#Reader Insert Fanfic

[sith-qween]

Sign On The Line

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairings: Reader x Lucifer, Reader x Alastor

Words: 1.8K

Rating: M

Warnings: Teaser, Blow Job, Masturbation, Real warnings to come if this is finished

The days were definitely not the same as they used to be. Since the last extermination, Hell had been in overdrive. Everyone had been scrambling to try and make the most of what little pathetic after life they had - be that begging for their lives, to kill and maim as many creatures as physically possible, and others just trying to party and fuck as much as they could. 

Maybe you would’ve gotten in on that action but unfortunately for you, you had a lovely little bargain that had you on the ropes. You would’ve been so lucky to get away with murder and just enjoy what was left of your pitiful existence. However, like anything else, there was a sick plan for you. 

You had hoped that one of those disgusting angels would’ve made a pit stop and taken you out of your misery but, that was too easy. Everyone was on edge waiting to see what Lucifer’s little duckling would do, and to everyone's surprise - the bloodbath had been a holy one. Then the news went around and suddenly the first man was gone. The one who had led the charge was now nothing more than ash. It was a frost day in hell that was for sure. No one knew what to do once the panic ceased, some returned to normal while others started asking questions, what did this mean now? Did they stand a chance against Heaven?

Bah. You couldn’t care less. Mind you, you never intended to get much closer to the victoring side. Mind you - one moment you were in the safety of your friend’s bar, and suddenly you were face to face with a very familiar grey face. Ever since that red haired antler fuck came around and sealed the deal he had you waiting in the corner. Sure you were a lot stronger now that you’d made that deal - but at what cost? It wasn’t like you could go out and enjoy that power and take whatever you wanted, you had to behave.

And just like that, your peace and quiet was over. Ever since the Hotel won their little war, there was an increase in crowds around the place. Some begging for redemption - and some burning with the desire to get closer to some obvious powerhouses, minus the Overlords. 

Alastor had deemed you a credible source to play greeter and take care of any guests that arrive personally. Those also came with the job of making any swift removals if someone wasn’t playing by the rules. Basically you were there to give Vaggie a break and let her focus on other things. 

There was one thing that had caught your eye though. Every now and again you would catch the slightest glimpse of the King of Hell. You had been there for about a month now but it was rare to see the man sauntering around with the lessers. You don’t think you’d say he was repulsed by the likes of demons, but more disappointed. The few times you had seen him he was a very pleasant man - he definitely carried himself with a very regal air, and it was something of a dream. Maybe it was just the part of you longing to have done a few things differently in your own life. Maybe then you could’ve been up there living a fantasy instead of being stuck slaving away down here. 

A few interactions had taken place between the two of you, but you wouldn’t exactly chalk them up to being overly positive? You were never out right rude to the short King - but you also didn’t kneel and kiss the very earth he walked. You were a lot of things - but a kiss ass was not one of them. While your attitude made some of the others a tad nervous, he never seemed to mind. In fact he got a small kick out of it once in a while. 

After running laps around the hotel to try and manage the requests of some newer guests you felt a deep growl rumble in your chest. You had no ties with these people and they were driving you up the wall. You couldn’t be bothered to care about this redemption nonsense, but if these idiots were serious they would have to work on a lot of things. All they were doing was getting on your nerves and you had to admire the patience that they others had. You could never. 

Making your way down the halls you noticed a shadow in the corner of your eyes and it quickly caught your attention. Not on your watch.

You weren’t about to let anything come in here and get you in trouble with your deal. Satan knows that Alastor would have you begging for death if you didn’t hold up your end of the deal. The very thought caused a shiver to run along your spine. That could wait - narrowing your eyes the growl continued as you turned down an unfamiliar hallway to track the shadow. Maybe it was someone playing a prank on you, but you’d rather be made a fool then let a danger slip in here. 

