeur of the evening awaits, and as the carriage rolls forward, the cobblestones beneath you echo with the anticipation of what’s to come.

You can’t shake the feeling that this night holds the promise of something new—perhaps redemption, or at the very least, the opportunity to reclaim your place among the society that had once felt so cruel. As the carriage sways gently with each turn, you steal a glance at your mother and brother, their expressions a blend of excitement and encouragement. In this moment, surrounded by their unwavering support, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different.

Fate is certainly a cruel mistress—despite your greatest hopes, the ball is positively dismal.

The ballroom is every bit as grand as you’d imagined—no, grander. Chandeliers dripping with golden light cascade overhead, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the polished marble floor. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the lively music of the orchestra, where violins soar and the occasional trill of laughter punctuates the harmony. Silks and satins swirl in every direction as the season’s debutantes twirl with their suitors, their gowns a riot of color that makes you feel like a ghost in comparison.

But none of it feels as magical as you once thought it would. Instead, you stand to the side, clutching the silk of your gown, its intricate lace and delicate pearls feeling like a weight rather than a luxury. Your mother had ensured that every stitch was perfect, every detail immaculate, to help erase the memory of your disastrous debut. Yet, it hasn’t worked. The whispers haven’t stopped. Even here, amidst the splendor, you can feel the gazes sliding over you, only to dart away, as if your very presence is a reminder of your failure.

The other debutantes are radiant, their smiles bright as they are swept onto the dance floor by handsome, eligible gentlemen. But you... you might as well be invisible.

Your heart sinks as you watch them, a heavy weight settling in your chest. This is meant to be a night of joy and celebration, yet you feel like a fragile glass ornament left behind, forgotten in the bustle of a festive occasion. The laughter and music create a vibrant tapestry of life around you, but inside, you’re drowning in a sea of insecurity and self-doubt.

Just when despair threatens to envelop you entirely, a presence beside you breaks through the haze. Seokmin, as effortlessly charming as ever, sidles up, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” he remarks, his voice low so only you can hear. “I’m certain some of these mamas could lead an army with the way they maneuver their daughters.”

You blink at him, surprised by his lightheartedness. Despite the heat of embarrassment burning your cheeks, a smile pulls at your lips, momentarily pushing aside the shadows clouding your heart.

Before you can respond, he holds his hand out to you, a silent invitation, and for a moment, you hesitate. Seokmin, who could have any lady in the room, is asking you to dance? Your heart stutters, a wild flutter of hope mingling with anxiety, and you glance around, acutely aware of the whispers beginning to stir again. People are noticing the exchange, their eyes narrowing in speculation. But Seokmin stands before you, his hand outstretched, waiting with an easy confidence that momentarily disarms you.

With a deep breath, you place your gloved hand in his, and he leads you to the center of the ballroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The moment your feet hit the floor, however, the murmurs begin in earnest, slicing through the enchantment that had briefly settled around you.

“Isn’t that the girl?” someone whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “The one who fainted?”

“I’d heard,” another voice chimes in, “that no one would ask her to dance. Poor dear, but what did she expect after such a performance?”

You keep your eyes firmly fixed on Seokmin, but each word is like a needle, sharp and painful, pricking at your composure. The worst of it comes when you catch sight of one of the mamas, her face set in a smirk as she whispers to her daughter—the same daughter you had once taken pianoforte lessons with. The girl lets out a small, mean-spirited laugh, and your stomach twists, the laughter echoing like a death toll.

The memory of your debut hangs over you like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. Your embarrassment simmers, threatening to boil over. The murmurs become unbearable, and instinctively, you move to pull away from Seokmin, ready to flee. But before you can, his grip tightens, firm but gentle.

“Leaving so soon?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a lifeline in the midst of the storm. “Didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad manners to leave in the middle of a dance?”

You try to focus on his words, on the feel of his hand in yours, but it’s no use. You feel like every eye is on you, dissecting your every movement, judging, whispering, laughing. Seokmin is a shield, but he can’t block all the venom aimed at you.

“I can’t—” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but Seokmin cuts you off.

He reaches up, loosening a perfectly pinned curl from your hair, letting it fall gently by your cheek. His eyes are soft, almost tender, and in that moment, you feel something flutter to life in your chest. “Eyes on me, Tulip,” he murmurs, and the way he says it—so calm, so sure—makes your heart skip a beat.

For the briefest moment, you think he might love you. That despite the gossip, despite the humiliation, Seokmin sees you—the girl beneath the debutante, the one who has admired him from afar for so long. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao. He stands by the edge of the ballroom, watching. And then—he nods. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but Seokmin notices, and he nods back.

Your blood runs cold.

You blink up at Seokmin, the warmth in your chest turning to ice. “Did you do this because Minghao asked you to?” The words slip out before you can stop them, low and desperate, laced with betrayal.

Seokmin’s brow furrows. “Do what?”

“This. The dance.” You glance around at the swirling crowd, the eyes that have never left you. “The attention. Did you ask me because he wanted you to? To salvage my prospects?”

His confusion is genuine, but the truth is written in his face—open, honest, and devastating. He hesitates, and it’s all you need to know.

“Damn you,” you whisper, voice shaking with fury and hurt. His eyes widen, shocked by the venom in your voice, the curse slipping from your lips like something foreign. “Damn you, Lee Seokmin.”

“Y/N—” he starts, his voice softening, trying to explain, to defend himself. But you don’t give him the chance.

“I thought,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I thought you asked me because you wanted to, not because you were told to. I thought you held me in higher regard than this.” You laugh bitterly, a sound that catches in your throat. “How foolish of me.”

The onlookers are whispering more now, their curiosity piqued by the tension in the air, the way your voice trembles with barely contained emotion. But you don’t care. You’re done caring.

With a mocking curtsy, you drop your hands from his and step back. “My lord,” you say, dripping with sarcasm, “I do apologize for any inconvenience to your social standing.”

Seokmin’s eyes widen, panic flashing in them as he realizes the gravity of your words, the weight of what you’re about to do. “Y/N, wait—”

But you don’t wait. You turn on your heel and stalk toward the ballroom’s exit, your skirts swirling around you in a flurry of lilac silk and lace, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The gasps and murmurs of the guests fade into the background as you flee, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

Behind you, Seokmin’s voice calls out, desperate, pleading. “Y/N, please—stay—”

But you don’t look back. You run.

The chill of the night air bites at your skin as you emerge from the grand ballroom, the sounds of the festivities quickly swallowed by the night. Minghao is hot on your heels, and you hear the familiar click of his shoes echoing against the cobblestone streets. As you enter the carriage, your fury erupts like a dam breaking.

“How dare you meddle in my life?” you exclaim, the words bursting forth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. The tears spill over, mingling with the delicate fabric, each droplet a testament to your exasperation. “I wish to be left alone!”

Minghao, ever the picture of serene composure, raises an eyebrow, though his calm demeanor only serves to ignite your temper further. “I’m only trying to help you, dear sister,” he replies, his voice as soothing as a summer breeze.

“Help? Is that what you call this? You think I’m some delicate flower that requires your constant tending?” Your heart beats faster, each pulse an echo of your indignation. “You are not my keeper, Minghao!”

He opens his mouth, surely to deliver some well-meaning retort, but you are not in the mood for restraint. “You think I can’t manage my own affairs? That I need you to dictate who I should associate with? Let me remind you, I am not a child!”

In a fit of fury, you throw one of your shoes toward him, the delicate slipper soaring through the air; Minghao ducks just in time, the shoe landing with a soft thud against the carriage wall.

“Is this truly your idea of a civilized discussion?” he remarks, feigning offense. “Throwing footwear instead of engaging in rational discourse? My, how you’ve mastered the art of temper tantrums!”

“Better to throw a shoe than to be lectured like a schoolgirl!” you counter, your voice rising to match his. “You presume to know what is best for me, but you are merely reflecting your own apprehensions! You have no concept of my struggles!”

Minghao’s brow furrows, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softens, as if he might relent. But then he leans forward, his voice low and fervent. “And you believe that sulking in the corner will resolve anything? You are only isolating yourself further!”

“Perhaps I wish to be alone!” you declare, your voice ringing with defiance, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam. “Perhaps I grow weary of this charade, that everything is perfect when it is most decidedly not!”

A tense silence envelops the carriage, the air thick with unspoken words. You both breathe heavily, the conflict hanging between you like a fine silk thread ready to snap. The rest of the ride is steeped in a heavy silence, each passing moment thickening the air with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You lean against the plush seat of the carriage, your gaze fixed on the world outside. The blurred lights of the city flicker past, dimming into the encroaching darkness, and with each glimmer that fades from view, a piece of your heart seems to shatter.

Inside, your thoughts spiral. Betrayal gnaws at you like a ravenous beast, devouring any remnants of confidence you had managed to muster before the ball. Seokmin was supposed to be your ally in this fight, your so-called “loyal servant”; a beacon of warmth amidst hushed whispers. Yet now, as the reality settles in, you realize he is merely Minghao's friend, not yours.

How could you have been so naïve? Your mind races back to moments you once cherished: the laughter shared over private nicknames, the comfort of his presence when you felt small and insignificant. He had danced with you, yes, but it had been an act of duty, an obligation to your brother, not a genuine desire to hold you close. You had hoped, foolishly, that he might look beyond your failed debut, that he might understand the person beneath the gown and lace. Yet here you are, reduced to a mere pawn in a game you didn’t even want to play.

A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. Instead, you grip the edges of your gown tightly, feeling the intricate lace and delicate pearls dig into your palms, until you are sure you will have bruises in the morning.

How could Seokmin have allowed himself to be used this way? Did he not care enough to stand by you when it mattered most? He had seen you, yes, but only through the lens of loyalty to Minghao, not as the woman you wished to be, not as the friend you had thought he saw.

By the time the carriage arrives at your home, the bitterness in your chest is a wellspring of anguish. The vibrant ball is now a distant memory, a dream turned nightmare, and all you can do is silently mourn the friendship you thought would endure. You glance at Minghao, his face set in a mask of determination, oblivious to the storm of emotion swirling inside you.

As you step out of the carriage, he follows closely behind, his footsteps heavy with regret. “Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and earnest, “I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought—”

You cut him off, spinning to face him, your expression fierce with hurt. “It’s too late, brother,” you declare, the words like shards of glass spilling from your lips. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You’ve ruined everything.”

