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oncewhenalongtimeago · 1 year ago

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Hi! Sorry for my bad English, it's not my first language and I hope it's understandable :(

Anyway, I love how you write about Hiccup and look forward to the continuation of "Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot" (If there is continuation) <3

Well, I do not know what your conditions are, but I would ask something related to Hiccup have a huge crush on Y/n and he end up accidentally confessing his feelings for her. Thank you !❤

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 3

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 1934

After things get dicey you share a little bit of your future knowledge.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Dragons: Riders of berk, When Lightning Strikes

The thing about getting jointly kidnapped with Hiccup by Meatlug was that people also gave you credit. Fortunately for you, as the months went on and after the hassle of Snoggletog, people stopped congratulating you on the street and you fizzled out into blessed anonymity, just the way you liked it, and life went back to your new normal.

You’d been avoiding going into town since summer hit, which was lightning storm season, boy was it rough, and everyone had started putting up large metal objects. You could practically feel the buzz of electricity, the hairs on your neck standing on end. However, you couldn’t avoid everyone forever, though you made one hel of an effort.

Hesitantly, you knocked on the forge window, package in hand. Over the counter was Hiccup, with a rag, doing some scrubbing over what looked like a very large, very crude statue of who you’d come to know in the island as Thor.

“Delivery!” You called, with as much good humor as you could muster, “Hi.”

The way into the forge was open as it usually was. You scuffed your feet in the dirt and looked back and forth, as if someone would jump out at you and tell you you weren’t allowed to go in. When no one appeared magically to tell you off, which might have been difficult considering the clearing behind you was empty, you slipped inside.

“Hi,” You said again, closer to Hiccup this time. Hiccup himself startled, looking back like you’d caught him in some sort of foul act.

“Hi. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi,” He said, shoulders stiff, “How are you- I mean, what brings you here?”

You creased your eyebrows, before deciding to ignore his weird behavior.

“...What are you working on?” You asked, peering around him at the statue with only minor dread. It would probably be just another thing to avoid until the end of summer, yeah, but it looked pretty cool.

“Uh- statue!” He deepended his voice unnaturally and cleared his throat, “Hoping to appease Thor, you know. The works.”

Hiccup not-so-casually leaned on the statue, though you didn’t find it very odd as everyone in the village was acting the same way recently. Something about the perches, which wasn’t very surprising. You’d seen a mob go by earlier, ranting something angrily about dragons. You weren’t super familiar with many of the plots past the movies but you hoped you hadn’t changed anything vital.

“How come?” A small part of you hoped the statue wasn’t some sort of secret you’d stumbled onto by accident. That would be bad news, and very counterproductive.

“You’ve heard about what’s been going on recently, right?” Hiccup deflated.

You shook your head no, setting down the small brown paper wrapped parcel onto a nearby workbench.

“Well, uh,” He started nervously, A line of sweat gathered by his brow, “Since the storms hit, lightning started hitting the perches. It’s been following Toothless around, and everyone;s been saying it’s because of him, so the other Riders and I- they were here earlier- we built the statue.”

He looked incredibly put out and tired, the same way you’d been around Snoggletog.

“If he’s the Offspring of Lightning and Death then why would, you know, the lightning go for him?” You offered, cringing, “It doesn’t make sense.”

You’d done your best to stay out of the dragon politics. It was hard to take seriously, given your background. And, also, everyone got a little bit heated whenever the subject was brought up, which usually ended in blood. Double also, as an outlier who was quite literally very disconnected from the situation, you had a lot of odd and unpopular opinions. So, yeah, you avoided it. But now, looking at him, you kind of felt bad.

“I mean, I’m not trying to sound blasphemous or anything, but also then theoretically shouldn’t the Gods have shot you down earlier? There are better ways to have done you in, probably. And still get the message across. I don’t know.”

You paused, and when he didn’t react, you hesitantly continued, despite every instinct shouting at you not to.

“Either way, setting up more metal is kind of a dangerous way to go about it, isn’t it?” You shuffled your feet nervously, “Would probably be best to take them down?”

Maybe then you could run around town more often.

“What do you mean?” Hiccup looked a little scandalized. Definitely blasphemous. There was no going back now, though.

“I mean, metal attracts lighting. So it doesn’t matter who you’re trying to appease. You’re probably just going to get your signals mixed.”

You didn’t say any more on the subject. Probably wouldn’t be helpful to say that most people in the modern day didn’t believe in the Norse Gods. You were so going to get axed.

“What do you mean?” He asked again, still staring at you blankly.

“Lighting is usually attracted to tall objects, but if there’s metal in the area, it’ll go to that. Learned it in elementary.”

“Elementary,” Hiccup mouthed, confused. The thing about being in the past and being able to speak two languages, one of which didn’t even exist yet, was that you could say whatever word you wanted and no one would get it. That was also a downside, in multiple different aspects.

“Anyways,” You stuttered, unwilling to explain that, “There’s a thing people used to set up by their houses back home so lightning wouldn’t hit their houses when it got stormy. A metal rod or something. The perches are probably, ah- the statue’s good. If you gave it to her, Gothi might appreciate it. I mean, she does live on top of the mountain. Would probably keep her from getting struck, you know?”

“Are you sure?” Hiccup asked. He looked like a dog who’d just gotten a bone.

“About Gothi?” You asked, rubbing the back of your neck, “I mean…”

You paused, rolling up and down the balls of your feet and looked around, unsure of what you were supposed to say.

“Am I going to get in trouble for being in here? I don’t want to-” You turned back around. Hiccup was gone.

Gobber had just walked by you shaking his head at the sky, seemingly blind to your appearance.

You looked left and right at the dispersing crowd, wondering what was going on as you began to slog your way through. Everyone, as they left, seemed sort of disinterested and annoyed.

At the front of the crowd was Hiccup, looking incredibly singed and dazed from where he was on the docks. His father, the Chief, and Astrid, were nearby. Astrid had just begun to leave. Stoick, it seemed, was finishing up a hardy lecture and scolding.

You decided to wait politely until he was finished and ogling at the small array of large and small metal rods until the Chief left. Perhaps that was what had drawn you outwards. You’d heard rather than seen a pretty big commotion earlier, which led you down the cliffs despite your ultimate resolution to stay out of everyone else’s crazy business. Some things were just unavoidable. Or unignorable. Curiosity was a part of human nature, after all.

“Oh,” Hiccup said, once the two of you were left mostly alone, besides the occasional straggling fisherman, “Hi.”

“You made all this?” You said. You put the pieces together fairly quickly, “That’s really cool.”

“Couldn’t have done it…” He mumbled, “Without your help.”

“You probably would have figured it out on your own,” You suggested wearily. His eyes were sort of glazed over, like hw wasn’t completely there, which set alarm bells ringing in your head, “Hey, are you alright?”

Hiccup stumbled forwards, roughly tugging your hands into his own before he picked them up, grinning widely. His hands were oddly hot to the touch and his left hand was red in a pattern that looked sort of like worms.

“I think I love you,” He declared. It looked like he was going to lean forward for a second, before stumbling backwards and collapsing onto the wood dock.

“What happened…?” Hiccup uttered exhaustedly, cradling his bandaged head.

He looked around groggily, slowly taking in the grassy dried herb smell of Gothi’s hut and the bowls of spices and bones lining the walls

You were seated on a stool by the bedside, currently his, probably Gothi’s when there were no patients around.

“You collapsed. So I, uh, I pulled you up here. How are you feeling?” You asked cautiously, wrinkling your brows.

“Uh, hi?” Hiccup’s eyes widened, flushed like he was embarrassed, “I’m good. I’m so good.”

Hiccup tried to lean back, though the heavy bandaging wrapped around his lightning-scarred arm prevented him from doing that safely. His expression stiffened and he looked down, eyeballing his ruined sleeves.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” You said, “I couldn’t understand what Gothi was saying and we kind of had to cut your sleeve off to get to your arm. The lightning kind of burned it weird too, and it was sticking to your skin, so yeah.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Hiccup scratched at his cheek with his alright arm, looking a little bit bummed out, “I have more at home.”

“Well, yeah, maybe, but-” You sighed, a little put off, “Anyways, I didn’t have enough to pick up anything nice but a bunch of people heard and helped me pitch in for a new shirt.”

You nodded down to the red tunic laying on the bed by his foot. It wasn’t his signature green but they didn’t really have that, which was unfortunate because red dyed fabric was expensive. Hopefully he’d be out of it soon and in his normal wear. It was going to be weird seeing him in red.

“Oh, wow.” Hiccup said, “Really?”

“Oh, sorry,” You said, after your knuckles scraped each other. You met him halfway with the tunic and pulled it taut when he tried to unfurl it with one hand, so the whole thing was on display.

“Th-anks,” Hiccup said, as if a spare piece of food had gotten stuck in his throat.

You responded with an unhurried “No Problem,” as he gave it a once-over.

After a moment, he let it down and you took the signature to let go as he clumsily folded it again, leaving it to sit in his lap over the old, scratchy blanket Gothi had provided.

“Yeah,” Hiccup mumbled, squinting, after a moment, “What… exactly happened? I mean, I have a few memories, but it’s all really blurry. I remember- I- Uh-”

Hiccup shut up.

You winced.

“Yeah, you, ah, got struck by lightning, I think. Unfortunately. But you did prove Toothless was innocent, so there’s that.”

“Yeah?” Hiccup very studiously examined the wall to his left.

“By the way,” You started him, “You said something before you fell unconscious.”

Hiccup laughed nervously, “Nothing weird?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t really learned the word in Norse yet.” You said, shifting in the stool, which was just starting to make your back ache.

“Learned-? Uh,” Very decidedly, Hiccup shut his eyes. His face said exactly what he was thinking, which was ‘Oh Gods,’ “What did I say?”

“What does ‘love’ mean?” You stared at him, question in your eyes. Hiccup opened his mouth once, then closed it, then he opened it again.

It looked like he was having some sort of battle with himself. You decided that maybe you should leave him alone about it for now. And rightly so, because instead of answering, Hiccup decided to lay back down and roll back towards the wall.

#thank you #very much #maybe I will find another way to fill eventually #please have this for now #any conditions for an ask are okay #if there is something I am not comfortable writing i will say it #httyd #x reader #how to train your dragon #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #female reader #fem reader #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #toothless

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 28 days ago

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O.K!! Hi!! i saw that your requests are open and i love your work so much, i have this really funny idea, been playing Co-op with a couple of friends recently and its been real fun. but now imagine this: maybe the Adventurers guild, Harvey, Clint, Willy (Anyone else who fits the bill really) They all have Walkie Talkie's and that how they communicate with the Farmers in case of Emergency or something , and now imagine all the chaos that could emerge from this... Farmers being on the wrong channel and they are making less than work appropriate jokes, maybe just talking and laughing, maybe even just all singing in unison to some "Terrible" 2000's pop song (...And being horribly offkey) and everybody has to hear this because the Radios have to be on at all times (lmao) i don't know where this could go but maybe this could spark you to possibly write something!!! if not, feel free to ignore and thank you for listening to my absolute tomfoolery. Wishing you the very best, -Anon

Hee hee, I bet Harvey probably thought he could solve the problem with Farmer thanks to walkie-talkie, but other problems are sure to appear....this is such a silly idea, I love it! Thank you, dear anon, for kind words and for the ask! 💖

_________________________________________

Harvey was the initiator of the walkie-talkie idea, because the local doctor thought that, thanks to quick communication, Farmer could get the help immediately, so that they would not be lying somewhere in the Mines on the verge of death again, hoping for a miracle in the form of Marlon or Gil, who happened to be nearby. To Farmer's indignation that they weren't a toddler and didn't need a walkie-talkie, Harvey shoved a medical report into their hands that stated he had given them emergency surgery THREE times in this month. So if Farmer wants to mine ore and not test the patience of the doctor who's worried about them - walkie-talkie in hand, and keep the device on, no buts.

It was indeed a good idea, although the two elderly adventurers found it difficult to learn how to use new technology, as they had barely got used to the landline phone, and here was such an unusual thing. Both of them were used to the benefits of advanced technology, though, and now they could ask Farmer for a couple of emeralds or monster loot without having to wait for them to come up from the Mines to the surface, or to find out their status. Clint also got involved, as he could directly ask Farmer about the mined ore or to get a couple of amethysts and aquamarines for a fee (he needed them for... the forge, yes). Well a few days later Harvey gave the walkie-talkie to Willy as well. What for? To "keep an eye on Farmer so they don't pass out by the seashore" (more like "a great way to contact everyone and get together for a stiff drink in the Saloon without leaving his fish shop"). Linus refused the walkie-talkie, claiming that "he would find his friend Farmer" without it.

And everything was going great, everyone was happy, and Harvey could finally breathe a sigh of relief knowing that the most chaotic of all his friends and patients were prepared for danger. The problems started when, in addition to the work stuff, Farmer forgot to switch the radio off or change it to a different channel.

Harvey was still getting a mini heart attack when, while examining patients at the clinic, he nearly jumped up on the spot because of the walkie-talkie, from which Farmer's song started blaring.... And not only did their musical hearing leave much to be desired (no offence, Farmer), but the lyrics were vulgar. And who heard it? Right, Vincent and Jodi, who were there for a check-up. It was awkward, to say the least.

But Harvey's not the only one listening to it, does no one else care? Or... didn't they switch the radio on?!

Actually Marlon and Gil's walkie-talkie was always on, they just switched to another channel, because Farmer and their rage in the Junimo cart game was getting too much to handle (let Gil sleep!), so Marlon was chatting with Willy, listening to his friend's advice about fishing in the Mines cave. Gil was rocking in his chair and sleeping quietly, since he and Marlon share a one walkie-talkie, so while Marlon is keeping an eye on the chaotic Guild member, he himself can take a nap. Clint communicates rarely, and that's only about forging swords for the Guild. The blacksmith has his walkie-talkie on low sound, because he's not interested in Farmer's chatter about their crops (he can turn up the sound if he hears Emily's voice on the walkie-talkie).