The shadow was quick and always just out of sight. Picking up speed you were sure you could get a pass on using some of your power if it was for the Hotel. Slowly two dark horns with careful curls started growing from the top of your head, eyes glowing red you darted with extreme speeds down the halls to catch up. Finally it turned into a door that was ajar, and you slipped in after it.

However, what you found was far from the last thing you expected to see. The adrenaline that had been building and starting to flare as you chased down the threat seemed to vanish in seconds. 

The room in question was on a newer wing of the Hotel, one that was not meant for guests. In fact if you had to put a label to it - it was much more on the administration side of things. The walls were not the normal royal red - these walls were tall and a nearly blinding white with golden accents. You could feel your blood run cold. 

It was one thing to add a little sass in a conversation with the King of Hell - but it was another thing to burst into his own personal room. Let alone like this.

It wasn’t just his room, no he was there. Not in any old way either. In a way that would cause Heaven to weep. Your lips moved to speak but nothing would come out, you couldn’t help the disrespectful stare as your eyes landed on the man in the large regal bed. It was a lavish bed, much larger than any single person could ever need, and the canopy on it draped perfectly to enclose the whole thing - except the front of it. It was the perfect little window to see the man lounged, his legs spread wide as your eyes locked. 

He was completely unphased at seeing you appear in the room, in fact his face grew into a wide grin. This only made the blood run colder in your body, completely flabbergasted and lost for what to do or say.

“Well,” he started as he looked you up and down, “that worked a lot better than I thought it would.” he chuckled, crooking his head as he studied your expression. You hated the fact that you could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, you weren’t no prude - but this was something else. 

“Wait,” you managed to mumble out, trying to keep your eyes on his face and not straying to the careful motions happening in his lap under the sheets “that was you..?”

“I was curious how devoted you are to this Hotel. I don’t want anyone here that might let harm come to my little girl and her dreams,” he started, making it seem like some nonchalant and totally normal reason to have dragged you down to this side of the building. 

“I might not care - but I have a deal to uphold. So long as Alastor is invested you can count on me to do what is needed.” you scoffed. Noticing the momentary anger that reached the other's face. It amused you how much the two men hated each other, and yet both craved the same desire to push and support Charlie.

“Is that so..?” he hummed, eyes slowly shutting for a moment. AS they slowly rolled back open he was once again locked onto you, his smile turning lazy before he spoke again, “well since you’re here, perhaps you would like to keep me company. After all it seems as though you’ve have a rough day today”

HIs voice was deep and enticing. No wonder Eve was so easily pulled into his promises of free will. What soul wouldn’t find themselves entranced in him. 

“Come here”

Your mouth was dry as you found yourself moving towards the bed. Everything about him was so inviting, so pure and yet so down right sinful. Reaching out his free arm in a welcoming manor you knew then and there that there wasn’t going to be any turning around and second guessing this. Letting your tongue run along your bottom lip, you weren’t going to give up this chance. How many can say they laid with Lucifer himself?

Reaching the end of the bed his hand flicked, shutting the large doors and locking them. 

“Remove your clothing and then crawl to me, darling” he purred, the words silky as they rolled from his tongue. You weren’t about to be told twice as the shirt came over your head in a flash, and your pants were quick to follow. Dropping them in a contained mess on the floor your hands met the sheets followed by your knees. Keeping some modesty in front of the Holy King, you could feel your heart race as the excitement surged through your body. Carefully crawling towards the man, you watched him, taking in as much as you could. 

Your motions slowed as you neared the small man, your knees on either side of his leg. He looked so blissful and perfect in every way. Pulling the sheets away you could see his hand doing exactly what you thought it would be doing. Wrapped around his sizeable dick you could feel your mouth water at all of the sinful thoughts that raced through your mind. Seeing what you were doing his hand stilled and you wasted no time taking over the stimulation he had been doing. He was heavy in your hand and you couldn’t help yourself from rubbing your thighs together for some kind of friction before leaning forward to take him into your mouth.

“What do you think about adding a third party?” a staticy voice chimed from behind you.