His eyes widen, a mixture of shock and remorse flooding his features. “I never meant to hurt you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” you snap, frustration and pain intertwining in a chaotic dance. “You acted without thinking. You’ve taken something precious from me.”

Minghao opens his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but the words die on his lips. The truth hangs in the air, heavy and palpable, as the reality of your fractured trust settles between you.

For the rest of the season, you do your best to blend into the walls at every ball, and you succeed. You become a shadow flitting between vibrant gowns and boisterous laughter. Each event becomes a blur of swirling colors and muffled sounds. You move quietly, navigating the sea of opulence with a heavy heart, wearing a mask of indifference that hides the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface.

You linger in corners, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns of wallpaper as if seeking solace in their delicate designs. The bright chandeliers above cast their warm glow on the happy couples swirling in perfect harmony, while you remain firmly anchored in your solitude, an invisible wall erected around your heart. You watch as others twirl and laugh, and your heart aches for Seokmin’s easy companionship, the lively conversations and playful banter that now feel like a distant memory.

With each passing ball, the weight of your isolation grows heavier. Minghao’s well-intentioned apologies echo in your mind, but their impact fades against the reality of your existence. You’ve become an expert at deflecting curious gazes, practicing the art of blending in so well that the laughter and music seem to wash over you like water off a duck’s back.

But it is Seokmin’s absence that echoes loudest in your heart. He might have always been your brother’s best friend, but you had hoped he would be something more—something real. As the music swells, the realization settles heavily on your shoulders: you are utterly, irrevocably alone.

Seokmin doesn’t ask you to dance again for the rest of the season.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange

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wardenparker · 13 days ago

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In the Still of the Night, ch 2

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Just more shameless flirting, a bit of self-consciousness, first date nerves and anxiety. Summary: Zach flirts with a specially cooked meal, you flirt with some specially chosen songs, and embarking on your first date brings a lot of shared nerves to overcome. Notes: It never takes me too long to fall in love with these new pairs but I just *adore* Zach and his soulmate so damn much.

Ch 1

If you take a little extra time and care in getting ready for your show the next night, who can blame you? A purple velvet gown and black satin gloves, shimmering rhinestone jewelry, red lipstick and your hair just so — you can tell yourself it’s all for the gig but the butterflies in your stomach know better. It’s because you’re excited to see Zach, even if you’re a little nervous too. Last night had been fun, and you hope that even in the harsh light of day that he thinks so too.

Zach couldn’t sleep last night. He was tired but then again, so energized by the entire night he had spent with you. Already on his third coffee by the time the prep cooks had come in from the breakfast shift – it was his off day from that – he had cleaned up from the night before and completely changed his idea for the specials of the night. All with you in mind.

“We should do something special tonight.” Is the suggestion you give to the band while you’re warming up, only to receive skeptical looks from three of the four guys.

“Special how?” Keo asks, twirling his drumsticks. It’s a habit, one formed before he could really walk since his father was also a drummer.

“Maybe a theme night?” The guys will bust you to no end if you admit that all you want to sing is love songs, but it’s true.

Shane is the only one that starts grinning, having witnessed the nearly moony, floating on air attitude of his roommate when he came back to the cabin last night. Or rather this morning. “How about some love songs?” He suggests slyly.

Working hard to sound nonchalant always backfires in the end, but you shrug (a little too performatively) and aim for a breezy tone when you agree. “Oh! Sure. Sure— I mean, if that sounds good to you guys.”

“Anything in mind?” Shane probes, seeing right through your little casual agreement and wondering how well the night went. You and Zach were in the kitchen for a long time.

“We could do some classics?” Waving one hand and pretending to think of things if the cuff, you’re determined not to admit you’ve had a few songs cycling through your head all day. “Maybe some Cole Porter? ‘Let’s Do It’ and ‘Let’s Misbehave’ always go over well.”

“Only if we add ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You’.” Shane adds. “Diana loves it and I’ll send her the video tonight.” All the performances are recorded by the sound and lights crew for internal use and promotion reels for the supper club. She sometimes gets the videos of nights Shane is super proud of.

“Of course.” You’re quick to agree, mostly because it’s a song you all do well but also because you like Shane’s soulmate a lot. Diana is a badass and a sweetheart all at once.

“Sound good to you guys?” They will all add their own songs to the playlist before the night is over.

“That works.” Cliff is preoccupied with selling a new reed in his sax and shrugs. “Love songs usually get us better tips.”

“Then we will focus on the love songs.” Shane agrees. “Wonder what the chef is making for tonight? Hopefully something rich and sinful.”

“No clue.” You breeze right by the question as if you and Zach hadn’t talked about your favorite foods last night. As if you aren’t hoping just a little bit that he is thinking of you as much as you are of him.

“Hey chef.” Zach’s right-hand man, his sous chef, looks puzzled as he stares at the pans of cakes cooling on the stainless steel counters. “What’s all this?” Zach looks up from the sauce that he is simmering on the stove and beams. “Red velvet cake for the dessert tonight.”

"Hell of a left turn from ice cream." His sous chef observes, looking out at the seemingly endless counter of edible red sponge.

“Fits the rest of the menu.” Zach agrees. “I’ve changed all of it.” He waves towards the paper sitting on the table. “Tell me what you think.”

The menu written out on the wipe board is completely different than what was set out earlier in the week. In place of the popular shrimp scampi or chicken cordon bleu are the far more sumptuous options of a seafood stuffed salmon with cream sauce or a filet with a beurre blanc. The kitchen's traditional spinach salad has been scrapped for a strawberry balsamic salad instead, and the broccoli rabe or roasted potato options are now grilled asparagus or honey whipped carrots. It's a beautiful menu, for sure. But... "What prompted the change?"

Zach grins as he looks at the younger man. He’s handsome and already engaged to his soulmate back in his home country. “I was inspired.” Zach admits shamelessly. “Romance. This is a menu for romance.” He tells him. “I want the guests to be seduced by their meal.”

"Oh yes?" The younger man laughs, immediately dropping his towel on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest as he leans in that same place. "There is a lady?"

“No.” Zach shakes his head. “An angel.” He’s being completely ridiculous, but he can’t help it. He was asked out. On a date. By the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen in his life. If that wasn’t inspiring, he doesn’t know what would be.

"Ooh la la!" The saucier, standing not two steps away, hears the seemingly magic words and perks up. "Only an angel? Not a goddess?" She teases. Zach might drive the staff hard but he is a good boss and well liked in his kitchen.

“Not quite yet.” Zach huffs and tries not to blush like a school boy.

"It's not a passenger, is it?" The kitchen is now buzzing with the gossip.

Zach’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. He’s heard of some crew risking their jobs for liaisons with passengers but he wouldn’t be willing to risk his future like that. “Absolutely not.” He huffs, appropriately horrified.

“Boss wouldn’t be that stupid.” Zach’s saucier defends.

He’s a little placated that they don’t believe he would do that. “But the point is, I want tonight to be special for our guests.” He bites his lip. “Check with the sommelier and see what wine and cocktail pairings we can come up with please?”

“On it!” Comes a call from a few feet away, and one of his staff that was just watching her hands disappears around the corner to track the sommelier down in his office.

Zach smiles, happy his staff works as a cohesive unit and can handle the occasional curve ball thrown their way.

They can always hear it in the kitchen when the band starts warming up. They may not have a speaker but the strains of music from the dining room are unmistakable regardless of being faint. Zach's sous chef has just about turned around to go back to work when he hears it and clocks the grin on his boss's face. "Oh damn."

“What?” He asks innocently, turning back to his sauce and trying to wipe the grin off his face, but it’s impossible.

"It's her, isn't it?" Nobody's missed the extra attention Zach pays to the singer of the club's band whenever she's performing, or the way he always wants to know if she liked her dinner, or the way he hums to himself a little along with the music. The last one they're not even sure he realizes he's doing, but they've all heard it.

“Let’s just focus on dinner.” He’s not avoiding the conversation, but maybe your feelings have changed since last night or the date you asked him on never materializes or goes horribly. This could fizzle out and then he will be stuck mooning over you and all his staff will know it.

Family meal is the same on a cruise ship, but plates of the dinner that is being served to the passengers always go out to the band when their warmups are over. Yesterday’s kerfluffle with one of the waitresses having an emergency and missing family meal isn’t repeated today and the plating of what will do out to the band is extremely intentional.

“This plate is to have both specials.” Zach instructs before he takes the plate himself. “Never mind, I will do it myself.”

His staff only exchanges smirks as Zach plates an exquisite dish with portions of each thing, and a tray is loaded with dishes to bring out to one of the tables in the dining room for the band to eat before service begins for the night.

Zach argues with himself about taking you the plate personally, but he had settled for marking it and giving clear instructions that that particular plate be given to you. He bites his lip as he wonders if you will like it before he inevitably has to get back to work.

The tray that comes out of the kitchen is laden down with heavy plates, and while you always love the smells coming out of the kitchen at the club they seem even better tonight.

“Oh yum.” Keo is the first to put eyes on the tray coming out of the kitchen, but only because you were forcing yourself to wait three settings before looking to see if it’s Zach bringing it your dinner.

It’s a disappointment when it’s not.

Rachel, a perky and charming Filipina, with a smile to match, comes to being your food. She makes a big show of the plates for the rest of the band, but she huffs and shoos them away when they approach your chaffer covered plate. “It’s special!” She huffs before bringing it over to you. “Zach said this plate was yours and yours alone.” She tells you with a wink. “Enjoy.”

"That's either ominous or adorable." Shane observes, watching you fluster and try not to giggle as you uncover your plate. "What the hell did you guys do last night?"

"It wasn't like that." You huff, rolling your eyes at him as you remove the cloche over your plate. But a second later you gasp and press one open hand to your chest in shock. "Oh...oh my god..." He did it...he actually did it... You think, absolutely astonished.

According to you, surf and turf is your dream meal, but you are bored by it just being shrimp and steak or steak and lobster. Stuffed salmon being a thing of beauty in your eyes and you had complained about mashed potatoes always being served with it. So Zach had worked his magic and come up with this menu especially for you.

"Rachel?" You hold the waitress up for just one second, with a beaming smile plastered across your face. "Will you please tell him it's perfect?" With your voice gone soft and dreamy, it probably makes the point all the more deeply. "And I can't wait to have every last bite."