And then there was silence. The local doctor already thought that everyone had taken the walkie-talkies responsibly, especially Farmer. But Harvey rejoiced early, as the cause of the silence from Farmer's side was a broken communication device, and Linus luckily came to the unconscious Farmer's aid, taking them to the clinic. Fourth emergency surgery, Harvey wants to tear the hair out of his head, and Linus proved to everyone that he really doesn't need technology to sense a friend in trouble.

#sdv #stardew valley #sdv farmer #sdv marlon #sdv gil #sdv clint #sdv willy #sdv linus #thanks for the ask!#Harvey need so fucking break. and wine

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phantomato · 2 months ago

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it's so interesting to hear you talk about the world of Ordinary Time! i'm a different anon but i really enjoyed it too!! i found your fics from that tumblr recommendation a while ago and the ship is lowkey my new obsession (your power to create an entire new character that i love so much and find such a good match for Tom?!) I started reading all your fics with them, really excited to see you're writing the pairing again :) I had 2 qs but i'm running out of characters so going to send a part 2!

Thank you very much, anon! It’s really lovely to hear from readers who enjoy Nottmort. I write the ship for love of my own characters, I have to, but knowing that someone has joined me in appreciating them for a moment is a delight. It always feels very personal, in ways that writing for a well-established ship does not necessarily, and so I value everyone who takes a chance on Nottmort. It means so much to me.

To your questions:

Would Tom and Thoros have stayed together in the Ordinary Time world if Tom hadn’t left Britain?

Yes, but also no, in the sense that a world where Tom had never left was effectively impossible for this universe.

I explore a lot of alternate paths for Tom Riddle, and sometimes I can reconcile him to happiness in England without a long time apart from it. I don’t think it would work here. This is not a Wizarding World where Thor and Tom could have openly been partners, and so Tom would never have access to Thoros’ family wealth and status, not really. The difference between their stations would always have been impossible for Tom to live with, and he would always have an overwhelming drive to achieve something independently, to secure his own status and notability. There wasn’t a way forward for him by staying in Britain; there was no path out from being a shop assistant, and that was not a career he was willing to die in.

Of course, when he leaves, he does so with all the bitterest disappointment that an unsuccessful but brilliant man in his middle thirties can feel. Perhaps, if he’d made his plans clear to Thoros before leaving, they might have held steady—but they had some sort of awful fight. And I don’t think Thor is blameless: I think his class and social standing inevitably impair him and make it difficult for him to appreciate why Tom can be so angry. But Tom isn’t a man for whom love is ever enough, and he’d never be satisfied to live a comfortable, closeted life wherein he is not notable.

Thoros really did get himself involved in a scandal that forced his hand on the marriage issue, and that really would not have happened if Tom had never left, but Tom was always fated to leave.

Will I write more Nottmort?

Sure. I mean, it’s my ship. I’ve written two fics for it this year, which is like 20% of my writing this year, and more than for any other ship.

My job keeps me very busy these days, and my fanfic output just cannot be what it was during quarantine. Perhaps I will find a bout of productivity during the sabbatical I plan to take in ‘25-‘26, but I don’t expect to have tons of personal writing bandwidth before the end of this academic year.

—

Finally, I want to thank you again for the kind words about my writing. I’m very flattered! Especially that you enjoyed first and second person POV, which are some of my dearest tools; I’m so happy to persuade more people as to their merit.

Even if I can’t manage the time/focus to write a lot of fic at this point, I enjoy chatting about these characters and ideas! I invite DMs and asks and comments, always. ❤️

#ask #nottmort

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tvmicroscope · 1 year ago

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Hello again. I know you will send an email when a new post comes up but I am here checking anyway. Another question/comment. When Wilhelm visits our favorite therapist for the first time, he's wearing a VERY EXPENSIVE sweatshirt with a small heart with eyes on it. Is he signaling to the therapist his status/wealth? Is he 'wearing his heart on his sleeve' (chest)? There are brands on clothing sprinkled throughout but that sweatshirt stood out to me. And we never see it again. makes you wonder...

Thank you very much for your kind ask.

If it’s okay, I’m going to answer the question about Wilhelm’s clothes below and first reply to your question about my substack project.

My most recent post would be the one about the ‘Clementine’ Metaphor. (I don’t know if you’ve read that one. If you have and I’m somehow mixing something up, please forgive me. It’s hard to keep track of everyone.)

The ‘Clementine’ Metaphor post deals with the question of why there are so many satsumas/clementines/tangerines associated with Simon (and with a surprising number of other characters) and what they all mean.

As for any new posts, I’m currently working on two posts at the same time:

One will be a regular post (free for everyone to read) on yet another metaphor

One will be a paid-subscribers-only post

Please rest assured that the overwhelming majority of my substack articles on ‘Young Royals’ will remain FREE for everyone to enjoy, read, discuss and comment on. I will also NEVER retroactively paywall anything that’s currently free and I will never paywall the comment button. (I find a lot of this paywalling thing really, really weird, to be quite frank.)

The only (!) exception to not paywalling anything will be the occasional bonus post for my paid subscribers (basically a post every couple of weeks as a little dessert treat for them). I will make sure that these bonus posts are both a bit different and outside the usual chain of argument, so people who only read the free ones won’t feel like they are missing out on anything. Nobody should feel that there are any weird gaps in the chain of metaphors we’re discussing. There won’t be any missing links in the chain, so to speak. The bonus posts will be strictly additional info.

(Phew, I feel I should maybe make this a separate post and pin it at the top of my tumblr as soon as I work out how to do that.:D)

Anyway, as I said, I’m currently working on two things. I hope to get them both posted over the weekend, but one or the other might be a couple of days late. (It’s difficult to write two things at the same time.)

Now, as for your question about Wilhelm’s hoodie in that therapy scene…

Just so we’re on the same page, we’re talking about this one here, right?

You know…that is a great, great question!:) And you’ve got very sharp eyes because this, indeed, is a deeply meaningful costuming choice! This hoodie is a visual metaphor.

And no, I don’t think it has anything to do with the old saying about ‘wearing one's heart on one's sleeve’. If anything Wilhelm is doing quite the opposite in that scene: He’s not opening up to his therapist. We can see that both in the metaphorical subtext (remember the ‘Clementine’ metaphor: there is a whole bowl of unpeeled clementines in the therapist’s office in that scene, and it tells us that nothing is okay in that sense) and in the plain text (in the literal layer of the script): Wilhelm doesn’t want to open up. He’s not ready for that step yet.

(As I pointed out in the ‘Clementine’ metaphor article, though, there’s also a single apple placed among all the clementines in that bowl, and seeing as apples are symbols signifying temptation, I’d say that Wilhelm is at least tempted to say something…somewhere in the back of his mind.)

Anyway, so the heart on his chest is definitely not so much about ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve’, it simply means that Wilhelm is here because his problem relates to the heart. It’s because of ‘matters of the heart’ that he ended up in the therapists office, in the first place. In other words, it’s the fact that he loves a boy, but isn’t allowed to love him.

Which leads me to the next point: Why is this hoodie a visual metaphor?

Well, because it shows us more than just the heart image on Wilhelm’s chest. It also tells us what awful, horrible contradiction, what polarity, what faultlines there are in Wilhelm’s life: The hoodie is expensive, insanely expensive as a matter of fact. It reeks of wealth and privilege and high status and everything that makes it so impossible for Wilhelm to pursue that relationship with said boy that he loves. In other words, the hoodie is a contradiction in and of itself – just like Wilhelm’s life at that point, his emotional inner life, his psychological outlook on life, his mental health related life, his love life. In all of that, there’s a contradiction between the heart (the things that he actually wants) and the wealth/privilege (his background that forces him to deny himself these exact things). And he wears that contradiction on his very body, i.e. it’s plain for the therapist to see; it’s obvious, and Wilhelm carries is everywhere with him, wherever he goes, stands, sits or lies: it’s written all over him.

And all of that is encompassed in just one piece of clothing, which makes this hoodie a really good visual metaphor and an excellent costuming choice.

Anyway, thank you again for dropping by. I very much appreciate your kind words. My inbox is always open for lovely asks such as yours. Thank you for reading and letting me know you enjoy what I write.:)

#young royals #wilmon #wilhelm x simon #prince wilhelm #young royals analysis

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max-as-hell · 2 years ago

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Bestie when's the book

Hey there!

For everyone who followed me & T3S back in 2017 (and is, for some reason, still around), here's my long-overdue update on the status of T3S!

Some background: I wrote a moderately popular Max/Preston camp camp fic several years ago called "The Sparrow Still Sings." T3S followed a 24-year-old Max as he returns to Camp Campbell to be a counselor.

About a year after I finished the fic, I decided that it was a good enough story to potentially publish. I wanted to go the traditional route--which meant querying agents and hoping to find a print publisher. This also meant that the story could no longer exist on AO3. For that reason, I deleted it. It was a difficult decision to make--especially since I knew that quite a few people in the fandom really enjoyed it.

But being a published author was something that I'd wanted since I was a kid, so I decided to go through with it. I revised the entirety of T3S, taking care to change any copyrighted material within it. Then, I went off to query.

While I did get one full manuscript request (which, let's be real, is probably more than I deserved) I mostly received rejections. Automated rejections.

I tried rewriting T3S several times, but despite my best efforts, I never really managed to fix the things that were fundamentally wrong with the story and the writing. Turns out, I wasn't good enough writer at 18 to be published (shocker, I know).

So what now?

Recently, spurred on by a kind DM, I decided to take one last crack at T3S. The story needs some fundamental reworking--which means it's going to take some time to write up a new draft. BUT the good news is this: I'm no longer considering a traditional publishing route. Once the story is finished, it WILL be indie published. And, as a thank-you to everyone who read it back when it was a fic, I'm going to provide a tumblr-exclusive code for y'all to access a digital version of the published work for FREE.

In the meantime, I'll be active on this blog again with updates about how the story's progressing + the revision process + posting teasers of my favorite new lines and scenes. & of course, I'll probably end up watching the seasons of Camp Camp that I've missed. Feel free to ask me any questions; I'd be happy to answer them :)

Thank you to everybody for your patience! I know it sucks when an author takes down a fic, so I hope that with this post, I can begin to make it up to y'all!

#thank you for the ask! i've been meaning to respond to it but wasnt sure how until recently #t3s #asks #the sparrow still sings #maxpres #camp camp

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heliads · 2 years ago

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can i request with one with the twins (i dont mind which one) where the other twin dares them to go out with reader, but the twin actually falls in love with her, but the reader finds out

angst with a happy ending <3

(thank you)<33

ok first of all this trope <33 also this was such a fun fic to write

masterlist

This might be the easiest ten galleons Fred Weasley has ever won in his life. The job is so easy, in fact, that it’s got him suspicious. The whole situation is no less suspicious due to the fact that it’s being set up by his twin brother, and if there was ever anyone more inclined to trick someone than Fred, it’ll be George. That’s the way it always has been.

So, it should come as no surprise that Fred is a little hesitant about the whole thing. Just to clarify, he runs the plan by his brother one last time.

“Let me get this straight. You’re willing to give me ten whole galleons if I go out with a girl? Why would that ever be a problem?”

George chuckles. “It’s not just any girl, Freddie. We’re talking about Y/N L/N.”

This does, admittedly, make the whole thing a little more difficult. Y/N is notorious for basically being a Gryffindor in name only. Whereas the rest of the house has an affinity for sticking together, Y/N is the boldest and most brash of them all. She walks with who she pleases, she does what she wishes and makes everyone wonder why the hell she isn’t a Slytherin for all her confidence and ambition.

She’s also one of the prettiest girls in Gryffindor, which makes her standoffishness even worse. Many boys have tried and failed before Fred to win her affections, but few have been able to even talk with her long enough to pose the question of a date, and fewer still have walked away with enough pride to be able to tell their friends about it.

Basically, this task is herculean, although Fred still isn’t sure why George cares enough to place such a bet on it.

“And why, again, is this something you’re interested in? Any chump can ask Y/N for a date, that’s not worth the galleons.” He says.

George leans forward, evidently enjoying Fred’s bewilderment. “Precisely. That’s why you have to go on three dates. One to prove that you can actually manage it, two to make sure the first one wasn’t a fluke, and a third to confirm that you’ve actually broken through to her. Three. No more, no less.”

Fred frowns. “What’s the point of all this, then? Sure, it would be fun to break L/N’s streak of ignoring the rest of us, but I don’t get why you want me to do it.”

George’s face sours. “She hasn’t been pleasant to me recently. I overheard her talking to one of her friends about how our latest prank was so foolish a first year could have seen through it. I want to prove that she’s not as omniscient as she thinks.”

Fred blinks in surprise. He doesn’t usually hear his brother so vengeful, but then again, they take their pranks far more seriously than anyone expects. It’s their one claim to fame, their one way to get ahead of the rumors about their family’s financial status, the one thing that separates them from the redheaded masses of their other siblings. Without the pranks, they’d be nothing. No wonder George is still bitter.

Still, ten galleons is ten galleons, and Fred isn’t about to turn that down. He sticks out his hand before he can second guess himself, and George shakes it just as fast.

“Here we go,” Fred says, trying to convince himself that this is a good idea, “Three dates. Wish me luck.”

As it turns out, Fred is going to need a lot of luck. He wasn’t kidding when he said that Y/N is cold to anyone who isn’t her friend. He’s scarcely talked to her twice during their entire time at Hogwarts, so it’s not like he’s starting out from a great point. Well, at least he isn’t her enemy. That’s all he’s got at the moment.

Thus, Fred launches his first effort in what will be known as the greatest struggle of all time, at least to George and himself. Fred takes a day or so to map out his approach, and from there, it’s all about timing. The first encounter comes on a dreary morning, with one of the classes Fred shares with Y/N.

Y/N certainly does look surprised when Fred slides her a mug of something across the table in their dimly lit Divination table, but he supposes that’s to be expected.

She peers in at the darkly caffeinated contents. “Is this–”

Fred cuts her off cheerfully. “Coffee? Yes, it is. I know it wasn’t on the tables for breakfast this morning, and if we’re going to fake our way through this morning’s predictions, I figure we’d best be running at our fullest potential.”

Y/N arches a brow. “Why would you bring me coffee?”