“Dessert is under the other cloche.” She points out with a grin, happy to report back to the kitchen that you are just as enamored with Zach as he is with you.

With all four of your bandmates staring at you expectantly as Rachel walks away, you can pout for about three seconds but you're not going to be able to enjoy your meal without explaining yourself. "He asked me what my favorite meal was. My dream meal. And...I love surf and turf, but it's always the same old thing, ya know? And...he went and reinvented the whole thing." It's the most romantic thing you can possibly think of, honestly, to see the hard work and creative thought that he put into something you told him in the dead of night. He put a little piece of his soul into this meal and he did it just for you. It makes you want to run right back into that kitchen and find out if he kisses as thoroughly as he cooks.

“So…he just…whipped up your dream meal and you are gagging to sing love songs?” Shane whistles low. “You two have it bad!” He pumps his fist happily. “I knew it was a good idea to send you into that kitchen with his drink.”

"Shut up." It was an amazing idea, but you're not going to give the man who has become your adoptive big brother that much credit. It will go to his head. For now you just roll your eyes at him and pick up your fork. All four of them are looking at you expectantly though, and you pick up the first bite of stuffed salmon while throwing all of them a slightly guilty look. "I asked him out, okay? He's more than just ridiculously hot and incredibly talented."

The four men start to cheer, high five-ing each other because they know that is a huge step for you. “Good for you.” Rick tells you. “You deserve a little happiness.”

"Keep your fingers crossed for me that it goes well," you insist, pointing a finger at all four of them. Your tendency to accidentally tank first dates is well documented.

“Just don’t— uh, do you things.” Shane supplies unhelpfully with a grin.

“What the hell does that mean?” You huff, scrunching your nose at him.

“Well, how about you not pour scalding hot coffee on his crotch?” Shane suggests with a wince.

“Or not tell him you would make cute babies together.” Cliff adds.

“Those are two fucking extremes.” Keo snorts, apparently enjoying this impromptu roast.

“But she’s done them!” Shane cackles, shaking his head.

“And I was right both times.” You assert, though you’re still huffing a little for good measure. “The jackass who told me ‘singers are just modern prostitutes’ more than deserved scalding coffee on his crotch, and the sweet Midwestern guy would have made cute as hell babies.”

“Well, I’m sure if you tell Zach that you’d make cute babies together, the boy would probably combust.” Keo snorts. “He seems a little pent up, right Shane?”

Shane rolls his eyes. “He’s not hitting on passengers like your dumbass.” He reminds the other band member. “But Zach’s a good dude, he’s got his history, but I would never have encouraged our girl’s crush if I thought he wouldn’t be good for her.”

“Everybody has history,” you reason, though at the same time you entertain such a serious thought, you’re practically bouncing in your seat from how amazing this dinner is.

“I can’t throw stones, that’s for damn sure.” Shane isn’t sure how much Zach has told you, but it’s not his place to tell his story.

“Nobody can, man.” Cliff agrees. He and Shane go back far enough that he knows the other man’s demons well. And shares some of them, too. “Everybody gets a second chance around here. Sometimes a fourth or fifth chance.”

“Little boat of dreamers”. Cliff agrees, although the ship is far from little. Not as big as some of the mega cruise liners, she can still accommodate two thousand passengers.

"I'll drink to that," you agree, picking up your water glass in salute.

“So, what’s for dessert?” Shane asks, smirking slightly.

"Let's see." After a sip of water, you put your glass aside again and open the smaller cloche that the waitress had put int front of you. The slice of red velvet cake you reveal is immaculate with no colors bleeding between layers and a gleaming cream cheese icing gluing together moist red sponges. It looks like something out of a cookbook or a competition food show. It looks absolutely stunning.

And more than that, your expression softens instantly. "Red velvet is my favorite cake..." you admit quietly, flustered all over again.

Shane whistles, waggling his eye brows. “What did you do to that man last night?” He teases. “It musta been good good.”

"Nothing!" Even though you insist it, you can see the skepticism in your bandmates. "I swear, we didn't even kiss or anything! We just flirted a bunch and I asked him out. That's it."

“Didn’t even kiss.” Rick snorts. “Then that man has you up on a pedestal so high you can reach the fuckin’ moon, sister.”

******

You knew the night of love songs would go over well, but the reception you get from guests is truly exceptional tonight. People are responding with such enthusiasm that some are getting up to dance when they've finished eating. The rendition of 'Let's Do It' that your band does is upbeat and hopeful. People are moving in their seats and some are dancing, but everyone is enjoying themselves – but those aren't the reactions that mean the most to you tonight.

The man standing by the kitchen door is the one you've been looking out for tonight, and you flash a bright smile in Zach's direction when you manage to catch his eye.

This is for you in one simple smile.

Zach is utterly taken by you. The way you sway gracefully to the beat of the music and make every audience member think you are singing to them. He wants to believe you are singing to him, and his stomach erupts into a swarm of butterflies when you smile at him.

It’s a bright song, joyful and optimistic, and easy to get caught up in. When the final chord comes you’re nearly giggling with the floating sense of delight that dances across the music, and with Zach still standing by the kitchen door, you look back to the band. Shane gives you a nod and an affectionate eye roll because he knows exactly what you’re up to, but you don’t care. It’s halfway through the set anyway.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to take a short break,” you announce, and turn to pick up your water glass before hopping off stage to stride back toward the corner of the dining room.

Zach straightens up when he sees you walking towards him. Looking like vision, like one of those damsels in the gangster movies that were so popular when his grandpa was alive.

Confident right up until the last stride when you get nervous and end up grinning awkwardly. “Hey,” murmur, feeling silly all of a sudden.

“Hi.” He smiles at you and lifts a brow in admiration. “You have the entire crowd eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“They’re not the ones I care about,” you admit, though it feels awkward to say. When you’re up in front of them, the guests are everything. But…not tonight. “Dinner was incredible. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I was hoping you got to eat while it was hot.” He won’t admit that he was waiting to hear what you thought, because that should be obvious.

“Rachel brought it with very strict instructions.” Which you still think was cute as hell. A little thought goes such a very long way. “It was absolutely perfect. Thank you. Really.”

“Wanted you to have something you enjoyed.” He knows that you enjoy his meals, but this one was specially for you. “Took a look at my schedule.”

“Yeah?” Excitement makes your heart jump up into your throat.

“Yeah.” He shuffles slightly. “I’ve got the overnight port day next week.“ One port of call is all day and overnight, not departing until the next morning to give the passengers a chance to experience the nightlife.

“Me too.” Your head studied your schedule and memorized it so you could actually fix this date, and knowing instantly makes it so worthwhile. “Want to go traipsing around an old palace in Crete with me?”

“Is that what you want to do?” He asks, knowing he will be happy to spend any time doing anything with you. “I think we are allowed to book some of the tours.”

“I looked up what the excursions were,” you admit, wondering if that sounds too cringey somehow. That you were so excited you just had to look it up. “You know…in case we were able to go? It’s the tour of the old palace and an olive oil maker. I thought both sounded like fun, so whatever you want to do.”

“Olive oil?” That immediately piques his interest and he grins. “The olive oil we can get here is soooo much better than the shit in the states.” He chuckles.

“Why don’t we do both, then?” Being surprised that Zach is interested in something food related is like being surprised the sun has risen, but you don’t mind. It would be fun to learn something with him. “And maybe we can get lunch in between? Our first date would be a whole day but that sounds nice to me.”

“Only if you let me buy you lunch.” Being able to pay for things is one of his biggest joys and one of the things that he is proudest of. Especially now that he’s learned to adapt his food insecurity from his time on the streets into something that brings him in a steady paycheck and joy.

“If you insist.” You’re not above enjoying a treat, but since you did ask him, you’ll take care of all the arrangements and any other costs. That only seems fair.

“Zach.” The door behind him swings open. “There’s a request for another main course.” He turns around and nods before looking back at you. “Break a leg, sweetheart.” He grins. “That’s what you say right? Never understood it. Your legs are too pretty to break.”

“What, these old things?” It’s just a little joke to go along with the flattery, but to pull up the skirt of your dress just enough to show a little of one calf and toss him the biggest, flirtiest wink. “Go knock ‘em dead, chef.”

“You are wicked.” He snorts, smirking back at you and nodding before he disappears back into the kitchen, that brief glimpse of skin almost too enticing.

******

The week goes by at nearly a crawl. Every night has repeats of this one, where Zach makes stunning meals and you sing deeply pointed songs. By the time the morning of your excursion-date finally arrives, River is rolling her eyes at you and practically shoving you out the door of the room you share because she's sick of hearing you giggle at your phone at all hours. Texting Zach has become a serious habit.

‘Meet me at the gangway’ is the text that flashes across his screen, making him grab his wallet, his sunglasses and move to put on more deodorant. Crew can get off the ship ten minutes before the passengers, so you had both agreed to start the day off as early as possible. “See ya!” He calls to Shane who is still in the shower.

"Don't desecrate any monuments!" Shane calls back, figuring Zach probably hasn't heard him. The kid has had such tunnel vision about this day that he doesn't think anything could penetrate his skull long enough to deter him from meeting you. Which is sweet, actually. It's nice to see his friends excited. "Have fun!"

The door is already slamming shut and Zach makes a beeline for the stairs. Khaki shorts, a plain white t-shirt that is brand new and comfortable sneakers is what he has ultimately decided on. Plain but decent.

You're up on deck checking your purse for the fourth time when you catch sight of him coming your way, and it's a good damn thing that you're wearing sunglasses so he can't see you ogling him from fifteen yards away. You're glad you didn't dress up too much when you see him -- the same basic outfit of sneakers, shorts, and a shirt works for both of you -- but what's plain on him lets his natural good looks shine through and heads are turning as he walks your way.

“Hey.” Zach lights up when he sees you. You look amazing in a pair of black shorts and red shirt, both of you having the same idea of comfort over high fashion. “You look amazing.”

"You're not too bad yourself." Instinct has you moving to give him a hug, and even though it's the first time you've done that it seems to be welcome.

You smell incredible. Thats the first thing that he’s thinking as he holds you against his own body for far too brief a moment before you are pulling away. “All set?” He asks. “Have to admit I’ve been looking forward to this.”

"I have been, too." He's even more fit that he looks if that brief hug is any indication, and your damn mind if going to be wandering the whole day now that you know that. "We're all set. I even got a few recommendations of places for lunch from River. She's been through here before."

“That’s good, I’ve been researching this port every night to find out all I can.” He wants to offer to hold something as you dig your crew card out of your purse, but he doesn’t.

It takes a second but you manage it, and before too long you're on your way. The deep instinct to reach out and hold his hand is already there but you don't want to seem pushy, so you settle for walking side by side until the urge is mutual.

“It’s a gorgeous day.” Zach observes, blinking against the bright light after coming off the ship. You’ve been scanned out and you don’t have to be back on board until thirty minutes before departure tomorrow morning. Although you’ll probably both be back on board well before then. “I was hoping for clear skies.”

"If it stays like this, we can walk everywhere and spend time sitting out on the beach." It's been a week of daydreaming about every romantic scenario you could think of, and sitting with him on the crystal clear beaches overlooking the ocean as the sun went down was very high up on the list.

He flashes you a quick smile. “That sounds good.” He agrees, although he’s had plenty of days where he’s spent time sitting and staring out at the horizon for very different reasons than a day with a beautiful lady.

A whole day off together is a hell of a first date. As much as you have been looking forward to it you're also a little nervous. You can't remember the last time you went on a good first date and you've realized this week that this crush you have on Zach is big and deep and could easily become so much more. Just thinking about it makes you more nervous, which unintentionally makes you quieter.

“So- uh, I’m -“ Zach trips over his words until he snorts at himself and looks over at you with a rueful grin. “I’m nervous as hell.” He admits.

For a second your eyes widen in surprise, then you burst out into a moment of relieved giggles that you can barely smother. "Oh, thank god," you manage through the laughter. "I felt like an idiot being nervous when we see each other every day, but if it's both of us? That's so much better."

Zach snorts, chuckling himself and shaking his head at the two of you. Both of you sweating bullets over this date. “Well now we have to relax.” He tells you.

“Sure, sure.” The most serious nods of your head you can summon still end up punctuated by a laugh. “Because forced relaxation always works.”

He hums. “Yeah, that’s about the time I’ll trip over my shoelaces and push you into the ocean.” He jokes. “Or some of the dumbest, most random and horrifying shit will pop out of my mouth and I will have to quit my job and move to the moon to make sure I never accidentally run into you again.”

“Well, I’m a very strong swimmer and I promise I say dumb shit too. All the time.” By the time the two of you are off the ship with both feet firmly in the island, you offer Zach a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m in my own head because of some shit the guys said. I just…really like you. So I don’t want to fuck this up by accident.”

“What did they say?” Zach’s shoulders instantly tense and even though you just said you didn’t want to fuck this up, his mind races as he wonders if Shane has told you about his past. His stomach twists in the anticipation of rejection when you ask if he was really homeless.

“Not to be so me.” You roll your eyes. “I have a tendency to make my mind up about people pretty quickly and don’t mind voicing it. Shane, like the surrogate big brother he is, told me to try to chill the fuck out.”

“What’s wrong with that?” He frowns. “Having good people instincts is a good self-preservation skill.” He snorts.

“That’s what I think!” And it’s a fucking relief to be agreed with, if you’re honest. “But apparently pouring hot coffee on people who act like assholes is bad manners.”

He barks out a laugh. “Nahhhhh.” He shakes his head. “People don’t get corrected anymore on their behavior and it’s sad.”

“I could not agree more.” You’re both laughing, letting the tension and the nerves melt away. “I just…I guess first dates are hard for everyone.”

“This is my first date in….a long time.” Zach admits, sliding his hands in his pockets to cover up how his shoulders automatically inch up in self-consciousness. “So I won’t be judging you at all.”

“Well I count myself very lucky that you said yes, then.” To your way of thinking, there is no way that Zach lacks options. He must just be picky. And if that’s the case then you’re even happier that he agreed to this.

He chuckles and his hand comes out of his pocket, making him roll his eyes at his own little tells and he offers you his hand. “So we don’t trip and fall unless it’s together?” He offers playfully.

“Sounds perfect.” It’s almost silly to think, as you fit your hand into his, that that may very well have already started to happen. And you can’t help wondering if it has for him too.

******

It takes about an hour to meet up with your tour group and get loaded up on the buses to the ruins. Some of the other tourists are from the ship, but there’s a sense of anonymity that you are enjoying and Zach smile as you pull out your phone for pictures.

With your hand still tucked in his, you walk through the ancient ruins of the palace and practically sigh, imagining the lives that must have been lived in these halls. Talking about the songs sung, the food eaten, the stories told for hundreds of years. It had the air of a dream, one that swirls around you and seems to pull you closer at every turn.

“You just get this feeling, don’t you?” Zach asks in awe. “The history of this place. It’s seeped into the stones, into the dirt under our feet.”

“It’s everywhere.” And you hold his hand a little tighter, like the excitement is making you giddy but that’s actually mostly him.” Like how many other couples have walked this specific hallway, ya know?”

“Forbidden lovers, newlyweds, fights of passion, declarations of love.” Zach hums.

Something inside you makes you beam, and you laugh again softly. “First dates?”

“I’m not sure?” He chuckles. “Did they have first dates back then? I can’t imagine too many people choose Crete as a first date.”

“Well that’s a shame.” You frown, looking directly at him rather than all around you. “The view is great.”

“Agree completely.” He squeezes your hand gently. “Best view in the house.”

“I’m glad…” Even shrugging slightly, you can feel tie cheeks heating up for at least the third time today. “I’m glad you don’t think I’m cheesy. Or…that you at least accept it.”

“I’m not lactose intolerant.” He teases. “Cheese is one of my favorite things.”

“Oh, so you might actually be worse than me.” That is a delightful surprise, making you lean in closer to his side as you walk along the halls.

“Easier to be cheesy than giving into depression and anger.” He tells you honestly. “I have at least one thing to be grateful for every day.”

"That is a remarkably healthy outlook," you agree, admittedly impressed with the focus of it. Shane has hinted that Zach has some demons in his past but not revealed any of them. "I have to give you a lot of credit. I wasn't nearly that positive when shit was hard."

Zach shrugs. “I’ve been as low as I could possibly get.” He admits. “Everything looks up from there.”

"Everything might not be coming up roses, but at least things are getting better." They are for you, too. Hopefully, at least. You were in a pretty rough place when you and the band took this cruise ship gig and going back to dry land is something you're dreading. But that isn't a thought to dwell on. Not today. So instead, you change the subject. "Do you like flowers?"

“I do.” He nods, grinning and shrugging again. “They are pretty and smell good.” He squeezes your hand. “Like you.”

Maybe he is just as cheesy as you, you think, but you don't mind at all. Instead you're both grinning again as you make your way around another corner in the ruins of Knossos Palace. For once, there is a small amount of privacy and shade. The beating sun is lovely and bright, but also very warm. "Tell me something." The of your nerves isn't a mystery. You've caught yourself looking at his lips for the thousandth time this week and wondering if they feel half as soft as they look. You have to shake it off though, and not be so goddamn pushy. You don't have to kiss on the first date. There's no rule about it. Even if you really fucking want to, he might not. And you like him enough to be okay waiting. So you stick to that subject change hard. "Anything at all."

There’s so much he can tell you, so much he has to tell you if you make it past this first date. But he doesn’t want to make things too heavy. “I hate beets.” He tells you seriously.

Maybe you shouldn't be surprised that it's food oriented, but the vehemence of his answer takes you aback and makes you laugh all at once. "Okay. Beets are the enemy. Got it." Have you ever even eaten a beet before? Could you pick one out of a line up? Who knows. But they're the enemy now.

Zach grins along with you and starts to swing your arms between you lightly. “What about you? What deep dark secrets can you reveal on the first date?”

"Deep dark secrets, huh?" Pretending to think for a long moment, you hem and haw dramatically before you break down into a giggle again. It's nothing groundbreaking, though you debate actually telling him something serious. This doesn't seem like the time for that. At least not to you. "I hate sleeping in more than underwear," you admit, biting back a grin.

He nearly stumbles over the gravel, choking out a cough. Eyes wide and he gives you an almost comical look. “I— fuck!” He huffs. “I’m supposed to just sit on that?”

That grin you were holding on to blossoms wide and mischievous, and you can't help but feel just a tiny bit pleased with yourself for getting a big reaction out of him. "Well, ideally?" You tilt your head, aiming that grin at him. "I would be sitting on you."

“Oh god.” He grunts, closing his eyes and mouthing a small prayer. “Jesus.”

"Too much?" It feels like it might have been, and you can just hear Shane's voice in your head telling you that he told you so. "I—um—sorry. I just...forget I said anything."

“No.” He squeezes your hand in his as you try to pull away. “No, I can’t forget that, I just—” He opens his eyes and swallows. “I’m trying to be a gentleman and not be saluting everyone that walks by us.”

"I'll reel it in," you promise, though now you can see the flush of pinkish-red going all the way from his forehead down to his cheeks and throat and disappearing under his t-shirt. It just makes you a little desperate to know if he blushes all the way down to his chest or not. "But...you're still cute when you blush."

“I am?” He was so sure that you would be either amused or annoyed that he would react like that. He arches a brow in surprise.

“I have never told you anything but the truth.” And you plan to keep to that. If you actually want to consider this more than just a possible fling, it’s mandatory.

“I guess that I’m cute when I’m embarrassed.” Zach snorts. “And you’re pretty when you’re being mean.” He sticks his tongue out at you playfully.

“How am I being mean?” Sure you’re teasing him. That’s undeniable. But it’s not like you’re dangling a carrot in front of his face that you never intend on letting him devour.

He cuts his eyes before he rolls them. “You are funny.” He snorts.

“I know I tease.” You’re not completely blind to your own behavior. “But I guess it’s not ‘toned down’ to tell you that coming on too strong and scaring people away is a very me thing to do. Which just makes Shane right. And he can never know that.”

“I don’t mind it at all.” He promises. “I just— I want to make sure that I don’t make a fool of myself.” He believes that this is going to be intense, and yet he wants to make it perfect. “I have a lot of respect for you.”

"I have a lot of respect for you, too." In the plethora of people you have dated, that is such an unexpected thing for him to say that you actually stand up a little straighter. "But I think...being emotional and vulnerable...making a fool of yourself is inevitable at some point, isn't it? Maybe that's why I tend to do it with such reckless abandon."