He has technically just explained himself, but Fred knows what she’s getting at. If it weren’t for their random partner assignment this morning (which, as it turns out, was not random at all, Trelawney just leaves her notes in conveniently accessible places), they would never talk at all, much less bring each other drinks.

Still, it’s nice, and being nice is one of the first steps towards getting someone to like you. He grins again, and feels faintly relieved when one of the corners of Y/N’s mouth twitches up in response.

“Although I know for a fact that we’re all just in this class because it requires the least brainpower in the mornings,” Fred offers, “failing Divination would actually be humiliating. I haven’t got any imagination, so I’m going to need you to bring everything you’ve got for today’s graded prophecy.”

Y/N looks suspicious, although he notices that she takes a sip of the proffered coffee first. “I’m sure you’ve got imagination in spades, what with all those pranks.”

He’s not sure if her tone is judgmental or not, but Fred has to work with what he’d got. “Oh, you’d be surprised. We’ve run through almost all of our ideas and we’re desperate for new content.”

Y/N laughs incredulously, which causes a few students at neighbouring tables to look over at them in surprise. Clearly, Fred’s already doing a killer job at winning her over. “You guys can’t seriously be running out of ideas. I don’t believe that.”

Fred widens his eyes in mock horror. “Believe it indeed. I’m actually starting to panic over the whole thing. Say, maybe you could help me out on that front.”

Y/N scoffs. “You can’t actually think that I would know a thing about pranks.”

Fred shrugs as casually as he can. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve never given it a chance.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, although Fred swears she’s hiding a smile. “Wonder why that would be.”

When the end of the class rolls around, though, they’re doing better. They’ve been talking almost the entire time, to the point where Fred is willing to hurry up the timeline and bring up his offer to talk through prank ideas once again, say, later at the library. He’s stunned when Y/N says yes, although no more so than George.

George, who all but falls over in shock when Fred triumphantly sweeps into the boys’ dorm room and announces that he’s already gotten Y/N to agree to their first date. George tries to argue out of it, saying that it’s just at the library and therefore not a date at all, but it’s not like Hogwarts students have anywhere else to go except the grounds, so eventually he’s forced to accept the truth that Fred is doing far better than either of them expected.

Fred leaves for the library later that day, but only after telling George that he’d better start coming up with those galleons, because the chances that he’s winning this dare have suddenly started skyrocketing.

He’s half afraid that Y/N will come to her senses and not show up to the library at all, but he’s scarcely been waiting five minutes at a table in the back when she walks up to him, slinging her bag on the ground next to them as if the whole thing were nothing at all. Fred can feel a thousand eyes burning into his back from all the other occupants of the library, but he’s not about to let their shock ruin this date, because damn it, this is a date and he is winning this whole thing.

“Well?” Y/N asks, and belatedly Fred realizes that he’s been silent a little too long after all of his pleased contemplation. “How exactly does one plan out a prank?”

Grateful for the familiar topic of conversation, Fred settles back into his rhythm. “Well, it’s actually quite easy. All you have to do is figure out what sort of thing you want to do.”

“Really?” Y/N asks, the picture of surprise.

Fred swats her shoulder before he can stop himself, and he doesn’t know who’s more stunned, him, Y/N, or the other students nearby. Luckily, she just grins back at him, and he’s fine again.

“Yeah, really. Let me talk, will you? See, there are a few things you can do. The prank can be temporary, for one thing, like a spell that changes everyone’s hair a certain color for an hour, or it can be longer. Remember that time George and I turned all the stairs in the castle into rope ladders for six months? Man, that was so fun. ‘Course, half the school hated us for it, but it was still fun.”

When he looks up from his spiel, Y/N is smiling again. He’s starting to think that all of those rumors about her being a total ice queen are nothing but lies.

“I remember that thing about the rope ladders, it was great. People were just mad because they couldn’t climb to save their lives.” She says, and Fred feels his spirits rise.

“I know, right? It was fantastic. I didn’t realize you remembered,” he says a little quieter, because in truth he had no idea that she kept track of what pranks they did at all. George had made it seem like Y/N couldn’t care less about what the ineffable Weasley Twins came up with unless she was insulting them, but it doesn’t seem that way in the slightest.

Indeed, Y/N’s face is fond at the memory. “I remember a bunch of your pranks, but that one stood out the most. I didn’t like the hair color one at all, though. You chose a shade of aqua that was terrible for everybody.”

Fred chuckles. “That was the whole point. I thought all of our collective egos needed to be taken down a notch or two, and the prank did the trick.”

“Seems like your ego might still need repressing,” Y/N says, although she’s looking at him through a smile so bright that Fred’s ego doesn’t feel a thing.

Fred comes out of the supposed date feeling really good, actually. He’s trying to compare the Y/N he’s heard about for years with the Y/N he just spent more than two hours with, and they just don’t seem to match up. He enjoyed himself quite a bit, so much so that George comments on his stupid grin the second his twin sees him.

“You do realize that this is just a dare, right?” George says, which shuts down Fred’s mood immediately.

Fred scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Of course I do. Doesn’t mean that I can’t have fun, though. Would you prefer that I muddle through life with a funereal depression just because I have to talk to Y/N?”

George rolls his eyes. “Obviously not, I just guess I’m surprised. This is the girl who insulted us, right? That’s the whole reason we’re doing this.”

Fred nods along, but on the inside he can’t stop seeing Y/N laugh when they were brainstorming all the things they could do to the castle, and for the first time, he wonders if George has the right idea after all.

This conflict doesn’t disappear after the second date, either. Fred doesn’t believe his luck when Y/N agrees to sit with him out in the courtyard to talk again. This feels more like a real date, especially when it starts raining and they have to run back into the protective shade of the castle walls, shrieking from the beat of the water against their skin. Y/N pushes him out into the rain when Fred thinks he’s safe, so he tugs her out after him.

He thinks he’ll remember that moment forever, her howl of outrage after both of them get soaking wet despite their best attempts to avoid such a terrible fate. It’s only fair, he tries to reason with her, you forced me out first. This doesn’t mean that she doesn’t pretend to swear vengeance upon him forever, although she can scarcely get the words out between both of their bouts of laughter. Fred feels utterly golden, all up until the point when he tilts his head up and sees a figure with a red and gold scarf staring at them from one of the towers.

By the time Fred is certain of who it is, George has already disappeared back inside, but the damage is done. Fred can’t convince himself to get that playful spirit back, even when the rain picks up again and Y/N loops her arm through his to guide them back under the stone parapets. It’s just a forceful reminder of the one truth Fred has been trying his damndest to avoid: this is date two of three, and then he’s done.

Truth be told, Fred is lying to himself even more than he’s lying to Y/N. If he were actually willing to be honest with himself, he would say that he’s not just doing this for the dare, not anymore. He likes Y/N, he can admit that now, he likes the way she grins at him in this special way, how he’s never seen her smile like that at anyone else. He likes to think that he’s the special one to her, even if this is just an illusion he’ll have to break in a matter of days.

They’ve got their third date coming up, after all, the third and final one. There’s a trip to Hogsmeade coming up in a few days, and Fred swallowed the last of his regrets and asked Y/N out for real, no more hiding around casual conversation. She said yes in a heartbeat, and Fred almost choked on his guilt when it came time to give her the place where they should meet up.

It’s perfect, almost. They walk hand in hand to a coffee shop Fred found the last time he was here. It’s fitting, Y/N says, they started talking because of coffee and now they’re having coffee together at last. Fred laughs and changes the topic before he can start thinking about how much this is going to hurt to break it all off.

For break it off he must, after all, break it off or lose his brother. George all but presented Fred with that very ultimatum the night before the final date. He’ll still give Fred the galleons, but he has to end it now. It’s just a dare, after all, albeit a dare that has wrapped clawed fingers so deeply around Fred’s heart that he doesn’t know how to separate himself from the lies. It’s Y/N or his brother, and Fred has never been raised to choose anything but family, over and over until he ends up alone forever.

He lets himself enjoy today, though, traipsing through the walkways of Hogsmeade after the coffee. Fred doesn’t even need the caffeine to make his heart feel so full it could burst. Every small moment is a majesty that he’ll never get again, and Fred tries to make himself believe that she might not hate him after this ends.

Fred is trying to think about the best way to break the news to her when the first person comes up. Y/N is a few paces away, trying to read a sign on a nearby building when another Gryffindor arrives. Fred vaguely recognizes him as another boy from their year, but he doesn’t like the sight of the boy’s incredulous smirk.

“Is it true, Fred?” The boy asks. “You got Y/N to go out with you?”

Y/N is at the boy’s back, just out of his line of vision, but Fred has the perfect view as she stiffens in surprise.

He does his best to salvage the situation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The boy laughs, shoving Fred casually across the chest and making him stumble. “Of course you do! Man, that’s something. Who knows that Y/N L/N would have actually tolerated one of us after all. Those galleons were well earned. Wow.”

The boy leaves after a second, still faintly chuckling to himself. Fred is left to stare at Y/N, who has turned around to look directly at him. Her eyes are wide, haunted. She knows.

She asks, though, just to give him the last chance to absolve himself of all of this. “Is it true? What he said?”

Fred tries to think of some way to make this all seem better, but he can’t. There is no way this sounds good. In the end, all he can offer her is the truth.

“Yes,” he says, “it was, in the beginning. But it isn’t now, I swear, I don’t feel that way anymore. I like you, Y/N, I really do, and–”

She cuts him off, shaking her head frantically. “That can’t be true. I trusted you, Fred. Hell, I loved you. I knew not to believe any of you, because there isn’t a single person in this castle who doesn’t hate me for not being as simpering and friendly as you think I should be, but I thought you were different. All this time, you thought I was just worth a handful of galleons.”

Fred reaches out, trying to do anything to make her stay, but she just shoots him one last broken glance and leaves, disappearing out into the swirling snow. Fred doesn’t know that he has ever known a hurt as deep and cruel as this.

A voice from behind makes his blood grow even colder than before. “Don’t take it personally, Fred. She was going to find out eventually.”

Fred turns around slowly to find his twin brother staring back at him. “You did this, didn’t you?” Fred asks, his voice jagged. “You told people because you knew she’d find out from them and not me.”

George lifts a shoulder. “Actually, you did this when you agreed to the dare in the first place. I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to try and back out of telling her. Listen, don’t be mad, Freddie. I knew you were going to get too deep into this, but it’s over now. You never cared about her beforehand, anyway.”

George steps forward, dumping a stack of something into Fred’s hand. He only knows it to be the galleons by the clink of it against his gloved palm. Staring at the gold, though, all Fred can think is that it’s not enough, not nearly enough to have ruined all of this.

“I need you to know something, George,” Fred says roughly, “I don’t care how mad she made you when she talked about our pranks, but I will never forgive you for this. Yes, I agreed to the prank, but you took it too far by suggesting it in the first place and forcing her to find out like that. You’re my brother, and that means I’m supposed to be able to count on you when I can count on no one else. That wasn’t true today.”

George looks stunned, but Fred is already walking away, fighting or perhaps even welcoming the punishing bite of the wind. He doesn’t know how he could possibly find Y/N in all this mess, but perhaps the universe takes pity on him, because he stumbles upon her soon enough. She’s walking as fast as she can towards a quieter part of the town so she can be alone, but Fred’s long legs allow him to catch up quickly.

“Y/N, wait.” He calls out, but Y/N keeps going, the hunch of her shoulders the only sign that she might have heard him.

Fred jogs in front of her, forcing her to stop. “Listen to me, please? I know you don’t owe me anything, but please. This whole thing started awfully, and I have been terrible to break your trust like this. I’m sorry, and I always will be. I regret that I ruined my chance with you. You don’t deserve this. You could hate me forever, and that would be fair, but I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make this better.”

Y/N looks fiercely up at him, and Fred is startled by the sight of tears she’s unable to hold back. “And what, I’m supposed to believe that? How do I know that this isn’t just another dare? Break her heart, and you get even more money if you manage to delude her enough to come back?”

Fred shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t do that. No more dares, Y/N, I swear. You don’t have to forgive me now, but I won’t stop trying to make up for this, however long it takes.”

Y/N lets out a shuddery sort of sigh. “And what about your brother? You can’t hate him, either.”

“I don’t like having to choose between you,” Fred says firmly, “but I’m choosing you. I can fix things with him later, but I need you most.”

She looks surprised by that, perhaps because the Weasley Twins have always been one nameless, inseparable entity and the thought that one of them might leave the other is enough to shake her out of her sadness.

“Really?” She asks, somewhat tentative.

“Really,” Fred answers, “if that’s what it takes. I do love you, Y/N. I need you to know that. It may not have started out that way, but it was real to me, too.”

She laughs at last, quiet and so unlike her usually cheerful laugh, but it’s a start. That’s all he needs, Fred realizes, a start. “Alright, then. I suppose it wouldn’t make much sense for you to come charging out here if you didn’t mean what you said.”

“I do,” Fred confirms, “I really do. You know that, don’t you?”

Y/N tilts her head back, considering this, considering him. “Yes,” she says at last, “I think I do.”

Fred has no idea how long it will take for her to fully forgive him, or even for him to fully forgive himself, for that matter. All he knows is that at least he’s been given a chance. He would do anything for that chance. It’s worth it to be able to keep loving her. George will forgive him eventually, they’ve been in tougher scrapes than this before, and then it will be all good. Fred will have his girl, and all will be well.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley oneshot #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #weasley twins #weasley twins imagines #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins oneshot #harry potter fred #harry potter fred imagines #harry potter fred x reader #harry potter fred oneshot

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anna-scribbles · 3 years ago

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update

hello babes!!! I thought I would pop on here and give a little update about my posting status as it has shifted a bit since my announcement a few months ago. the break has been so good for me in my personal life, and it was definitely the right decision. I do feel like I'm in a place where I can start using this blog again occasionally, but moving forward it will be a much lower priority than it used to be so I won't be posting art/reblogging as much as I did before. thank you everyone for being so understanding and encouraging!!

some people seemed to appreciate hearing about my faith in my announcement post so here is more of my experience in how God has worked in my life in the last few months if anyone is interested! love u all <33

I was reading in the book of Jude yesterday, and I was really struck by the three adjectives Jude addresses his readers by in verse 1. He writes, "To those who are called, beloved in God the Father and kept for Jesus Christ." Those words (called, beloved, and kept) are a really good summary of the way that God has treated me in these last few months.