“I don’t know if you could ever be a fool.” He argues. “You wear your heart on your dress.” He tells you. “That’s why your audiences love you so much. It’s you on that stage beneath the hair and makeup and fancy dresses.”

"I'm...also wearing my heart on my sleeve right now," you point out gently. "And am kind of making a fool of myself in the process. But that's okay. It's just part of being human."

Oh. Zach stops, turning to face you right at the entrance to the ancient courtyard. The pillars standing guard as he searches your face for a moment before he is cupping your cheek. “Then I’m a fool too.” He promises, leaning in to press his lips gently to yours like he’s imagined doing all morning.

The little sound of relief and pleasure you make might have been embarrassing if anyone nearby had paid attention, but you also don't care at all. Zach's broad form bends when he leans in and blots out the sun even before your eyes fall shut. He doesn't push too deep and it doesn't last more than a few seconds, but you can feel something inside you start to glow when Zach kisses you. Like he found a light switch that you never knew wasn't flipped to the right position.

When you pull away, Zach is smiling, feeling the way you melted against him. “That was…amazing.” He hums quietly.

“I couldn’t agree more.” You sound dreamy and soft, but since you feel dreamy and soft it seems appropriate.

He leans in and kisses you once more, this time even quicker than before. “Then let’s be fools together.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Zach Wellison #Zach Wellison x female reader #Zach Wellison x you #Zach Wellison x f!reader #Brothers & Sisters #Shane Dio Morrissey #Shane Dio Morrissey x female OC #NYPD Blue #soulmate au #Soulmate Sunday #cruise ship au #first date #first kiss

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msommers · 10 months ago

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the opposing force to the feelings of deep sadness and anger riya had to deal w that session: the joy of her successfully persuading satine into a (frankly Wild) request despite the woman frequently giving her looks of disapproval

#riya's too comfortable around satine and that's not Right. it's not Proper #but also she's somehow been Rewarded for it and that's gonna do wonders for her ''oh i'll make her love me in time'' stance #the gifts were a genuine show of gratitude (she's a spoiler brat ofc that's how she shows it)‚‚‚but also 🥰 like me mommy 🥰🥰#spoiled** i'm on mobile i ain't retyping all that #campaign: the vigilant #ch: valeriya de clairmont

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 5 months ago

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Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 8

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: Bathtub shenanigans, sexy/soothing massage, thigh riding, overstimulation, multiple orgasms.

Word Count: 3,511

A/N: Here's Ch. 8. I so appreciate all the love and support you're all giving this series. Hope you enjoy the latest installment. ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Y/N sat down on the thick, satin blanket that covered the massive bed and ran her hand across the cool, smooth material, marveling at the room around her.

One thought came to her mind; Dean was definitely paying for this hotel. Sam and Jessica were doing well financially, but they could never afford something so incredibly luxurious.

The floors were marble, with thick, plush rugs placed around the room, warming it up both figuratively and literally. The walls were polished mahogany and home to pieces of art that likely cost more than her entire salary for three years.

There was also a large, round, mahogany table and four, spindle-legged chairs that sat around it. In the northernmost corner of the room, sat two green, velvet-upholstered chairs with another small mahogany table between them. The chairs had wide seats and were so comfortable looking that Y/N wanted to immediately cuddle up with a book and spend a rainy afternoon eating sweets and not moving.

There were two tall, wide windows with window seats that allowed a person a perfectly unobstructed view of the beautiful hotel gardens. Because it was Christmastime, the evergreen trees in the garden were decorated with red bows, cranberries and strings of shiny beads. It was cheery and beautiful. Her suite did indeed have a private entrance that connected to these gardens and she couldn't wait to wander through them on a sunny winter day.

She also had a beautiful, private bathroom complete with a built-in bathtub that looked large enough to swim in.

Dean had told her that the staff was available to her day and night and that they would make her whatever meals she requested, she need only ask.

Y/N was trying very hard not to succumb, and immediately agree to Dean's offer. She knew she shouldn't be so easily corrupted by wealth and luxury, but she wasn't hypocritical enough to pretend that this kind of extravagance wasn't incredibly enticing.

There was a discreet knock at the door and Y/N went to answer it. When she opened the door a young woman in a maid's uniform stood on the other side. Behind her stood a very short man in an elegant suit.

Before Y/N could ask who they were, the gentleman pushed his way in, followed by numerous beautiful women dressed in stunning gowns. Y/N was somewhat taken aback by the opulence and beauty entering her hotel suite.

The man walked briskly up to her, standing very close. "My name is Mr. Lowen. I have the premiere dress salon in New York and Mr. Winchester has hired me to outfit you completely. Today we will measure you and get your opinion on some of these styles. Within three days we will have an entire wardrobe for you. You will love it."

Mr. Lowen had a high pitched voice with a southern drawl to it that Y/N found quite charming. She merely nodded, slightly dazed, and Mr. Lowen led her over to the window seat while they looked over the many gowns modeled by the women.

At first Y/N was shy to give her opinion, simply telling Mr. Lowen that yes, she liked this dress and that shoe. But he eventually managed to cajole actual opinions out of her. Yes, she loved that deep blue color, no she didn't like the puffed sleeve. She liked shoes that were simple in design, but made from fine materials.

After looking at the gowns, every inch of Y/N was measured, from head to toe, as Mr. Lowen made notes in a small notepad.

Before she knew it, two hours had passed and he was saying goodbye and kissing her on both cheeks. He promised to return in three days to personally deliver her new wardrobe.

Her guests left in a flurry of activity, and the silence and calm that followed felt soothing. Y/N decided to continue the decadence and began to draw herself a bath. The water was warm as it poured into the large tub.

There were so many different oils and soaps on the shelf beside the tub that Y/N took quite a while deciding which to use. She finally settled on a lavender scented oil and a soap with a light rose scent. She poured some of the oil into the water before turning off the taps and climbing in.

A groan left her lips as the warm water surrounded her muscles. The gentle lavender scent of the oil made Y/N worry for a moment that she might fall asleep in the tub.

Then she heard the door leading from the gardens open and Dean's voice calling her name. Suddenly she was wide awake, her body pulsing.

He came into the doorway of the bathroom and stopped. He slowly leaned himself against the frame and allowed a sly smile to spread across his face.

"Enjoying the facilities, I see.”

Y/N nodded, shy for a moment. But then she reminded herself that she was practicing boldness and trying out audacity, so she leaned back in the tub.

"Join me?" She asked, allowing all her desire to show in her expression as she opened her arms to reveal herself to Dean. She was thrilled at the lust that exploded behind his jade green eyes.

She licked her lips as she watched him strip out of his many layers of clothes. Finally he stepped, naked, into the tub behind her. Some of the water sloshed out of the tub as he pulled her back against him. It felt much nicer to recline against his warm, hard body than against the cold porcelain of the tub.

They lay like that for a while, Dean's arms wrapped around her and his chin resting on the top of her head. Eventually though, he sat her up and began washing her hair. He poured warm water over her scalp using the porcelain pitcher next to the tub. Then he took the rose-scented soap and lathered her hair before moving down to her neck and shoulders. He bathed all of her, and in spite of the intimacy of his touches, Y/N found only comfort there. She felt pampered and spoiled and it inexplicably made her want to cry a little.

After rinsing her off completely, Dean stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist. He pulled open a closet Y/N hadn't even noticed before, and removed a plush, cozy dressing gown. He helped Y/N out of the tub and rubbed a thick towel briskly over her skin before wrapping her up in the dressing gown.

He drained the tub and then led her over to the bench at the vanity. She sat down and allowed him to towel her hair before he began to run a brush gently through the strands.

All the while, through all of his ministrations, he talked to her; about his day, about his company, the rivals he was going to war with and the people he hoped to bring in as allies and partners. He told her amusing anecdotes about his employees and Y/N learned two new things about him. He was incredibly proud of his work, and he loved the people who worked for him. He talked about their families and knew all about their lives.

As he pulled her hair into a loose braid, Y/N couldn't remember the last time she had felt this at peace and content.

Then his clever, long fingered hands found the lavender oil and began a slow, delicious torture.

He pulled her dressing gown off of her shoulders and applied warm, lavender scented pressure to her shoulder blades. Without meaning to, Y/N let out a groan that surprised her in its animalistic nature.

Dean seemed completely unsurprised and merely chuckled. He slipped her dressing gown down to her waist and caressed long, strong strokes of oil into her torso and down her arms. Strong fingers spread warmth and moisture into her breasts and Y/N felt the now familiar fire shoot into her core, and the tension began to build for real.

Dean stood her up, removing the dressing gown completely. He got down on one knee in front of her and, using more oil, ran his hands from her left hip, down her thigh and calf, his fingers brushing a burning heat into her skin before doing the same to her right leg.

Then, before she could blink, he moved to sit down on the vacated bench and pulled her face down across his lap. For a moment, Y/N thought he meant to spank her, and her mind both rebelled and thrilled slightly at the idea.

But soon she felt his fingers running across her backside, rubbing the oil into the soft fleshy skin there. Every time he ran his hand across a cheek, his fingers got increasingly close to the part of her that was dying for his touch.

She could feel his hardening shaft beneath her belly, pushing up against his towel, and it only served to make her even more desperate for him.

Finally she felt his slick fingers slip into the folds of her body. She was so primed, and she was so wet for him, that it took only a few passes of his thumb across the sensitive little button there, for her to cry out her release.

But Dean was far from finished with her.

Helping her to sit up, he positioned her so she was straddling his right thigh. She held onto his upper arms for balance and rested her forehead on his shoulder as she panted and tried to catch her breath. As she breathed in, deep and slightly shaky, Dean took hold of her hips, lifting her slightly and then pressing her down, hard and fast, against his thigh.

Y/N gasped and caught his eye, a look of surprise and wonder in her gaze as he repeated the action, flexing his thick thigh muscle this time, so that her dripping center began to throb with pleasure, her sensitive skin rubbing against the soft towel covering his leg.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his voice gravelly and heated. Y/N could do nothing but nod frantically. When he did it again, slamming her down harder this time, she cried out and dug her fingernails into the bulging muscles in his upper arms.