I don't think I've ever felt God's calling on my life as strongly as I have in the last year. I never used to understand, when I was younger, what people meant when they said that God spoke to them. It always seemed too confusing to me--how can you know it's really God, and not just your own thoughts? How could you ever really be sure enough to act? It wasn't something I was able to comprehend until I experienced it.

When I look at my life now, it is impossible to understand what has happened outside of knowing that God has had His hand on it. I've felt Him impress on my heart His desires for me to do specific things--difficult things, things I didn't have the strength to do on my own. He's given me the faith to act on His promptings, and it's hard to even explain the freedom I've experienced in that. I used to be so filled with doubt about whether I'd ever actually have the kind of faith I saw in the people around me. I know now--that faith has always been available to me, I just wasn't always willing to put God first. I'm not free of doubt these days (I don't think I'll ever be), but I have just been filled with so much more faith that it's easier now to trust God will take care of me when He asks me to follow Him.

God has also been teaching me a lot about what it means to love and to be loved by Him. The word "beloved" is so powerful to me, because it is defining. It's an identifier, and a command: be loved. Live as someone who is loved by the God of it all. Beloved allows me to shed insecurities and to live outwardly, instead of focusing on myself. I don't have to worry anymore about building myself up or finding worth in what I can do. I am God's work in progress, not my own, and He is working. And the work is love.

The last word, kept, is the one that's been most important to me lately. When I look back on my life, and especially this last year, I am overcome with the understanding that God has protected me and kept me close to Him throughout it all. He has never stopped calling me, He's never stopped loving me, and He's never stopped keeping me. God has not saved me from death and left me to sort through the rest on my own; He is walking with me, calling me farther and keeping me close. I am so grateful for that.

thank you for letting me share a bit! I hope this might have been encouraging to you. my faith is the realest thing I have to offer so it's nice to be more transparent about it. if anyone wants to chat about any of this feel free to dm me! so much love to you!! <33

#she's back!!....ish #she will at least be sharing her opinions and feelings on cartoons a bit more often now sdjnksjdf #I hope everyone's been doing well I have been doing well!!!!#I know adrien hasn't been doing well.#but other than him #also I feel kinda silly making almost the same post that hamsternamedmarinette made like 1 day ago #we are really on the same wavelength with this huh #anyway hello. ksdfnjk #anna rambles #faith

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a-libra-writes · 3 years ago

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Hello! ✌️I wanted to let you know that everyday before going to bed I check to see how my fellow Libra is doing, and that you made me fall in love with Stannis (another one falls victim to his awkward mannerisms and hot sense of justice 😔👊) and Ned (... actually they're pretty similar on these fronts, maybe you made me discover a new favourite type??), but also Tywin (the complexity of this terrible cold man, istg) and Roose ( *chuckles* I'm in danger) You're officially the kind of writer that make me wants to read everything of theirs, even if I'm not in the fandom, so: thank you for your service!

I've never asked any request in my life, but your soulmates au live rent free in my mind and so, if you feel like it, I'd like you to expand on an idea...? I don't have much, but this: soulmate au with Tywin, post Joanna (set in whichever time period you think best, so if just few years after her death, or with Tyrion already grown up) and he discovers that this lady from a minor house (that isn't exactly in good relations with the Lannisters) is his soulmate. And I mean, he knew that Joanna wasn't, but honestly he could never expect to have a similar connection with somebody else but her, so he always ignored that, hoping neither of them would ever meet their "true" half. I expect he would almost resent this, especially if he found in her something that made him admit she is a good match, but would he give up such a thing, anyway? Depending on the soulmate au you choose it might even not be his choice: if everyone see their connection and there is a certain expectation, nevermind if now she's a possible weakness to get to him through the bond they share.

As I've said it's just an idea. Obv ignore if it doesn't tell you anything/there's something you don't like/you don't want to! Thank you for your attention, and once again I must tell you how lovely is your writing, how adorable are your fluffy pets and how dear you are! Coming to this blog feels everytime like coming home ☺️

Sorry if I did any mistakes, English is clearly not my first language and since now that I found my courage it's likely I'll write to you again (if you don't mind ofc), so to distinguish me I can be your Milkyway anon🥛🛤️ (I'm sorry I had to! 😔😌) I actually have no preference: call me as you wish, I'll know which name to take lmao

Have a good day/night!!

first thank you for all the kind words!!! Im always pleased when I drag others into my Stannis hell >:)

So this is a very interesting concept! I did a lot of chewing on it and I have Some Thoughts

So starting from the top, Joanna and Tywin knew they weren't soulmates. They didn't care; they were close from a young age (childhood friends, imo) and they knew their duties and place. Stories and poems of soulmates uniting and having a Happily Ever After were just as common as tragedies where soulmates determined to be together started wars and destroyed entire Houses. The history of Westeros is already bloody and fraught with war. So, like many Highborn lords and ladies, they were expected to ignore it. And anyway, the ability to actually meet your soulmate is difficult in a society where there's no internet, instant messaging, etc.

(Now obviously all this depends on what sort of soulmate AU you're imagining, bc there's so many and they're generally not AUs I'm invested in anyway, but I digress)

Besides, Joanna and Tywin were very in love. For Tywin, cynical as he was, he believed all the talk and absurdity about soulmates obviously wasn't true. Or at least, people placed too much importance on it. For Joanna, she was content. She was in love and happily married and loved her two children. Who was she to go looking for some stranger, whom she didn't even know the identity or age or status of? The two of them were so in sync, they probably didn't even talk about it. They just silently had the same thought - who cares?

Again, depending on what soulmate AU you believe in - like, some say you know when the soulmate dies - the fact nothing happened when Joanna died felt cruel. Tywin still had a mark, or perhaps thoughts, or couldn't see color - again again, theres so many - and somehow... it's like the gods were telling him that she didn't matter. There's no grand change, because she wasn't "The One." He already dismissed the gods before. After Joanna's death and Tyrion's birth, he truly resented them.

Tywin is so used to purposefully ignoring the soulmate business, pushing it aside, that it becomes second nature. Many believed Joanna was his soulmate, though neither of them confirmed or denied that rumor. Perhaps even his children believed it. He never speaks of it, anyway. And if this is an AU where there's a specific mark, naturally he would hide it. It would become like an ugly scar, an imperfection he doesn't look at and ignores.

(More interestingly - if this is a lady who appeared to him when he was much older and she was younger, a soulmate mark/"tell" might appear in the middle of his marriage to Joanna. There was something annoying about his soulmate being some child and later some woman who would be half his age. Joanna actually found it amusing).

Moving on. A situation where he comes into contact with a Lady and she's "the one" - the one all those damned poems and songs are written about - it might actually silence him. Perhaps she doesn't even speak to him. He just knows when she walks into the room. And perhaps, there's that realization that she might have known before him.

(Imagine, depending on your favored soulmate AU, some poor woman finding out Tywin fucking Lannister is destined to her. What's worse; that it's while he's married? Or after Robert's Rebellion? If she's of a minor house, or a Great one? Hiding it from siblings or parents who hate him? What if she's married at the time?! Wild.)

She might actually believe there's a mistake. She's going insane. It must be someone else. Can these things be wrong? A lot will depend on her personal feelings about the soulmate business. Does she pursue him anyway, to see what happens? Does she stay the hell away, thinking it's "too late" for them?

Tywin would go from uncharacteristic shock, to quickly recovering, to full-blown denial. Obviously he was mistaken. Depending on your AU, this may be more difficult to ignore. But by god, he'll try. He's too prideful to even consider approaching her, unless there's a reason. And then he'll speak to her like any other person, determined to not express anything, to act as he always does. Even when they both know the truth.

It would be a long, painfully circular song-and-dance that would only progress under specific circumstances, like an arranged marriage. And even then. He's so damn prideful, not wanting to admit to himself when he begins appreciating or desiring aspects about her. He's so prideful! It's infuriating. And he hates being distracted from work and politics for things like feelings, even if he and Joanna were constantly involved in politics as a team.

It's a Whole-Ass Thing. As yall should expect from this awful man. And lord, if word got out to his family or any of Westeros about it ... madness.

#this is REALLY interesting and dependent on a lot of stuff so sorry if i meandered or wasnt specific lol #soulmate AUs arent rlly my jam but i like to think about consequences it would have on the world or characters #because yall know me :P #🥛🛤️ anon #can i just say that is an incredibly cute anon tag....#tywin lannister x reader #libra headcanons

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nctynuniverse · 3 years ago

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Stressed

Nakamoto Yuta x reader

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Words: 1200ish

A/N: I wrote this like in half an hour because I got so stressed at work I needed a break. Also this started being a fic for Ten but while writing my best friend texted me something about Yuta and well, now it's a Yuta one shot. Also it's my first smut so don't come at me. No beta read though cause I'm lazy.

SMUT AHEAD minors do not interact.

You were stressed. Like, super stressed. Work had been really busy lately and that day in particular it seemed that you’d only have to deal with bigots.

You felt like crying, which you did a few times trying not to be caught by your boyfriend, who happened to have a day off and was playing some stupid video game on his Nintendo switch, on your sofa.

Once, twice, then the third time you let a sigh out, Yuta decided he had had enough. He looked at the clock and it showed 3pm. You hadn’t taken your break not had you looked away from that damned computer the whole day. Not even for a second. You even had lunch while munching on some random leftovers you found on the fridge.

He left his Pokémon game there and stood up, stretching a bit, unnoticed by you right before approaching to your form.

Forecasting had never been your cup of tea and finance in general was difficult as fuck to you, but what could be done about it? It was your job after all.

And it was stressing the fuck out of you.

Yuta approached you from behind and placed his hands softly on your shoulders, a soft gasp leaving your lips before you looked up at him, offering a small smile only to take your eyes back on the computer a second later.

He huffed and rested his chin on your head, his hands traveling down your arms giving you goosebumps.

“Baby, do you need anything?” You asked, eyes still on the damned computer.

“Mmmh. Not really” he answered softly, then his hands stopped right on your shoulders again, giving you a soft massage. “But you need to take a break”.

You were pissed and he was right. Thus, you sighed and, easily convinced, changed your status on Microsoft Teams from ‘do not disturb’ to ‘away’. Then turned around.

“You’re right. It’s just that I’m in charge of too many things and I can’t make them make sense and everyone is leaning on me but I do not have the expertise on this a-and…”

You started babbling but he caught you right there, taking your hand and bringing you to the couch with him, laying you there, his body behind you, spooning yours perfectly. His arm crept from your nape to under your neck and stayed there, while his other arm was above you, his hand drawing circles on your stomach.

You shuddered and closed your eyes, lost in the feeling. He kissed your nape and his hand traveled from your stomach to your thighs, stroking them softly.

“Shh, relax. I can make you forget about it, would you like that?”

You let out a sigh and nodded softly, your job could be damned for all your knew. Meanwhile, his hand situated itself between your thighs, caressing their inside slowly, dangerously close to your core.

“I need words baby, tell me” and his hand went further closer “do you want me to make you feel good?”

His mouth was so close to your ear, it almost made you whimper. You nodded quickly, your hand grabbing onto his wrist.

“Yes, Yuta, please. Make me feel good”.

He left a kiss right behind your ear and bit on that same spot on your nape.

“Good girl”.

His hand then cupped your mound, while the other one grabbed one of your breasts, pinching the nipple over your clothes.

Your body shivered and a little moan rolled out of your lips. You closed your eyes just to get lost on the feeling even more.

His fingers played with your clit over your leggings and you were thankful to have chosen that item for your bottom that day, being able to feel every little movement he made.

Yuta, on his side, was also enjoying the situation a bit too much and you could simply notice that with the way his length ft hard on your butt, your hips bringing him some friction, making him groan.

Eventually, Yuta grew tired of teasing you and brought his hand inside your leggings, touching your core directly with his pads. He drew his fingers across your folds, gathering the wetness, making a bit of a mess.

“Baby you’re dripping and I haven’t even touched you properly yet” he brought his wet fingers and drew circles on your clit with them “kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”

You were experiencing pure bliss.His words were taking you to another dimension and his fingers expertly messing with you were driving you crazy. You wanted more, and you let him know, the best you could, mixing your words with your moans. He chuckled.

“How spoiled. But whatever my. baby. wants” the way he accentuated each word tapping on your clit had you almost cumming right then and there “she gets”. And after finishing that sentence, he slipped two fingers in you.

A loud moan left your lips and it worsened when he started scissoring his fingers inside you, thursting them in a quick pace, while you just couldn’t keep quiet.

“Baby you’re being too loud, why don’t you just” and he didn’t even get to finish the sentence because as soon as his free fingers were near your mouth, you leaned in to suck on them as if they were a lollipop, drool spilling from your mouth making a mess.

Yuta thought you were fucking hot and right before you could cum, he withdrew his fingers from your folds, gaining a muffled insult from you. His fingers still stuck in your mouth, he let out a laugh and lowered your leggings as well as his pants, pumping himself before teasing your folds from behind.

You sucked even harder on his lips at the sensation, and his mouth was again dangerously close to your ear. He smiled devilishly.

“Now, be a good girl and stay still, alright? Do you want me to fuck you?”

You nodded and that was enough for him to thrust the tip in, biting his bottom lip while waiting for your signal for him to go all in. Which didn’t take much to come as you wiggled your hips a little, letting him know he could take you hora ever he wanted to. And he did.

He finally took his hand from your mouth, wiping your saliva on your cheek and wrapped it around your throat, while the other one grabbed your hips, him thrusting inside you from behind.

Soft praises left his mouth while he chased both of your highs, you too lost on the pleasure to acknowledge anything beside how much a good girl you were for taking him so well. And that made you come even closer.

Not sure when but you felt him twitch inside you and you begged him to cum inside you, while his hand that was before on your throat traveled to your clit and drew circles there, causing you both to cum at the same time, making a mess on the couch.

Panting, you turned around lazily to look at him, both of you still almost fully clothed. He offered you a soft smile and kissed your nose, before pinching your butt.

“I hope I took your mind off work at least for a few minutes”

“You surely did. Not sure how I’m gonna go back from my break though”.

#nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #nakamoto yuta #nakamoto yuta x reader #nct drabbles #nct x reader #nct fanfic #nct u #nct imagines

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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Spare Me A Moment? // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: I’d love to request a Benedict fic, if that’s okay ☺️ Maybe one where the reader doesnt belong to the ton and works for the Bridgertons and he falls for her but she can’t quite believe it (because why would he fall for someone of her status?) but eventually admits that she has feelings for him too? I hope this is something you’d like to write 🙈 Thank you so much 💛 - @dreaming-about-fanfictions

A/N: My first Bridgerton request and it’s from my dear, Astrid! Thank you, my lovely. I only hope I have done it justice. There are moments in this that are inspired by Downton Abbey (a different time period, I know, but I adapt) and the way the fic is written is meant to jump about POVs before finally bringing the reader or Benedict as the sole focus of the scene.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: use of she/her pronouns, female reader, class differences, societal differences, pining, mutual pining, kissing, honest conversations, bridgertons being bridgertons, healthy family relationships.

Word Count: 5.4k

Of the families that resided in Grosvenor Square, there was not one so loved by their staff than that of the Bridgertons. They treated their staff fairly with decent wages and housing well as treating them with respect. The staff that work for the Bridgertons are so admired by the family that those in their employment tend not to leave for years on end; perfectly happy to remain devoted to one family.

To be a housemaid in a home such as Bridgerton House was an honour; as was repeated by the butler, Jenkins and the Head Housemaid, Mrs. Thorpe when (Y/N) began working in the house many years ago.

There was no other way to put it, (Y/N) adored working in Bridgerton House. She never minded the early starts, or the late finishes when the season was in full swing. She could never find herself bothered by having to pick up after the youngest children; their shoes and books lying about hallways and staircases, ready to cause an injury. (Y/N) was utterly devoted to the family; she could never imagine working anywhere else.

And if she had admired the second born Bridgerton with an interest that spoke to more of an employer/servant relationship, then that was (Y/N)’s cross to bear.

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For months he had watched her from the centre of attention. He had observed how she held herself; tall and proud of the work she completed daily.

It had been a passing glance that had started it all. A polite smile and nod from her as Benedict passed in her the hallway, and suddenly he was hit with one, if not all, of Cupid’s arrows. After that, Benedict started to notice (Y/N) everywhere – started to notice the extra attention she paid Hyacinth when she was missing Gregory; he noticed how she would go out of her way to ensure his mother’s comfort in her drawing room, fluffing up cushions and pillows, and offering a blanket should there be a chill.

Benedict began to notice all of this and for a moment, he wondered whether he was beginning to lose his mind. He knew of the barriers between them, but that didn’t stop him from experience the raw emotion of wanting her. Benedict didn’t like to think how many hours of the day he devoted to thinking of her; dreaming of her.

All he wanted was to talk to her. To have a few minutes with her to plead his case; to help her understand that there is the very real possibility of a relationship between then should she feel the same way. How often he had dreamed of her feeling the same way…

A lovesick fool. Benedict Bridgerton was a lovesick fool but should (Y/N) spare him a moment, he would be her lovesick fool.

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From the very moment she woke, (Y/N) had been on her feet, rushing from room to room, tidying up after everyone. The whole Bridgerton family would be descending on the main house for the final meal of the day; they were welcoming Anthony and his new wife, Kate, home from their honeymoon.

That meant everything had to be perfect. That meant there was very little time to wander through the house; Jenkins was already close to tears; he could not be pushed any further.

The chiming of the grandfather clock in the hallway has (Y/N) hastening her steps, trying not to look too rushed as she thinks of the dinner service still needing to be taken upstairs and the wine to decant and the port to breathe. Whilst Anthony had a collection of whiskies and brandies in his study, the port was kept to the realm of the butler – Jenkins knew exactly what to buy and when to serve it. Tonight was one such occasion, and it still needed to breathe.

“(Y/N)!” Benedict calls, hurrying after her as she makes her way back to her quarters to dress for the dinner service. Jenkins, the Butler, would not be best pleased if she were to show up late.

“Mr. Bridgerton, how can I help you?” (Y/N) asks, curtseying to the second-born Bridgerton before eyeing the grandfather clock and noting the time.

“Spare me a moment of your time, please?”

“You should be getting ready for dinner. I know that Benjamin has laid out your clothes.”

“I want to talk to you… only for a moment, I know you have jobs to attend to.”

Smoothing down her apron, (Y/N) smiles softly at the brunette. “What would you like to talk about?”

“I thought it was obvious but perhaps not,” Benedict murmurs to himself, practically ignoring her question.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Bridgerton but I must be getting on.”

“No!” He all but shouts, reaching for your hand, “Spare me another moment of your time… please.”

She wavers as if caught between the berating she will no doubt receive from the Butler for being late to the dinner service or letting down her employer whom she stands in front of. After a moment’s silence, her decision is made. “How can I help you, Mr. Bridgerton?” She repeats.

“Call me Benedict, please.”

She shakes her head, “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Mr. Bridgerton. It would be improper.”

Benedict hesitates; his hand still outstretched towards her as if desperate to feel her underneath his palms. “I’ve gone about this all wrong,” He says, eyes sad.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” Benedict confesses, speaking plainly as if he hasn’t changed her world in six words.

“What?” She gasps; propriety falling away from her for a moment as the words he uttered settle into her skin.

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” Benedict repeats, voice firmer as he becomes surer of himself.

“How?” She asks, her face and voice puzzled, “I’m a housemaid, Mr. Bridgerton.”

His eyebrows furrow as if such a thing shouldn’t matter in their world. Yet it does – status is everything; titles are everything. A man who hails from a family such as the Bridgertons could not marry, let alone fall in love with one of the serving class. It simply didn’t happen. There was the occasional affair, but (Y/N) knew herself well enough not to be reserved as a mistress – it was not her destiny. She was to marry for love.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I find myself thinking of you every waking minute of the day. I find it hard not to stare at you when I see you completing your duties. At night, I long for it to be you lying next to me instead of the emptiness of the bed. I don’t know how it happened, (Y/N). All I know is that I am in love with you. This is no farce or folly.”

The words fall over her as rain would fall over grass. They soak into her skin, mould to her bones and become part of her in the span of mere seconds. Mere seconds, and her world has changed. As much as she longed to hear those words from his lips, this could not happen. Moving away from him, her chest aching with every step, she whispers her excuse to escape, “I’m sorry, Mr. Bridgerton, I need to get back downstairs.”

Watching her walk away from him, Benedict feels something heavy settle in his chest, pressing his lungs down and making it difficult to breathe. The barriers between them were so entrenched into society, Benedict begins to worry that he has lost her before he every truly got to know her.

Shaking his head, determination sets his nerves to steel. He would try again, he promises himself. He would not pester, but he would do what he could to ensure a brighter future for the both of them.

----------

“We’re down a footman,” Jenkins panics, “I’ve had to send William to bed with a head cold. We’re down one footman in the dining room.”

“What do you propose we do?” Mrs. Thorpe asks of the grey-haired man. Hands on her hips and her lips, thin, Mrs. Thorpe was not a woman to be trifled with. She had not run Bridgerton House for close to thirty years for Jenkins’ panic to ruin a single evening. So far in their shared career with the Bridgerton family, his nerves had almost ruined an engagement party, a christening, an end of season masquerade ball and now, a traditional family dinner.

The colour fades from Jenkins’ face as he mutters, “I’m going to have to have a housemaid in the dining room.”

Mrs. Thorpe rolls her eyes at the antics of the overly dramatic butler. “It won’t be the end of the world to have a housemaid in the dining room. Take (Y/N) – she’s liked well enough by the family and knows how to serve.”

Jenkins sighs wearily as if the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders. “I suppose I have no choice. Will you let (Y/N) know?”

(Y/N) is walking down the stairs to the lower levels of the house when she hears Mrs. Thorpe call her name. Turning, as she lands on the bottom step, she has a fond smile on her face for the Head Housekeeper. “Mrs. Thorpe,” (Y/N) greets.

“We’re down a footman this evening, dear,” Mrs. Thorpe says in greeting, never one to beat around the bush, “Would you be able to cover the dining room with Jenkins and Benjamin?”

“The dining room?” (Y/N) questions as the rug is pulled from underneath her feet for the second time that afternoon. It would mean having to see Benedict once more, but what choice was there.

“Yes,” Mrs. Thorpe confirms, “There aren’t enough bodies to cover the whole family. Everyone is dining tonight.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) smiles, “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll also take William a tray when I get a moment’s reprieve.”

Mrs. Thorpe smiles; the corners of her eyes crinkling from the force of it. “You are a gem. Thank you, dear.”

(Y/N) nods, smiling at the Head Housekeeper though she knows it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Having to see Benedict so soon after his confession had sent her mind into overdrive; her stomach tying itself into knots – she could only hope that the gentleman wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t humiliate her in front of his whole family.

Mrs. Thorpe touches (Y/N)’s shoulder, asking her softly, “Is everything okay, dear?”

(Y/N) nods, trying her best not to let her emotions show on her face. She had been blindsided by Benedict and his confession; didn’t ever expect such words to leave his mouth… well, expected them but never thought they would be directed at her.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Thorpe,” She smiles and whilst the Head Housekeep returns the smile, she does not believe the one on (Y/N)’s face for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re okay to help out in the dining room? Jenkins can always find someone else.”

(Y/N) shakes her head, knowing the butler better than she knows herself. “He would cause such a panic. No, it’s better I do it myself.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” She pats Mrs. Thorpe’s hand. “I am sure.”

-----------

It takes everything she has to stop her hands from shaking as she enters the dining room with her tray of food. Following Jenkins’ lead, (Y/N) holds her head high as she serves the Bridgertons, beginning with Anthony and then making her way from his right.

Benedict all but freezes in his spot when (Y/N) finally comes to serve from his left shoulder. He turns in his chair to find her staring down at him; a serving plate in her hand, the tongs pointed in his direction. Their fingers brush as Benedict reaches for the utensil sending a zap of static electricity up (Y/N)’s arm. She sucks in a breathe, desperate to keep the connection between them yet she is the one who straightens, who schools her face into a mask of polite interest.

“Thank you,” Benedict whispers, still unable to take his eyes off her.

“You’re welcome,” She replies, swiftly moving onto Gregory who sits patiently by Benedict’s side.

Jenkins who had noticed the exchange between Benedict and (Y/N) clears his throat, gaining the attention of the family waiting to start their meal. “I am terribly sorry for the informality. William took ill at the last moment and (Y/N) graciously offered to fill his shoes.”

Anthony Bridgerton smiles at (Y/N). “Thank you, (Y/N), for stepping in so quickly,” He states before turning his attention to Jenkins, “Has a tray been organised for William? Do you need us to contact the doctor?”

Jenkins watches the young Viscount with warm eyes; having known the Viscount since he was a babe in arms, it has been his pride and joy to watch him grow to the man he is today. “(Y/N) has offered to take a tray to William as soon as she is finished here. As for the doctor, my Lord, it seems only to be a head cold.”

“Let us know if anything changes, please.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

As food is served and wine is poured, happy and warm conversation flows through the Bridgerton family. Laughter is the most often heard sound in the Bridgerton home; it punctuates the air whether the chuckle and giggle comes from a member of the family or a member of staff.

Tonight is no different, it seems, as Hyacinth snorts midway through her laughter at Gregory’s latest antics. Visiting home for the weekend from Eton, Gregory was on hand to entertain his brothers and scandalise his dear mother with stories of his school life.

“I do hope you are paying attention in your lessons,” Violet admonishes her youngest son though there is nothing but maternal love in her voice.

Gregory smiles widely, holding a hand over his heart as he promises, “I do nothing less.”

His words receive an amused snort from all three brothers and a roll of eyes from his mother. (Y/N) turns her face away from the loving scene to keep the smile on her face from growing. This; this is what she years for – family, love, laughter and warmth. No matter how Benedict phrases his feelings, and no matter how she may feel for the Bridgerton, a relationship that harbours the four things (Y/N) holds dear would be impossible due to her station. A sad fact, but a universally accepted truth.

The topic of conversation once again shifts; this time focusing on the latest branch in literature. A novel had been published that had managed to scandalise not only the religious community, but also the scientific one. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was, to (Y/N), two things. Not only was it a book that promised the reader to be horrified, but it was written by a woman. Shelley was not the first female author, and she would not be the last but this latest venture into a new genre of literature inspired pride within (Y/N). With the growing availability of books through libraries, (Y/N) felt it was only time before something big happened in the fight for rights for women.

Though she kept those thoughts readily to herself.

“What do you think, (Y/N)?” Benedict asks, blue eyes sparkling over the rim his wine glass as every member of his family turns to look at her.

Eyes wide with shock, she glances over to Jenkins. He nods but he doesn’t look pleased at her having been called on by the employer. Taking a step forward, she curtsies slightly before answering, “I couldn’t possibly say, Mr. Bridgerton, sir. I haven’t read the book.”

“Come now, (Y/N),” Benedict continues, his smile growing wider, “You must have an opinion.”

“Benedict,” Violet chastises, “Leave the poor girl alone. She’s only serving tonight as William has fallen ill. There is no need to badger her.”

Violet smiles at (Y/N) apologetically as she takes a step back to the wall, her hands held neatly in front of her. Conversation soon turns to another subject, another topic which gives (Y/N) the space to breathe; to slow her racing heart.

Benedict’s eyes continue to steal glances of her figure for the rest of the meal. It feels close to a brand; the heat of his gaze burns through whatever shield she has up to the point where she is certain Benedict has laid her bare for all to see. It’s all she can think of; his keen gaze and his words to her before the meal.

Trying her best not to fidget, (Y/N) keeps her eyes focused on the portrait of a Bridgerton ancestor hung on the wall across from her. She only rouses herself from her nerves to serve the courses of the meal. (Y/N) cannot help but thank any god or deity out there when the dessert course is brought up and the meal is soon brought to a close.