He took his hands from her hips and began circling both her nipples with his fingertips, making them pucker tightly. But she wanted him to continue lifting and pressing her against that hard ridge of muscle. She was desperate to feel the pleasurable pressure against her aching core again, and she whined at Dean as she rocked slightly on his leg.

“Please?” She whispered.

“It’s up to you now, baby. Chase that feeling.” Dean told her, but she shook her head, burying her face in the crook of his neck, embarrassed. Dean pulled away slightly, slipping his forefinger beneath her chin.

He spoke quietly, but firmly. “You know what you want,Y/N, and you know how to get it. So go on, follow what feels good. Admit what you want and find your pleasure.”

He encouraged her by letting his hand fall between her legs to softly stroke the sensitive button there - enough to urge her on, but not enough to provide her the friction and pressure she was craving.

“Dean.” She gasped and tried to push down on his fingers, but he pulled them away. In frustration she lifted herself slightly and then fell back onto his thigh.

“Oh!” She shouted breathlessly as that same incredible sensation swept through her body. She moved her hands to his shoulders and used them for balance and as leverage to lift her hips and then slam herself back down on him, slowly at first, but with increasing speed and intensity.

Heat swept through her body and her aching need became stronger and stronger the more she pushed and pressed against Dean's hard body. But after nearly ten minutes of chasing her climax she felt herself waning and she dropped, exhausted, against Dean’s shoulder, whimpering softly.

“Poor baby.” Dean whispered in her ear, sending shivers skittering across her skin.

He let his lips drift down the column of her neck before sucking delicately on her pulse point. Y/N moaned and tilted her head so he could reach it easier.

“I know you’re tired, sweetheart; do you want me to take over?” She nodded, but he continued quickly. “I’ll warn you though, if I do, I’m gonna keep you coming and coming over and over, till you can’t breathe for pleasure - till you’re completely spent and mindless, only able to scream my name.”

He pulled her earlobe into his mouth and spoke around it. “Is that what you want, beautiful? Hmm?”

Y/N felt like her body was going to fall over the edge just listening to his rumbling voice describing his plans for her. She nodded quickly, desperate for him to pull her apart.

With her nod, he scooped her up and took her to the bed. He threw the blankets back and laid her down, moving between her legs before stretching out on his stomach. Pulling her thighs open wide, he held her in place as he dropped his mouth to her slick folds, licking and sucking her to a climax in mere moments.

But Y/N soon found out that he hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he planned on making her fall apart over and over. He brought on the explosions one after the other - endlessly. Occasionally he gave her a few minutes reprieve, one time he even stopped long enough to bring her a glass of water to rehydrate her. But without fail, he’d return to his place between her legs and continue his exquisite torment.

Y/N lost track of the number of times the powerful, sweeping bliss spread across her body. But the pleasure seemed to go on forever and by the end she was shaking and weeping in ecstasy.

“Please.” She croaked to Dean as she pushed her fingers through his hair. “Can’t…anymore…”

“I bet you can.” Dean said wickedly before pulling the overworked little bundle of nerves into his mouth one more time and sucking deeply.

Sure enough, she exploded again, her limbs heavy and unmoving as her body shook with her release. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her whole body weeped with aching, exhausted pleasure.

Finally Dean moved up from his long-held position between her legs to pull her against his chest. He pushed aside the sweaty tendrils of hair that clung to her temples and forehead, dropping kisses across her cheeks.

“How are you doin’, sweetheart?” He asked and Y/N could only groan in answer. She heard the smile in his voice as he kissed the tip of her nose. “That good, huh?”

Y/N shivered as her sweat-slicked skin began to cool. She shook her head and her voice was weak and muffled. “I need another bath.”

Dean just chuckled and shook his head. “N’ah, I like you just like this, dripping wet and sated.”

He kissed her temple and pulled her closer as she drifted off. “And completely mine.”

***

For the next three days Y/N didn’t leave her room and, in fact, spent most of her time in bed.

Dean left her dead asleep in the mornings; she’d wake up to the lingering scent of him on the pillow, but only a cold bed beside her. She appreciated that he let her keep sleeping when he left to go to work - lord knew he exhausted her enough for her to need the rest. But she’d still rather he said goodbye before he left.

Instead she woke up alone, late in the morning, usually around ten o’clock, and rang down for a light breakfast - toast and jam with a cup of hot chocolate or coffee. After eating, she’d wash and dress in her one and only dress.

Her suitcases had finally been found and they were on a journey back from Boston, but the train wasn’t expected to arrive for a couple of days, by which time, her new wardrobe would already be there.

When she was dressed in her gray governess’ uniform, she’d settle into the comfortable green chairs and read for a couple of hours.

Dean usually showed up for an hour or so at lunch, and inevitably her uniform would come off quickly and she’d end up back in bed, with Dean knocking her out for the better part of the afternoon.

It was without a doubt, the most indolent and slothful she’d ever been in all of her twenty six years…and she was loving it.

But she was still very happy when, on the morning of the third day, she woke up just as Dean was leaving the bed to dress for work. She reached for him and grabbed his wrist.

“No, don’t go.” She said sleepily, trying to pull him back to her side.

He chuckled softly and leaned sideways so that his upper body stretched over her, while his feet stayed planted on the floor. He kissed her gently and briefly before pulling back to smile at her.

“Sorry, beautiful girl, I wish I could stay, but I’ve gotta go. And, I’m afraid, I won’t be able to come back at lunch today. I have a meeting at the club at noon.”

Y/N pouted, truly disappointed that she’d have to go all day without seeing him.

He grinned. “I know, trust me, I would much rather have a lunch meeting with you.” He kissed her again, deeper this time, before continuing. “But I’ve put off this meeting several times over the last few days and I can’t postpone it again.”

She nodded a little sadly and Dean kissed her once more, lingering over her lips for a moment and then pulling back reluctantly. “But I’ll tell you what, Lowen should be here this afternoon with your new dresses. What do you say you pick out a walking dress and come out on the town with me tonight?”

Y/N bit her lip, trying to hide both her excitement and trepidation. “Out on the town? Where would we go?”

Dean’s smile turned teasing. “Well, if I tell you, I'll spoil the surprise, but I have all the sights of New York to show you, so wear comfortable shoes.”

Y/N laughed lightly. “None of my shoes will be comfortable. Fashion demands otherwise.”

Dean nodded. “Then I guess I’ll just have to soothe your sore feet when we get back tonight.” He reached beneath the blanket at her feet and Y/N thought he might treat her to a quick foot massage, but instead, she squealed and yanked her feet away from him as his strong fingers began to tickle her toes mercilessly.

He laughed at her affronted expression before kissing her nose quickly and patting her bottom beneath the thick blanket it was covered in, and moving away to get ready.

Y/N dozed slightly as she listened to Dean moving around in the bathroom, enjoying the pleasantly domestic sounds of him washing and shaving. He emerged dressed and ready to leave, heading towards the door. But Y/N sat up and reached out to him, calling him back to her side.

“Kiss me goodbye?” She asked sweetly.

He came to sit on her side of the bed, leaning down to brush his lips over hers, ever so softly. “Goodbye, sweetheart. I’ll see you tonight.” He murmured against her lips, nibbling on them gently.

He smelled of shaving soap and tooth polish and Y/N breathed him in like an elixir. His hair was neatly combed and she didn’t want to ruffle it, so she slipped her hands up to his cheeks, sliding them along the smooth skin there. She knew that by the time she saw him again, his five o’clock shadow would be returned to chafe her skin in that most pleasurable way.

He turned his head, pressing his lips into the palm of her hand. The action reminded her of the very first time they’d been alone together in the library. At the time, the brush of his mouth over her skin had seemed so scandalous, so brazen. But now, the relative innocence of the caress, the softness and affectionate nature of the gesture, solidified just how far they’d come - how far she’d come - in a matter of months.

And I can never go back.

The thought was fleeting and she banished it from her mind quickly, because it felt daunting; it felt like something too permanent. She didn’t want to think about the future and what it would look like, how it would feel. She wanted to live just right there, in that very moment, with Dean’s lips soft and warm against her skin, the scent of him sharp and heady.

The future was lifetimes away. It had to be. She needed it to be.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma @luvr4miya

@arcannaa @viviwatchestv @winharry @ladysparkles78

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world @aylacavebear

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27

@waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @stoneyggirl2

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester au #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester au fan fic

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luvly-writer · 5 months ago

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XOXO

Ch. 22 Loving you was like breathing

-•-

Author’s note: Bro….i have been trying to sit my ass and write for the past few days and life has NOT been letting me. Finally i get the time to sit down and finish this story because I hurt my leg really bad and am on bed rest till it heals so perfect time to WRITE😈.

Warnings: Suggestive at one point, not explicit

Taglist: @w31rdg1rl @grandstrangerphantom @mxtokko @loonymoonystuff @1llellykins @cangosleepnow @dreamspectrum @its-maemain @tamimemo @nightw-izhu @trasshy-artist @gabriiiiiiii @cassini-among-the-stars @pank0w @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @blackbirdi @m3ntally-unstable @fixation-rat112358 @can-i-feel

Masterlist:

—•—

We kiss until we run out of breath. For some reason, this kiss feels different than the rest…Tim nuzzles his nose against mine, neither of us willing to open our eyes.

“You love me, Timothy?” I ask lowly

“I breathe for you, Y/n Vanderbilt. Your mere presence is enough to bring me to my knees. I can’t exactly say when it began, can’t pin point the moment when you became an irreplaceable variable in my life, but it happened and i let it. I allowed you to get past my defenses and I don’t regret it. Every moment I have spent by your side, it was as if something clicked and everything made perfect senses. I was attracted to you the moment I saw that you refused to get retribution on Gen Humphrey because it would out Satine’s cousin back in Gotham Academy. I liked you when you came into MY doorsteps demanding, not asking, because we both know my love, you were demanding, my help and threatening me with my double identity-“

“-Kinky” I giggled,

“Hush now, I’m professing my love,” he huffed a laugh and continued, “And I think loving you came to me as easy as breathing the more time I spent with you. The lines between fake and real were blurred and I wouldn’t have it any other way….Scratch that, I would have. I do. I want you now, here, forever, and real. I see you, Y/n..angel, I see you, and that’s who I want. Not the perfect Vanderbilt or the Ice Queen of the Upper East Side. Just you, sarcastic, opinionated, bruised and healing you, you, and you, and you. I love you…” He craddles my face in his hands and looks at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world, “I love you so much, my beautiful angel”

He nuzzles his nose against mine again and I giggle.