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

It is easy to avoid someone when you ask for extra duties, (Y/N) thinks to herself as she carries a pile of dresses to be mended. The muslin is smooth against her skin as she lays the dresses out on the mending table before turning to find the sewing kit. Thankfully, for the dresses, there was not much to be done but mend a few holes that had torn near the hem. The danger of heels and quick walking women, (Y/N) humours.

It had been a week since the conversation with Benedict; his words constantly playing on her mind until she wakes in the middle of the night with them on her lips, as if she were reciting the conversation in her sleep.

Benedict had tried to gain her attention; he had made clear attempts at wanting to talk to her. However, she simply curtsied and went on her way. She didn’t know what to say to him; she couldn’t understand how he – the son of a Viscount, no less – had fallen in love with her.

It felt preposterous; it felt too good to be true. Yet as the oil lamps are dampened for the night and the other servants in the house have fallen asleep, (Y/N) lets herself dream of what it could be like to be loved by Benedict Bridgerton. She wonders about the curve of his mouth; what it feel like, whether he would smile into their kiss. She thinks of his hands; his long, artistic fingers and she briefly ponders whether he had ever drawn her, whether in his many sketchbooks there lies a portrait of her.

When she’s feeling a particular glutton for punishment, (Y/N) lets herself dream of a life with Benedict where class status didn’t matter. She thinks of what it would be like to wake up to him every morning; to feel the heaviness of his arm wrapped around her waist as he rises to consciousness with the sun. She yearns to know what it would feel like to be able to reach over and take his hand in hers, tangling their fingers together as if they had always meant to be intertwined.

The longing for him is what breaks her. It’s what causes the tears to roll down her face as she lets herself accept the fact that she is sure she has known for a long time. She lets herself accept that she had met the cliché of so many housemaids before her by falling in love with Benedict Bridgerton a long time ago, before he had even come to know her existence.

-----------

The drawing room on the upper level of the house was where Violet Bridgerton spent most of her day. On occasion, her sons’ joined the family, but for the most part, it was her daughters that kept her company. Violet remains occupied by her stitching patterns; a garden of tulips for the birth of Anthony’s darling new baby, however, she keeps a weather eye on Eloise and Hyacinth – her only daughters to remain at home and unmarried.

“Eloise,” Violet murmurs, “Would you be a dear and ring for some tea. My throat is parched.”

Eloise pauses in her writing; so occupied these days, Violet thinks as her second eldest daughter rises to ring for the kitchen. “What are you working on?” Violet asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Eloise frowns, collecting the papers out of fear anyone should read them. “I’m writing to Penelope if you must know.”

“Writing? She lives just across the way, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you calling on her.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” Eloise allows, “But there is nothing wrong with practicing my handwriting, is there mother?”

Violet smiles; a pained one that shows her exhaustion with her beloved daughter. “No, my dear. There is no harm in that.”

Eloise nods, smiling softly at her mother before returning to her letter. Violet watches her for a moment; the way her eyes read and reread the sentences written on the page – this was not a letter to Penelope; it was to a suitor. Violet knew full well, however, that Eloise would come to her when ready – she was not someone to be pushed into giving information.

Returning to her stitching, Violet finds that her attention is once more interrupted by the opening of the door. She sighs, placing the stitching down, curious as to whether she would get the piece done before the arrival of the sweet babe.

Turning to face the door, she is surprised to find her second-born, Benedict entering the room. His eyes, sad and his expression, solemn as he runs a hand again and again through his hair.

“Mother,” Benedict greets, leaning down to press a kiss to her ageing cheek. “May I speak with you about a private matter?”

Violet’s eyebrows furrow but she says nothing as she dismisses her daughters; each one complaining as they leave the room, closing the door behind them. At the click of the lock, Violet smiles warmly at her son – he was so different from Anthony and Colin, not the least interested in their games such as Pall Mall but would rather sit to the side with his sketchbook in hand. He had a boisterous streak; could play with the rest of them, but he had his moments where he fall into a tranquil state and produce artwork that could rival the greats.

Nerves tangling his stomach to pieces, Benedict begins to pace the room. His hands are hooked behind his back as he begins to pace backwards and forwards, trying to form sentences from the jumble of words in his mind. He knew, deep down, that whatever he should want to do with his life, his beloved mother would support him, but even Violet Bridgerton could not ignore the class lines so entrenched within society.

“Benedict, my dear, you’re beginning to make me dizzy. Stop pacing and tell me what’s wrong.”

Benedict pauses his pacing but does not sit down. Instead, he stands as still as a stone, hands gesturing wildly as he tries to form thoughts into sentences. Mouth opening and closing, he struggles of how to bring up the issue of love and marriage.

“You would never stand in the way of who we love, would you?” He finally asks, running a hand through his deep brown hair.

Violet frowns, “I would not considering they were within reason. Why? Have you fallen in love, Benedict?”

“I think… No. I know I have, but there’s a problem.”

“Are they a drunk?”

“No.”

“Do they gamble?”

“No.”

“Then whatever is the matter?”

“She’s a servant. A housemaid to be precise… in this house.”

Violet would be the first to admit that she is surprised by her son’s admission. Sighing, she pats the cushion next to her, urging her son to sit down. “Who?” she asks as Benedict falls into the seat beside her.

“(Y/N),” He admits, fiddling with the hem of his jacket.

She runs a hand through his hair, “Does she love you too?”

“I don’t know,” Benedict admits, “She ran off after I confessed.”

“Then I need to speak to her to find out once and for all,” Violet declares, smoothing out her skirts.

“Mother…” Benedict groans. Violet shakes her head, “Let me talk to her. I can reassure her in ways you cannot. I can tell her that I approve.”

“You approve?” He asks, shocked at the words leaving hid mother’s mouth. “I thought you would disapprove…”

“Because of her class? My dear boy, you have found your love match, that is all I wish for my children. Should (Y/N) feel the same then of course I approve. I would rather you be happy than miserable, my son.”

“Thank you, mother,” Benedict replies, kissing her cheek once again, “You’re truly the best there are.”

Violet blushes at her sons words, dismissing him with a wave of her fan. “Off with you, and ring for Jenkins before you go.”

Benedict bows before pulling the cord by the door. Leaving the room, Benedict cannot help the smile that crosses his face. He truly holds some hope that (Y/N) might feel the same as he does and if his mother should approve, then there should be no issue to their courting and their union.

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

(Y/N) wrings her hands together on entire walk to Lady Violet’s drawing room. Having been summoned by the Lady herself, this could be either of two things. One: she was about to find herself suddenly unemployed for reasons she did not yet know. Or two: Lady Violet knows about the conversation with Benedict.

Neither reason made (Y/N) feel particularly confident as she is shown into the drawing room. Her heart remains in her throat even as Lady Violet smiles at her warmly; gesturing for her to sit down across from her and take some tea.

Adding one lump of sugar to her tea, Lady Violet bluntly asks, “Do you love my son, (Y/N)?”

(Y/N) promptly drops her spoon into her tea causing it to splash on the table cover. “Oh!” She gasps, reaching for a napkin to clean up the mess as best she can, “I am so terribly sorry, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet chuckles, “It’s no problem, (Y/N). Tea tends to wash out as I am sure you are well aware. I do not want to think of how many table cloths and dresses I have stained in my time… but I love the drink so many more stains are due to come.”

“My mother says that the world can be put to rights over a good cup of tea.”

“Your mother sounds very wise.”

“She is,” (Y/N) nods, smiling wistfully as she thinks of her mother with the fondness of a child. “I write to her nearly every day. She likes to hear about the city and what is happening. She feels as if the Bridgertons are her own family.”

Violet beams at that, “I am glad to hear it, (Y/N), but you have not answered my question.”

“I apologise, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Are you in love with Benedict?”

(Y/N) remains silent for a moment before beginning to nod her head. “I am. I know I am,” (Y/N) begins, “But…”

“But what?”

“I could bring nothing to the courtship and then nothing to the marriage. My family are not rich enough for me to have a dowry; I have no title or land; I barely know proper etiquette – I would offend everyone the moment I stepped through the door. On top of that, think of the social connections Benedict would lose – there would be families who would never speak to him again all because he had the rotten luck to fall in love with me.”

Violet’s blue eyes grow determined as she begins to list off: “You do not need a dowry; we have enough money as it is. There is no need for you to have a title or land, Benedict has his own homes. In terms of etiquette, you converse with me quite well, so I see no issue there. As for social connections, if people cannot see how happy you make my son then that is their issue, not yours and not Benedict’s.”

“What about the Viscount, Lady Bridgerton? Surely he has final say.”

A glimmer of something maternal shines in Violet’s eyes as she smiles. “Let me handle my eldest son. You have no reason to worry, (Y/N). Benedict loves you. I will not stand in the way of his happiness.”

“So you approve?” (Y/N) asks, forgetting herself for a brief moment before dipping her head in apology.

Violet dismisses her apology with a wave of her hand; after all, if things go to plan, she would be calling (Y/N) daughter in no time. “Do I approve of having to find another housemaid as talented as you? No, I do not. But do I approve of the lady that my son has given his heart to? Absolutely. To be entirely truthful, I would rather it be you than someone in society.”

“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) says gratefully, feeling the all too familiar prick of tears in the corner of her eyes.

“Now go,” Violet smiles, the familiar sting of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, “Go find my son and tell him how you feel.”

Standing from the chair, (Y/N) curtsies with a smile before rushing from the room. Her mind in a daze as to what has truly happened just now.

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

(Y/N) finds Benedict in the library, sat awkwardly in one of the chairs with his sketchbook propped up in his lap. He’s focused entirely on the sketch at hand; his mouth set in a determined line as a finger delicately smudges part of his work.

For a single instant, (Y/N) watches Benedict in his element, finding that the butterflies in her stomach have turned from slumbering to a full blown riot at the mere sight of the man that had captured her heart. Still riding on the high from her conversation with Lady Bridgerton, (Y/N) steps further into the room. Benedict freezes in place at the sight of her stood by the stacks of books; her eyes are bright, and her skin flushed as she fiddles with the hem of her apron.

The painting flashes in his mind suddenly and his fingers twitch with the urge to turn the page of his sketchbook whilst simultaneously asking her to remain still so he can immortalise her on page. She’s perfect; she’s the perfect model and she doesn’t even realise it; Benedict thinks to himself.

“Spare me a moment?” She asks tentatively, as if worried of his reaction.

“All my moments are for you,” Benedict whispers honestly setting her heart racing in her chest. He stands from the chair, long legs coming out from under him as he leaves his sketchbook behind.

“All mine are for you too, if you’ll still have me…”

“What?”

“I love you too,” She confesses, voice small as she fiddles with her fingers, eyes cast on them – too scared to meet his gaze.

A finger under her chin has her meeting his deep blue eyes. Eyes that are alight with the happiness that surges through his veins; that highlight just how his heart sings at hearing those magical words leave her mouth.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” (Y/N) begins to ramble, “There is so much that is standing in the way for us, and I know you do not care or at least, I think you do not care but I cannot help but worry that if we were to happen, one day you would wake up and regret every moment of it. I am not from the same class as you, Benedict, I do not want to ruin you.”

A smile breaks across his face despite the stark desperation of her words. She furrows her eyebrows, half in curiosity, half in concealed frustration. “What are you smiling at?” She demands.

His hands move to cradle her face; thumbs rubbing over her cheekbones as he chuckles, “You called me ‘Benedict’.”

Thinking over her words, she smiles despite herself. “I suppose I did.”

“As for your worries: I do not think there will be one day in my future that I will not wake up and be grateful. However, that will only happen if you are in it – if I am waking up to you every morning. Darling, I do not think you can ruin me. I think you will be the making of me.”

“Do you promise? Not to regret me?” She whispers, a note of vulnerability in her voice.

“I promise,” He vows, pressing a kiss first to her forehead, then to her nose and cheeks. Then as he hovers above her lips, he whispers, “With every moment you spare me, I could never regret falling in love with you.”

******

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#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagines #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagines

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nationalharryleague · 4 years ago

Text

One Day

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Drunk!Harry Fluff!

Word count: 2K

A/N: Hi all! This is some drunk boyfriend harry fluff that I just love sm. It’s based off of “One Day” by Catie Turner (I highly recommend listening to it!!) More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and I would love to hear what you think in my ask! Thank you so much for reading!

***

Harry was the life of the party when he wanted to be. He knew how to let loose, with a tequila on the rocks in one hand and a beer in the other, ready to party until he (literally) dropped. He always ended up on some sort of elevated surface like a teenage girl, usually a kitchen island or an absurdly expensive coffee table, singing along to whatever music was playing, magically knowing every word to whatever came over the speakers. Sometimes he would get lost in the winding corridors of the massive mansions his friends lived in, taking a wrong turn in his enhibrated state and ending up somewhere he definitely wasn’t supposed to be. There was also one time he jumped off a (thankfully low) roof into the swimming pool below.

But usually, he was calm, cool, and collected; gently sipping on a single drink he would nurse for most of the night. The two of you liked to sit and watch during these parties, his hand settling securely on your waist, keeping you close to him and away from the chaos that unfolded before you. You would curl up on a couch somewhere and just watch it all play out like it was an observational study, often giving commentary and ranking people and their drunk dancing out of 10.

“I feel like we're the mean girls in the corner of the cafeteria who just sit and silently judge everyone around them,” you would giggle, nuzzling yourself further into his side.

“That’s because we are the mean girls in the corner judging everyone around them, sweetheart” he would reply, in a slightly buzzed drawl.

But tonight was not one of those nights. And Harry had ended up standing on top of the dining room table scream-singing ABBA at the top of his lungs.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic and messy performance. His limbs flailed freely as he wiggled his hips along to the beat of Dancing Queen, singing into a small statue of a naked woman he had picked up off an end table that you assumed to be very, very expensive, like it was a microphone. He wore a pair of high rise denim flares that swayed along with his movements to the music and his white “Women are Smarter'' shirt was now stuck to his body with sweat, just see through enough for his butterfly to make an appearance.

He only came down after a green malaise began to settle over his features, skin slightly clammy and a bit pale. You extended a hand, helping his loopy body down off the table and letting him settle into your side for support once he was on solid ground again. “Let’s head to the bathroom, H,” you said gently, trying to settle the panic that was beginning to crawl into his eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

Once he got to the beautifully large and extravagant bathroom, he crawled into a small, or as small as the large man could make himself, ball and rested his hot clammy cheeks against the cool marble of the floor. “May have overdone it,” he grumbled from his spot on the floor, holding on for dear life as you were sure the room was spinning for him.

“Ya think?” you teased, immediately feeling a pang of guilt when you were met with a pathetically needy face from him in return. “Oh baby, it’s okay.” You carefully dug through the cabinets, knowing there had to be washcloths somewhere in the lavish room, and once you found one you dampened it with cold water. Settling down on the tile next to him, you pulled him and his sweaty curls on to your lap, wiping the layer of sweat delicately from his skin and then resting the cold cloth on his forehead.

You two stayed in this position for a while, carefully rubbing his back in an effort to sooth the large man and trying to ignore the loud music that was still shaking the house around you. He looked small like this, no longer your giant protector, but like a younger version of himself who just needed someone to take care of him. You were happy to be that person, as he always was for you.

This was the first time you had ever seen him like this. He always managed to know his limits, but tonight he just went off the deep end. He had been working like a dog, constantly in and out of the studio, frustrated that none of the songs he was writing were up to his astronomically high standards for himself. It wasn’t too shocking that he was trying to escape that stress.

Gradually, as he laid on the floor and you held him close, the color came back into his cheeks and he stopped holding onto your legs like the room was about to take flight. When you sat him up against the wall, he was still a bit wobbly, but no longer looked like he was about to unload his stomach contents all over the room.

“How are you feeling now, H?” you asked softly, scanning his face for discomfort or distress as you dabbed the washcloth over his skin.

“’m okay,” he hiccuped back, “jus’ needed a cuddle.” He got exceptionally British when he got this drunk, his accent coming out in a barely distinguishable garble of tall vowels and dropped consonants, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

His eyes fluttered open and closed without rhythm as he looked at you, his light green eyes glazed over with a glassy shine, and his mouth hung open slightly, like he didn’t have the coordination to close it. His pink cheeks were flushed and his skin had a sweaty sheen. His head had rolled off too one side and rested on his shoulder, like his neck had given up on holding his head up, and his arms fell heavy at his sides.

You should have been at least slightly annoyed with him for acting like a college kid, drinking until he made himself sick. His behavior and subsequent need for you to take care of him should have gotten under your skin and caused a bit of anger to bubble up into your chest. But it didn’t. You were just taking care of your man.

“Do you still feel nauseous?”

“‘m a-ok, babay” he said, making himself giggle with his rhyme. His lips lazily curled up into a smile and he dragged a lazy arm up to give the “OK” symbol with his uncoordinated fingers, before the heavy limb dropped back down to the tile beneath him.

“Okay, funny man,” you began sarcastically, planning on instructing to drink the glass of water you had retrieved on your way up to the bathroom, when he cut you off.

“I am pretty funny, aren’t I?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back the loud belly laugh that fell past your lips. He took the glass from you and began to sip, a proud smirk never leaving his lips as he looked at you.

“You were a comedian in a past life.”

“I agree.”

You two were quiet for a bit, Harry drinking something other than tequila for the first time the entire night, and you just admiring him in silence. You let your hand crawl into his, interlocking your fingers together before bringing it up to your lips and pressing small kisses to each of his knuckles. It wasn’t long before his glass of water was finished and he crawled back into your arms, his back pressing to your chest with your arms wrapped securely around his shoulders. Your fingers ran through his still damp curls, initially just to push them up and away from his forehead and eyes, but continued when you heard the little happy mewls coming from him.

“Ya take such good care of me,” he said sloppily with a gentle tone, breaking through the bubble of silence you two had created together.

“I always will.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his salty forehead and settled back onto the hard wall behind you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hadn’t been together for long, with saying the “L” word still being pretty new, and still slightly foreign, to both of you. But you meant it when you said it, you loved him, and your body always filled with a blushing warmth when he said he loved you too.

You had met through work when you interviewed him for the magazine you worked at. From the moment you saw those dimples in real life, you were weak in the knees and enamored with him. You hadn’t been trying to flirt, it just happened. And before he left the office, you had a date planned for that Friday. That was 6 months ago now and they had been some of the happiest of your life.

“Will you marry me?”

The question left his lips in his absurdly difficult to understand drawl and it took you a moment to process what he said, but when you did your heart stopped.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry him, because you did, but not now.

It was too soon. There was still too much for you to do together, too much still to learn about him, and too much for him to learn about you. You hadn’t even had a serious fight yet; you didn’t know how he dealt with conflict or how you would react to it. You didn’t live together; you didn’t know how your living habits would match up or if they would drive each other insane. You didn’t know how you would deal with him touring being away for so long.

There was just too much you didn't know.

“I will someday.” You spoke gently, trying hard not to hurt his currently fragile feelings. You were now holding his face tenderly, like if you held him steady and close, you could lessen the blow.

“So, no?” he looked up at you with his big puppy dog eyes, feeling guilt punch you in the gut.

“For now. Everything is just going so well right now, we don’t have to mess with it.”

“Jus’ wanna be with you forever,” he said softly and your heart began to melt. He was such a soft person, who felt everything so deeply and with so much emotion. He was a sap, and you loved him for it. You pulled him closer to your chest, pressing soft kisses to his temple.

“And you will be,” you breathed. “Forever will still be there down the line.”

“Why not now?” His lips held an adorable pout and you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing a kiss to them. He tasted awful, like tequila and sweat, but the kiss was loving and sweet as you tried to pour all your love for him into it.

“Because we still have to grow,” you watched the end of his mouth tick up, sure to make some sort of smartass comment about you both being grown already. “We have to grow together,” you finished.

“I guess so,” he mused softly.

“I promise that I will say ‘yes’ when we are ready someday.”

“Someday,” he repeated softly, feeling the words on his own lips. “I’m going to keep asking, ya know?” he smirked up at you, his smile and joking tone signalling that you hadn’t broken his heart, just bruised his ego a bit.

“That’s perfectly okay,” you sighed, a contagious smile finding its way to your own lips. “I’m going to keep saying ‘no’ until we’re ready, ya know?” you teased, using his own words against him.

“One day, I’ll make an honest woman outta ya when you let me.”

“One day.”

Thank you reading!! Reblogs/feedback mean the world!!

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles concept #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harryandhockey #my writing

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poppywrites41 · 4 years ago

Text

Captive Love Ch. 4

Hello. Yes. I am alive and I am so sorry I have not posted. I have been so busy and have not had time to sit down and write but I now have a little bit of time to writs so I popped this chapter out.

I hope you all enjoy and please please please leave feedback!💜

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS. This fic does NOT represent the boys is ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM.

also: MINORS GTFO

Warnings for this chapter: noncon fingering, public fingering, swearing(? I can’t remember what I wrote to be honest I did this at 2 am lmao) and anything else I missed

If you are uncomfortable with noncon, then i sadly suggest you leave this fic alone.

Prev | Next

Y/N rushed back to the servant’s house and locked herself in her room. Heart beating a million miles a minute, she slumped to the ground and cried. “Why did I do that?!” she sobbed, “Now the princes will be keeping their eyes on me…” All the poor girl could do was cry until she fell asleep.

The next morning, Y/N was jolted from her sleep when she heard a knock at her door. Fearing that it could be Lilith about to throw a fit as to why she wasn’t working or worse, Jungkook, she shrunk back further into her room.

“Y/N” the voice of Emily said from the other side of the door, “are you alright love?” Y/N let out a huge sigh of relief at hearing her friend’s voice. “E-Emily!” she said. “Can you let me in love?” Emily asked. Standing on wobbly legs, Y/N opened her door revealing Emily, Elizabeth and the girl she recognized as the one Jungkook was about to humiliate.

“Oh Y/N! You’re alright! Are you alright?! Did they do anything to you?!” Emily cries out as she begins inspecting her. “I-I’m fine! Really. How did you-” “Maria told us what happened” Elizabeth said gesturing to the girl.

The girl ran to Y/N and gave her a big hug, “Thank you miss! Thank you for saving me. I am so sorry for causing you trouble…”

“It’s alright really,” Y/N told her, rubbing the girls back to comfort her, “I spoke with Prince Yoongi, and he let us off with a warning, but that he will not give us another.”

“What happened after Maria left?” Emily inquired.

Y/N took a breath and told them what happened. However, once she finished her story, it was time to work. As Y/N got ready she feared what would happen if she ran into the princes again.

Luckily, Y/N, Elizabeth and Emily were assigned to cleaning all the dishware in the kitchen, far away from the princes, which brought all of them some peace…

_________________________________________________________

Yoongi couldn’t focus on his book all day. All he could think about was that “stupid servant girl” as he told himself. He could not for the life of him find a reason to justify his actions on releasing her from punishment. He loved giving punishments! So why… He hasn’t seen the girl all day and it was starting to bug him for some reason. Did she skip work? Now that was a good reason to punish her. But that would be odd just going out of his way to find a specific servant to punish. It would definitely capture the attention of his brothers. Had she gotten in trouble with one of his brothers? Had she-

“Oh brother!” Jungkook said barging into his room with a big smile, “I wish I was there to see it! Next time I hope to partake in the event. I can just imagine her screams… Oh I bet they were lovely! Was her skin smooth before you tore it up?? Oh, how I wish I could have felt it before she was marred…”

“All women’s backs are the same Jungkook. Smooth.” Yoongi retorts.

“Not all of them brother,” the younger huffed, “That maid was exceptionally beautiful. Could have passed as a daughter of a lord if you ask me.”

“Well,” Yoongi huffed, “it’s over with and she has learned her mistake.”

The youngest brother hummed as he paced around his older brother’s bedroom.

Yoongi closed his book with a sigh of annoyance, “What is it Kook?”

“It’s not fair you got the fun. Sure, hunting was fun…But I feel left out. Maybe I should push the girl into making another mistake so that I can take a turn with her!”

“Now why would you want that? You never mess with the servant girls to get them to mess up.”

“I know. They usually just accept whatever happens. But this girl brother, she’s different. She has fight and that intrigues me. I want to break her.” The youngest brother smirks deviously.

“Jungkook-” Yoongi stops his snap back at his younger brother. He cannot let them see that he wants to protect her. He waves his hand and gets up to walk to the door, “Don’t be stupid. There are plenty of women more worthy of your time than her. She’s just a rat. The gala is starting. Mother and Father are expecting us.”

Yoongi left for the dining room leaving Jungkook to his own thoughts.

_________________________________________________________

Once their chores were finished the girls were given some time to rest before serving dinner to the guests. So they all went to Y/N’s room to finish what they were talking about that morning.

“Well!” Elizabeth sighs sitting on the bed, “I’ve never heard of the princes letting a servant off the hook, let alone Prince Yoongi. He especially never lets anyone go unpunished.”

“Do you think he wasn’t in the mood?” Emily asked.

“No,” Elizabeth said, “He is always in the mood to punish. This is strange. Why would he…”

“Well, he still did threaten me with a ‘next time’ but I think he’s not all that bad as what others make him out to be.” Y/N said nervously.

“Oh no hun! There must be an ulterior motive. Now Jungkook is not as bad of a threat as Yoongi, so you definitely need to steer clear of any more interactions between any of the princes. Just do your job and do it well to avoid any more unfortunate events.” She said with a worried face.

Before anyone could respond, the bell rang throughout the quarters.

“Well, it’s time for dinner to be served to the family and their guests. Let’s go ladies and remember,” she said to all of them but looking at Y/N, “do your job and lay low.”

“Alright ladies! It’s almost time to begin the dinner. You all know your roles so grab your platter or pitcher and get out to the floor! I do NOT want any accidents tonight!” Lilith said.

Everyone began moving and grabbing platters of elegantly arranged foods and large pitchers of wine, ale and water.

Y/N looked at Emily and sighed as she was one of the girls who would serve wine to the guests.

Emily squeezed her arm, “It’ll be alright Y/N. There are so many girls serving drinks so hopefully you won’t be near the royal family.

“I hope” Y/N sighed and made her way to the hall.

_________________________________________________________

The dining hall was massive. All decorated with expensive paintings and golden decorative features. One long table seating up to 200 guests including the royal family at the end. The royal band playing softly as to not drown out to conversations happening at the table.

Y/N took a breath and made her way towards her guest filling their chalices with wine, not looking them in the eyes as to not taint their status with her inferiority.

The night was surprisingly going well, she had not had one interaction with a royal member. She was beginning to relax. Maybe tonight won’t turn out to be so bad. Everyone had finished the main course and it was almost time for Y/N’s 15-minute break. All she had to do was wait for an esteemed guest to tap their glass and she would refill it with the sweet wine she carried.

“More wine please!” a feminine voice called.

Y/N looked up towards the people she had been serving wine the entire night to only to see that no one at her end had asked for wine. She looked around in confusion until Lilith elbowed her in the side, “The Queen wants more wine girl.”

“T-The Q-Queen?” Y/N whispers.

“Yes!” Lilith hissed, “Rose is still on her break so just go fill her chalice! Go now!” she said shoving the poor girl towards the other end of the table.

‘That’s where the princes are!!’ Y/N screamed in her head.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Emily trying to get Elizabeth to take her place but Y/N kept walking towards the Queen’s seat.

“Ah finally!” the Queen laughed, “The wine is here! What took you so long girl?! Are we out of wine?”

Y/N did not know what to say. Her brain was malfunctioning. She had the word but couldn’t get them out in fear of saying something wrong.

“When the Queen addressed you, you respond servant!” a deep voice spoke.

Y/N flinched.

“Look at me girl.” The voice said again. Y/N looked up and into the glaring eyes of Prince Namjoon. “Are you mute girl?” Y/N shakes her head. “Are you dumb?” Y/N shakes her head.

“Words.”

“N-No your highness.” She said in a shaky voice her eyes finding Prince Yoongi’s piercing stare causing her to look down at the floor.