“And I love you, Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne. You have become the one unforgettable in my life….ever since Gotham Academy. I have to confess, when we “met” back in December…I lied…I knew who you were-“

“Oh yeah” he whispers, smirking

“Oh yeah, definitely. I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on the infamous genius Wayne son. Loving you….loving you was the air I needed after drowning for so long. Loving you, Timmy, is a constant I want to never get rid of. I see you, Tim, and I want you. I can’t eat when you’re away, I can’t sleep well until you text me you’re back from Patrol, I worry whenever I look out my window at night, I miss you when I wake up. I love you so much Timmy. The day I went to break it off, I thought you wanted to be just friends and I was scared you wouldn’t want me and that I would ruin things because at that point, I was so far gone that I knew if it continued and you didn’t return my feelings, I was just walking into devastation. I love you, Timmy baby, you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life” I say, hugging his waist.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way” he responds, holding me close and hugging me tight.

“Does this mean, I’m officially your girlfriend?” i say with a smile and look up at him.

Tim looks down at me and laughs, “No contract, no blackmail, I am completely yours, my heart.”

We spent some time just holding each other and kissing. Tim pulls me along as we exit the cave and head to the garage. We head to his apartment, a comfortable and pleasant atmosphere amongst us. We get there and stay in his living room. We decide to start throwing ideas on how to organize our scheme. After some time we had decided on ordering some take out and enjoy each other’s presence.

Night had fallen and, we were cuddling on the couch. I was unsure if it had come a time for me to leave.

“I should go,” I say as I stand up to leave,

“What?! Why?! I just got you back, you can’t just get rid of me that easily”, he almost whines

“My, my, Timmy, you are just insatiable! What about the city that needs your saving?”

“My sibblings can take care of it for one night” he grumbles as he pulls me close, tugging me into his lap.

“What would Red Robin say about this scandal?!?”

“I think, he would say I’m one lucky man for having you here with me”

“What would Batsy say?”

“Fuck Bruce, I deserve this” he grumbles again making me laugh wholeheartedly, “besides, don’t think, I have forgotten about how delicious you looked with my mask on” he lowers the timber of his voice, almost sultry. My laughter is over and replaced by something else, something hungrier. “Haven’t you noticed how absolutely delightful you look, my sweet angel face,” he says and presses me down to feel something hard between my legs. “Or how insane you drive me?” he starts kissing down my neck.

“I think,” he holds me close and stands up, “It’s time, I stopped telling you, and finally show you, don’t you think, darling?”

My mind is numb with the delicious feeling of his lips under my jaw, “I think that’s an excellent idea” I say just as we get to his room.

-•-

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brain-rot-central · 5 months ago

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Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 7

A/N: *Full warning: we have depictions of nail picking and a panic attack in this chapter.* Alright everyone, we gettin' into it now. This chapter is how Tav feels about Astarion and the entire situation, thus far. She also pieces together a lot about what's going on and starts planning ahead. Happy reading! Rating: Mature Word count: 3.6k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, nail picking, panic attacks, unhealthy relationship Summary: Tav returns to her room to begin preparing for the evening's event with Magdalena waiting for her at her door. Tav quickly realizes that not everything is quite as it seems.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

It's late afternoon by the time the tailor finishes the dress. He heeds Tav’s request to keep extra fabric around the waist and with the dress in hand, she returns to her room to prepare for the ball.

As she rounds the corner, Tav is surprised to see Magdalena waiting for her by the door. The woman holds two boxes within her hands: a velvet jewelry box and a shoebox. Somewhat unsettled, Tav gives the woman a warm greeting as she ushers her inside, closing the door behind them.

As Tav rests the dress over the back of a chair, Magdalena suddenly rushes to her. “Oh, I simply adore the color!” she exclaims. Magdalena places the boxes atop the vanity and picks up the dress, holding it out before her. Light dances over the rich green hue of the satin fabric, and Magdalena is simply in awe. “It matches your eyes, my lady,” she adds, looking over her shoulder.

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, giving a soft chuckle. “Yes,” Tav agrees shyly, “so I've been told. Astarion insisted on the color for that reason.”

“Well, the young Master has always had a keen sense of fashion. This dress will pair wonderfully with the accessories he’s chosen,” declares Magdalena with a confident nod of her head.

Raising her hands to her head, Tav gives the older woman a questioning glance. Auburn locks cascade down Tav’s shoulders as she unravels her hair tie. She takes a moment to run a hand through her hair, shaking it between her fingers. Tav tosses her hair to the other side of her face as she meets Magdalena’s eyes. “More gifts from Astarion?” she inquires, tilting her head in the direction of the boxes.

“Indeed they are,” Magdalena says, carefully laying the dress on the back of the chair. She gathers the accessory boxes and makes her way to Tav, who is now sitting on the bed. “Earrings with a matching necklace,” she explains jovially, “and a pair of shoes to complete the ensemble.”

Tav stares at the boxes and her mouth turns upwards. He means to doll me up further? she relents, mood deflating.

Astarion knows how much she dislikes this type of thing, so why bother? The gaudy, flashy jewelry. The clothing, shoes, handbags, hats… She'd feel more at ease in a suit of armor, pulling a sword off her back.

That's probably not the most appropriate attire for a gala, however.

She prays Magdalena hasn't brought makeup – Tav simply loathes the feeling of her skin suffocating under layers of concealer and powder. She bites her inner lip as she continues gazing at the accessories, contemplating.

Well, perhaps a little mascara wouldn't hurt, she concedes. Eyeliner, too. So long as her freckles remain visible, she's satisfied.

They pepper the tops of her shoulders and her breasts, as well as stretch across the bridge of her nose. A compliment to the permanent summer tan of her complexion, and it often leaves Tav pondering her origins. Though, the thought usually fades as fast as it forms.

Astarion noticed them not long after they started their affair. The nights they'd spend in his tent often left one, or both of them, shirtless and bare from the waist down.

He traces a pattern into her back with a single digit. The pressure isn't too much, really. Yet, it's enough to draw her out of her concentration from the journal in her lap.

‘What are you doing?’ she asks, coarsely. Curse her short temper; Tav has no reason to anger at this situation, yet she feels the embers being stoked from below.

Astarion sits behind her, having just recently fed. There's a bloodstained rag laying next to his pile of throw pillows, and a throb deep in her neck.

‘Your skin, dear,’ Astarion says while dragging a finger across her bare shoulder, ‘is entirely covered with freckles.’

Tav quirks her brow, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘You have them too, you know. Across your face. And a little on your shoulders.’ Her neck protests the movement, but she'll live.

‘So I've been told,’ he agrees, ‘but you have enough to trace patterns with.’

She doesn't answer. Tav simply chuckles and resumes writing in her journal, adjusting her posture slightly. The violent urges are subsiding. She finds comfort in the fact that he means only to appreciate her form, not turn it into a spectacle.

After a moment, Astarion asks, ‘Would you like me to stop?’

‘Of course not,’ she answers, affectionately. ‘It feels good, actually.’

Astarion smiles and resumes his tracing, now with two fingers instead of one.

Tav never realizes what he etched into her skin until much, much later. She'd already lost him, by then. As she closes her eyes, she feels the ghost of his fingers passing over her shoulder even now.

I love you.

She stands in the bedroom, lost in thought. The fingers of one hand find a hangnail on the other.

Pick.

Would he have resisted, had she realized his feelings sooner? Would she have been stronger in her efforts to stop him? Could she have saved him?

The far-from-innocent but budding man he was becoming, just starting to see how much light there is in the world. Only to end up swallowed whole by the depths of his own despair, his own lust for power blinding him. His fear, his desire for control.

Tav begins to chew the inside of her cheek.

Pick, pick.

Ultimately… she failed him. Stood there, frozen, watching helplessly as he let himself be consumed by all he fought so hard to escape.

I'm doing this for us, too, you know, Astarion had told her.

He destroyed himself for them. For her.

The intensity of her finger picking increases, succeeding in ripping the hangnail out from the bed. The faint scent of blood fills her nostrils and she looks down, watching a small well of crimson pools within her cuticle.

Tav should have stopped him. Should have extended a hand to him sooner. She should have been more aware of his internal struggle. Because if she did, she could have pulled him back from the edge. Told him how much she cared for the man he was. If she did, they wouldn't be in this situation. Things wouldn't be like this, and they'd be happy. They'd be together, in love, and rejoicing over becoming parents, and–

“Lady Tavaria?”

The voice is Magdalena's, and suddenly the world snaps back into focus. She doesn't remember when she veered off, but she's thankful for the redirection.

“I'm sorry,” Tav offers as she gathers herself. She sucks the bloodied finger against her mouth, extending her opposite hand toward the woman. “May I see the jewelry box, please?” she asks.

Magdalena hesitates as though to ask a question, but places the velvet box in Tav’s hand without further discussion. Tav opens the long, rectangular box; a gasp escapes her as she looks inside.

A diamond gold tennis necklace, with a pair of matching diamond earrings, lies within. Tav rotates the box, watching intently as the gems shimmer against the candlelight. Solid white reflects off the diamonds.

They're real.

Not only are they real, but their quality is about the highest one could find.

“He… He can't expect me to wear these, can he?” Tav asks, lifting her head to Magdalena. “These cost tens of thousands of gold!” Her chest burns; an uneasiness begins to take root within her. Something feels wrong about this, but she can't quite place her finger on why.

“I believe he does,” answers Magdalena, seemingly unbothered. She places the shoebox next to Tav, removing the lid. “I had a peak at everything before coming in,” she admits with a short laugh. “Lord Ancunín truly has such wonderful taste.”

The shoes are golden in color with a slight sparkle. Not too blinding, but it's noticeable when held up to the light. There are no elaborate straps or designs; they're a simple pair of slip-on dress shoes with a modest heel, no higher than two inches.

“Doesn't want me to be taller than him, does he?” Tav remarks between a chuckle of her own, desperate to hide some of the building tension. Both her and Magdalena exchange a strained smile as Tav reaches into the shoebox, grabbing a single shoe. She then takes the jewelry box with her opposite hand and heads to the mirror over the vanity.