“Then answer the Queen.”

Y/N turned to the Queen with a bow, “A-Apologies your majesty. W-We are n-not out o-of wine.”

“Ah,” she said sliding her chalice withing Y/N’s reach to pour, “well the room is big and there is a lot of chatter so it must have been a little difficult to hear. I will let it slide, but I expect this to not happen again.”

“Y-Yes your majesty. T-Thank you.” Y/N bowed again.

She was about to turn back when she heard another voice that frightened her.

“I need a refill as well.”

Jungkook.

Legs shaking, Y/N turned and walked towards Jungkook’s seat. When she reached him, he pushed his glass further into the table beyond her reach.

“So sorry but I am still eating. You can grab it and refill yourself I hope?” he said giving her a smile that looked innocent but she, and Yoongi, knows the trouble behind it.

Y/N bowed her head and leaned over to get the glass, which was properly placed to where her bum was right next to the prince. As she clutched the glass, she felt a hand slip under her dress and rest on her thigh. She almost dropped the glass but let out a small gasp when the hand tightened on her.

“Pour the wine like that and do not move. Unless you want trouble.” Prince Jungkook said in a low voice. “And pour it slow.” He added.

Y/N shut her eyes to keep the tears from escaping and began to pour the wine slowly. Her eyes flew open when she felt a pinch on the inside of her thigh. “Open your eyes rabbit. Or you will spill, and it will be all over for you.” The youngest prince threatens.

Y/N opens her eyes slowly trying to keep the tears at bay, eyes focused on the glass.

“Slower.” The prince orders.

The trail of wine turns into a small trickle while the prince’s hand makes it to the girl’s panties.

Y/N stifles a sob when Jungkook’s hand rubs at the fabric, her face turning red. Once he finds her nub, he pinches it, causing her to give a silent gasp and a single tear.

They both stop what they are doing when they hear a clank of silverware against a plate. They look up to see Prince Yoongi staring at them with an unamused look. Y/N thought she saw anger in his eyes, but she wasn’t sure through her watery eyes.

She is snapped back to reality when she feels her panties being pulled to the side. She was even more horrified when she felt some slick disconnect from her panties. How did she get wet?

“You’re wet my sweet rabbit,” Jungkook chuckles as his fingers swirl around in her slick, “Why don’t you keep pouring my wine love? And look at my brother the whole time.”

“P-Please…” Y/N whispered, “P-Please d-don’t.”

“You want me to stop?” Jungkook whispered, “But you are so wet rabbit. It would be unfair.”

“But t-they-”

“Are too buzzed to notice, well except my brother right there. Let’s give him a show. Now pour. And no sounds.” He ordered, his hands beginning to rub her nub in circles.

Giving a silent whimper, she resumed her task whilst keeping eye contact with Yoongi, her eyes red and watery.

When Jungkook figured his fingers were slick enough, he slid a finger into her pussy. Both of them shuddered. One with fear and one with delight.

Y/N wanted to scream in pain while Jungkook almost came in his pants.

“My sweet rabbit, are you a virgin?” he whispered, earning himself a silent sob from the girl to confirm his suspicions, “Oh how fun! I’m your first fingerfuck.”

With that, he inserted a second finger earning himself a squeeze from her cunt and began pumping in a out. He looked at his brother and smirked, knowing that he was hard as well and began to pump faster.

Jungkook was in heaven. His fingers were being squeezed by the girl’s cunt. Oh, how he wished he could see her face. He then noticed that his wine glass was full, and that the girl was clutching the table liner. Jungkook looked around and noticed that no one noticed what was going on. They were all pretty much drunk except for him, Yoongi and the girl.

Jungkook then grabbed Y/N by the waist and pulled her into his lap and hiked up her skirt a bit more. The new angle allowed him to thrust his fingers deeper.

Y/N looked away to not face the other prince only to have her face turned towards Jungkook.

“Look at me rabbit,” he whispered, “I want to see your face when you come.”

Y/N opened her teary eyes to him and clenched his jacket as she felt something start to blossom in her. Jungkook immediately knew she was close and angled himself so that he and his older brother can see her come undone by the prince’s fingers.

Y/N began to cry and pull Jungkook’s hand away.

“N-No! Please s-stop…I-I can’t”

Jungkook was much stronger than her and kept going, relishing in how her thighs started grinding together.

“You will rabbit,” he whispered in her ear, “You will not refuse my gift of giving you pleasure. Now cum.”

Y/N felt her high come crashing down unwelcomed. She suddenly felt weak and fell back into the prince’s chest as she let out a choked sob. The prince pulled her skirt back in place, patted her arms and pushed her onto her feet, the poor girl breathing heavily and unstable.

“There you go. I hope you enjoyed that as much as we did!” He said with a smile, “Now back to work with you. Thank you for the drink rabbit.”

Y/N grabbed her pitcher with shaking hands and looked at prince as he took his fingers covered in her release and stuck them in his mouth, moaning in pleasure, “and thank you for the desert. Compliments to the chef!” he said with a wink.

Still crying, Y/N bowed to the prince and hurried off to the break room.

Jungkook chuckled and turned to his brother who had a tint of pink to his cheeks.

“She was cute, wasn’t she?” the youngest asked his older brother with a smile, “She’s a virgin brother! Her sweet release tasted like nothing I have ever had before. You must try it for yourself sometime brother!”

The older prince chugged his wine and nodded, “Interesting. She is an intrigues girl I must say. I will have to investigate more on her.”

“You mean ‘in’ her?” Jungkook smirks.

Yoongi rolled his eyes. He could not get that image of Y/N’s face when she came. She looked so beautiful so fragile. It made him want to break her. Want to punish her for cumming by Jungkook’s hand.

The want to break her, punish her, fuck her.

Once Y/N made it to the break room, Elizabeth and Emily were about to head back out to the feast to serve.

“Y/N!” Emily said, “How was the Queen? Was she mad? Did she punish- Oh my god! Are you alright!?” She begins to panic when she sees Y/N’s tear-stained face.

“Y/N, sweetie, is everything okay?” Elizabeth began, noticing Y/N was not focusing on anything in the room and that her eyes are blank.

Y/N started to have a panic attack. Her heart began to beat faster, her mind racing a million miles a minute, her vision began to blacken and her hearing was going in and out.

“Y/N…. hear me….Y/N!!.............help!.......You’re going…………..Y/N!!!”

Tags: @d-noona

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cinnamonrusts · 3 years ago

Text

i’ll see you in the village -- 7 (final)

parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Chris is overjoyed to see you safe and sound in his arms, despite Ethan crumbling before his eyes. Despite the circumstances -- is this happily ever after for Chris and yourself? (chris redfield x f!reader)

a/n: we’ve reached the end of this series! thank you all for your love and support! i enjoyed writing this so much, xoxo.

✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

Chris’s lips felt chapped against your cold skin and you could feel the coolness of his sweat from his cheek in the freezing air. Your eyes examined his face as he repeated his words, “You’re okay. You’re okay,” you were unsure if he meant the reassurance for you or himself, but nonetheless - hearing his real voice was soothing.

“Chris?” you asked again. His attention turned to you and his grip tightened around your hand, “Yeah? You okay?” he asked. You hummed and gave a weak nod, “It-It’s pretty cold out here. Th-these bad boys could cut glass right now...” your free hand covered the exposed upper half of your body. Chris chuckled, he couldn’t believe that everything you’d been through -- you could still crack a joke and make him laugh. That was one of the things he loved most about you.

He helped you lean up with his palm gently placed between your shoulder blades, “Let’s get you somewhere safe--,” Chris started but stopped when the roots that covered the landscape near the two of you withered away. When the area opened, Ethan Winters was on his knees with his infant daughter clutched in his arms. Chris looked toward you then to Ethan before he turned back, “I’m alright,” you assured him and watched as the man ran to his friend. “Ethan!” Chris called as he shook the blonde’s shoulder. Ethan’s head hung down over his daughter but remained silent. The Alpha’s voice cracked as he feared for the worst in regards to the father who was finally reunited with his child.

✧.*

A huge mass of black roots rose from just in front of the horizon and Chris quickly slinked his arm around Ethan to pull him in your direction. “Can you walk, [Y/N]?!” he called out. Your head nodded quickly as you pushed yourself up from the ground - whether you could or not, you would. It had been quite sometime since you walked on your own, so you wobbled side to side a few times before you were able to stand still. You pulled the lab coat closed and waddled to Ethan’s aide, then slinked an arm around the other half of his body. “It’s-it’s nice to finally meet you, Ethan. I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” you said with kindness heavy in your tone. Ethan remained silent but he slowly lifted his head and gave you a weak smile.

The mass of roots opened and revealed it was the Megamycete that Miranda praised during her rule of the village. Chris quickened his pace which was troublesome for Ethan and yourself as you were gaining back your strength while Ethan was losing his. “There’s a bomb in that thing that’ll blow this village sky-high!” Chris informed. “A bomb?!” you yelled. Chris pulled out a detonation device, “When I hit this trigger, we can’t be anywhere near it!” Despite this worrisome news, Ethan paused in his tracks which stopped the two of you, your eyebrows furrowed as you noticed Ethan seemed to get worse. Chris did his best to encourage the man to keep going by telling him that his wife was alive.

“Mia..?” Ethan asked. “Yes! Keep going, Ethan. Knowing that [Y/N] helped me when I felt like it was the end. You can do it too...” Chris kept egging him on before you stopped him when you said his name firmly. The infant looked up to her father with love in her saucer orbs while Ethan looked down to her, “I’m so sorry... I love you...” Ethan handed baby Rose to Chris who was reluctant to accept her, “Tell her yourself,” his voice dropped when he realized what Winters was doing. Ethan removed his coat and covered his daughter with it, his condition worsened as each minute passed in the frigid outdoors. “Teach her to be strong...”

“Chris, give me the trigger,” you reached for it but his grip was tight. He was reluctant to give you it because he knew that you’d give it to Ethan, “It’s what he wants,” you grabbed it again and this time you were able to yank it free. Just as you passed it to him, he pushed you out of the way from an attacking root. You stumbled backward into Chris who then pulled you tight to his body with Rose tucked safely in his arm. Ethan stood on the opposite side with the trigger in his deteriorated hand, “Goodbye, Rosemary.”

✧.*

When you heard Ethan’s voice crack with tears, you could feel your heart tear because it was so evident the love he had for his daughter. Ethan fought through hell and high water to reach her. He disposed of the Lords and managed to destroy Miranda (something that you couldn’t even do) - and now decided to sacrifice himself so the three of you could escape this European prison.

Chris knew that any more protests would fall upon deaf ears and he said goodbye to his friend. Ethan was armed with the detonator and the three of you needed to get the hell out of there - so he grabbed hold of your waist and ran off to safety before the explosion would detonate...

The helicopter was like a saving grace and you were relieved to see it because you knew that it meant you’d finally be free of this place. It had been days since you’d arrived. You were subjected to physical harm, torture, and whatever Miranda did...was it still inside of you? Your future was uncertain but instead of being afraid now for it now, you would live in the moment and worry later.

Mia, Ethan’s wife, was overjoyed to see her daughter safe in Chris’s arms. However, this soon darkened when the group lacked an important member. “Where’s Ethan?” she cried out as the helicopter took off into the air. Her eyes darted frantically as she ached for an answer from someone, anyone! You sat down on a seat and Tundra approached you, she gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Great to see you safe, [Y/N].” you smiled and nodded, “Yeah, good to see you guys too.” It was difficult but you tried your best to not make eye contact with Mia, you waited for Chris to give her the news - it wasn’t your place, you felt.

Her anger boiled as she demanded that Chris answered her. But the answer was not what she expected as the blast from the explosion rocked the helicopter and the bright flash blinded mostly everyone in the craft. Mia rushed to the circular window and observed the fiery inferno that engulfed the land below. “I told you to sit down...” Chris spoke, his voice dark. She wouldn’t look away, “What have you done?” she asked, sadness tore at her throat. Mia fell into a swarm of tears and Chris punched the wall of the cabin, “I tried.” his voice cracked as he fought back tears. “He stayed so we all could escape.”

✧.*

You pushed yourself up from your seat to try and comfort Mia. It was too difficult to watch her mourn as her head hung heavily over Rose, who cooed at her mother - she was a glimmer in the darkness. But when you took a step in her direction, your head felt like it was spinning. Soon, you ended up on the floor of the helicopter and began convulsing. Chris and two members of your squad rushed to your aid. They did their best to get you to answer them but you remained silent as your body shook uncontrollably for several seconds. Not long after, you stopped and laid completely still with your eyes wide open. Chris scooped you up and placed your upper half in the bend of his arm. “[Y/N]!?”

Suddenly, small fractures began to crack across your skin and spread out throughout the entirety of your body. Chris panicked when he noticed and his hands tried to hold the pieces that began to fall away from your core. Your skin turned white and broke like ceramic; Chris held you tighter but it only caused you to crumble more. “Chris...” you gained consciousness somewhat and struggled to speak. He hushed you, “Don’t say anything, just-just relax.” Chris rocked you back and forth in a soothing matter, but he was sure to be careful. “Chris. I-I...” you lifted your arm up slowly and cupped his cheek in your crumbled hand, which was now just a few fingers and mostly empty spaces.

“I love you...” just as you spoke your last words... you crumbled into the same material as the others before you who were infected with the mold. When the ashy pieces tumbled away, all that remained in Chris’s arms was a crystalized statue of your torso. Just the same as what Ethan picked up after he disposed of the Lords and the creatures that were scattered throughout the village.

Chris was speechless as he observed your remains that were still clutched tightly in his arms. “Alpha, I--,” Tundra attempted to sympathize with her superior, despite being in shock herself. She reached out to touch his shoulder but he slapped her hand away.

“Because we destroyed the Megamycete -- it took [Y/N] with it.” his thumb rubbed the smooth crystal as tears fell from his eyes.

“And someone’s gonna pay ---,”

#resident evil #resident evil x reader #chris redfield x reader #reader x chris redfield #chris redfield/reader #chris redfield #resident evil 8 #i feel this ending could've been better #maybe i will revise it #one day

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