The uneasiness in her chest is beginning to make sense. Why all of this seems… tainted. Almost soul-less. This should bring her insurmountable amounts of joy, to have someone treat her so well. But as she opens the jewelry box and pulls out the tennis necklace, placing it to her chest, she understands.

‘He's trying to buy my affections.’

Instead of having the difficult conversation about what happened the evening before, Astarion means to express all he cannot say through lavish gifts. It all feels rather… cheap, to Tav. A cop-out. Disrespectful, even, that she isn't worth the effort of having such a heavy conversation.

However, it dawns on her that Astarion may not be capable of having that discussion with her. That he lacks the emotional competency to navigate those feelings appropriately. So, instead, he places those feelings into gifts or actions, constantly skirting around vulnerability of any kind.

Her heart falls a bit deeper in her chest, and she rests the jewelry and the shoe on the vanity before turning to Magdalena. “They're all rather lovely,” Tav remarks, painting her best smile widely across her face.

The servant smirks and narrows her gaze. She clasps her hands over her lower abdomen, and says, “Yet something still troubles you?”

The metaphorical weight on her chest is crushing, and Tav contemplates expressing all in that very moment. Yet, a quick flash of her memory reminds her of Astarion's influence over the woman.

“These past few days have given me much to consider,” Tav expresses, modestly. She longs for the ability to speak plainly, but knows better than to do so here. Not when Astarion has such strong influence over this woman.

Almost as expected, Magdalena's eyes glow, signaling her communing with Astarion. The light fades just as quickly as it appeared, and Magdalena then walks toward the washroom. “I’m sure you have much to discuss with Lord Ancunín,” she offers in acknowledgement. Yet, she’s unphased by Tav’s admission, quickly brushing it off as she says, “But right now, we absolutely must get you ready!”

The woman's aloofness is baffling to Tav. It's inconsistent with her prior behavior. But as Tav settles her gaze on Magdalena’s face, she finds the maid’s signature smile on display.

And like the spark of a flame igniting, the puzzle pieces finally come together. Her stomach sinks. Her heart races.

He instructed Magdalena to drop the matter.

He directed Magdalena to continue getting her ready.

Magdalena's kindness is a veil, subject to Astarion's whims. She will be as cold or as warm as Astarion commands. None of this is honest. As long as she stays within the manor, Tav will never be free. She will always be under Astarion's watchful gaze, directly or through surrogate means.

He will always know everything.

The gears in her head begin turning, almost on pure instinct. As if searching through an archive, Tav finally settles on something to challenge her current mindset.

‘But what is his greatest weakness?’ she asks herself.

“Of course,” Tav answers, sullenly, “though if you don't mind, I'd like to prepare on my own.” She looks intently at Magdalena.

‘His fear.’

Fear of the unknown, of lack of control. Fear that she will leave, reject him, despite all he's done thus far.

Tav knows Astarion; understands his heart as if it's a mirror image of her own. Fear drives almost everything he does, including his current treatment of her. It's an overcompensation for all he cannot do. Words he can never express.

The maid pauses for a brief moment, contemplating Tav’s request. Tav expects Magdalena's eyes to glow once again, but to her surprise, they never do. If Magdalena did speak with Astarion again, it was so subtle that she missed it. Her face only holds the stain of disappointment.

“As you wish, Lady Tavaria,” Magdalena says with a hint of uncertainty. “I'll be here to assist, have you any need of me.” She looks back toward Tav, taking a small bow, then exits the small bedroom.

As soon as Tav hears the door click shut, she sighs, clasping a hand over her chest. Her heart beats wildly against her ribcage, the adrenaline finally taking over. She can only remain stoic for so long before the panic sets in.

The cracks in her foundation are starting to grow, wider and fatter. The countdown to the collapse has begun.

Tav isn't being dishonest. These last few days have given her too much to consider. In fact, it's more like the last few weeks that have her head spinning. Months, even.

Astarion returning was enough to throw her off-kilter. All the effort she put in trying to right herself after the end of their relationship. The gaping wound it left within her chest, the scar still aching even now.

But a few months of passion softened that scar and she found herself letting him back in, against her better judgment. She became accustomed to being deceitful when asked about her love life in order to hide her shame, only to fall pregnant with a child that could spell the ruin of all of Faerûn, if her Father demands it.

Tav rushes to the washroom, her throat tightening. Heat creeps up her face and her vision narrows. She sparks the flame to the oil lamp above the mirror and immediately opens the faucet. Gathering cold water in her palms, Tav splashes the flushed skin of her face. The water acts as a soothing balm, her mouth hanging open as she drags a hand down the front of her face.

It's not like her to play the fool for anyone. She’s usually the one with answers to everything. She's the fearless leader. She's in command.

Icy cold water drips from her brows, rolling down her cheeks, and she shuts off the water. As it drips onto her chest, she feels her heartbeat slowing.

But Astarion is different. She can hold him, but like a feral alley cat, he's skittish. Never staying in one place for too long. Divulging only choice pieces of a story to spin the type of narrative he wants to put forth. He wears so many different faces that it's hard to ascertain which is truly his. And it has her dipping her hands into the pot deeper each time, desperate to reach the bottom she knows exists.

Especially now.

Tav stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection looking back. Bags sit heavy under her eyes; a testament to her exhaustion. The bruise on her neck is better, though still visible up close.

There was a time before all of this when she could easily admit to her beauty. Probably not winning any pageants, but she could hold her own just fine. Use it to her advantage, if the situation called for it.

Tav doesn't remember much from before the Nautiloid, but she does see the drastic difference in her appearance now. Her hair is longer. Her bangs have grown out, the ringlets not as tight. Tav leans toward the mirror and tilts her head, wincing. She watches as crow's feet appear within the creases of her eyes.

She looks… older. Almost unrecognizable.

The Illithid War either aged her, or the child in her belly isn't shying away from having their fill. Which, given their paternity, is highly likely.

Tav stands straight, raising her hands to her head. She sections a part of her hair in the front and folds it over her forehead, replicating the bangs she had when they'd all first met. She sighs.

There's very little she can do about the passage of time. She's human, and is bound to show signs of aging at this point in her life. If asked, Tav would say she's in her late twenties, or perhaps even her early thirties. That part of her memory hasn't fully returned to her, though she can say with certainty that she's somewhere around that age.

The funny thing about time, she's learned, is that time marches ever forward to the beat of its own drum. There's little point in fighting it. All anyone can ever do is try their best to keep up.

Letting her hair fall back into place, Tav opens the cabinet behind the mirror. It's filled with various small dropper bottles, but on the middle shelf lay a pair of steel scissors. Her mouth shifts into a curious pout as she contemplates the shears. Tav closes the medicine cabinet, once again sectioning her hair and observing herself in the mirror.

In a split decision, she agrees to cut her hair.

It's a risk, being so close to the event. But she cares not – she hears the direction as clear as someone's voice in her ear. And she follows the compulsion.

Tav dips her head into the sink basin and turns on the spout again. She wets the front of her hair, then parts it down the middle. Turning off the faucet, Tav then retrieves the scissors from the cabinet, slowly bringing them to her hair.

And with a breath, she begins to cut.

Strands of hair fall freely into the sink basin. She cuts perpendicular, creating a curtain-like effect. As she descends, Tav blends the bangs into the rest of her hair with face-framing layers.

She's suddenly met with a familiar face, of a woman she's seen before. One that she’s come to know very well. The lone warrior who faced countless foes without question, putting them to the sword and wearing their blood as ritualistic war paint.

The wicked child of Bhaal; a harbinger of murder.

A woman who fears no one.

Shaking out her hair, Tav smiles. A simple haircut isn’t enough to rid her of the deep ache in her chest, but it certainly soothes the burn. She lifts her face again, focusing her attention to her neck. The mark left by Astarion is fading, though it still screams loudly. Still boasts ownership, possession, of her.

Her stomach twists at the sight.

Concealer and foundation have their places, too, she realizes and she's ever grateful for their existence, at this moment.

She turns to the tub and opens the valve. Clean water flows endlessly into the basin and almost instantly, she's mesmerized.

The palace hosts riches, plumbing, and an endless supply of fresh food. Servants who wait on you hand and foot, and is home to one of the most handsome bachelors in Baldur's Gate.

She could have everything, should she choose to stay here. She would never have to work again, never do a single thing for herself ever again.

But at what price? How much of a blind eye would she need to turn?

Would it be expected of her to be seen and never heard? Is she to stand as a trophy on Astarion's arm, never to speak her mind again? Does he seek to extinguish her flame so he shines brightest?

The sound of water pounds loudly in her ears.

She would have everything, yes… but nothing that she wants. Her choices would be dictated solely by Astarion, as they are for Magdalena. As they are for every servant of the manor.

Exactly as he wants it.

She regains focus, shaking her head some, and reaches to shut off the tub’s valve.

Astarion has changed, she realizes. He boasts an air of confidence, of a debonair. But within, he's frail. He now relies on the faux control that comes from the bottom of a wine bottle, forever a drink in hand. Without it, he's unstable. Out of place. She saw proof of it down in the crypts as his body began to warp before her eyes.

Awkward and struggling. He's desperate to hide that side of him – how the ascension may have done more than grant him insurmountable power. Of all that lay behind the mask he wears.

Quickly stripping herself of her garments, Tav steps into the tub. She lowers herself gently into the water and leans against the wall of the tub. Her hands rest over her stomach, rubbing up and down over the soft bump that grows with each passing day. The tension bleeds from her muscles as she gives into the warm embrace of the water.

Tav knows what needs to be done.

She'll play along this evening. Act the part of the trophy wife, the bed warmer, the painted doll. She'll be as alluring as possible; even fuck him, if that's what he wants. Though, it’d be dishonest to say she doesn't want that, too.

Yet… she could always just leave. Avoid this entire ordeal.

Astarion isn't keeping her here. In fact, he's left that as an option knowing she'd be less likely to entertain it, should he give it to her freely. It's a display of reverse psychology. An illusion of choice.

Once she speaks with Wyll, she'll be more confident in her decision. Tav knows the likely outcome is to leave, but perhaps her conversation with Wyll tonight reveals information she can use toward confronting Astarion directly. Hopefully she can drive some sense into that dastardly head of his.

And perhaps, depending on how their conversation goes… she’ll finally tell him about their child.

#ascended astarion #sotlc #bg3 fanfiction #my writing #bg3 astarion

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