AN: This is a teaser fic - I might finish this if anyone else is interested. Until then pay me no mind. I'm gunna go thirst after these two and Adam, cause I have no standards.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin fanfic #reader insert #reader insert fanfic #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer magne #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #ao3 fanfic #teaser

[the-witty-pen-name]

Love is Blind Masterlist

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, eventual smut, reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, tooth rot worthy fluff, Eddie being a major flirt, cursing, mentions of substance use

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four - coming soon!

Part Five - coming soon!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x plus size!reader smut #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fan fic #eddie munson #joe quinn characters #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x insecure reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x reader #eddie x you #plus size reader #plus size reader insert #reader insert #reader insert smut #reader insert fanfic

[somedaylazysomeday]

Shared

You catch Silco's eye at The Last Drop, but he isn't the only one interested in you.

Silco x fem!reader x Sevika

Rating: Explicit. Minors, please do not interact.

Word Count: 5,900

Warnings: Clubs, predator/prey vibes, sex, interrupted sex, minor voyeurism, threesomes, anal fingering, double penetration, anal sex, sex toy use.

Masterlist

---

You were on a bed, sandwiched between two warm bodies. You were trying to stay afloat in the wash of touches, your body stretching in ways it never had before. With the all-encompassing sensations, you were struggling to remember exactly how you had gotten to this point. 

You hadn’t been drugged or anything. That much needed to be said, especially somewhere like The Last Drop. But no, the fuzziness of the evening had started from the first time you had caught the Shimmer-glowing eye of Silco himself, and you were drunk on everything that had happened since.

Catching Silco’s attention wasn’t something you had set out to do. Just the thought would have made you dizzy with nervousness and intimidation. Those weren’t emotions you had very often. Growing up in the deepest shadows cast by Piltover had left you with the distinct impression that there was no further you could sink. 

And there were always predators in the deep. 

When you had first noticed that mismatched gaze fixed on you, you had put on your best blank expression. Every Undercity resident worth their air knew that Silco wasn’t someone to fuck with. And if he had decided that he didn’t like the look of you, it would be better to leave The Last Drop before he had a chance to kick you out personally. 

Admittedly, he would be more likely to send his second-in-command, Sevika, to get rid of you. That didn’t make it any more pleasant, though she was easily as attractive as he was - just with a different sort of danger. 

In any case, you lost sight of him after that, though you couldn’t help but scan the crowds regularly for a sight of that glowing eye. Every time you didn’t see it, you relaxed a little more, though you couldn’t help recognizing that there was a part of yourself that rode a wave of disappointment. 

Silco was known for being dangerous, but he was also undeniably handsome. That trim body and sharp fashion sense were paired with the keenest wit the Undercity had seen in decades, and he used it to his best advantage. Silco could take apart his enemies with a few well-placed words and a single command to his army of followers. 

And he fucked.

Very few people could claim the distinction of having been with the Eye of Zaun, but everyone seemed to have a story about the time their friend’s older sibling’s cousin had spent a few glorious hours in the chem-baron’s company. 

You would be willing to dismiss those stories as urban legends, a simple desire to make Silco’s power personal by having it exercised over you directly, but the stories all shared a few too many details. Firstly, they almost always started with someone catching Silco’s eye in The Last Drop. 

Second, he was always very much in charge. It wasn’t something you would struggle to believe. If Silco was going to hook up with a stranger, it was only smart to make sure he was in control of the situation, if only to keep from being double-crossed. 

Third, the person was never contacted again after their initial encounter with Silco. If they met him somewhere else, he was cool and indifferent toward them. It was clear that he was interested in short-term pleasure, not long-term commitment. 

There were a few other factors that featured in most stories, but they weren’t entirely consistent and you didn’t count them. For instance, a lot of stories had Sevika involved, but not all of them. Some listed favorite positions or toys that were used, but those reports were so varied as to be pointless. 

Overall, you considered the stories a fascinating look at how folklore supported shadowy figures in the Undercity. It was an interesting way to pass your time, even if it felt a bit voyeuristic. But you were simply interested in a major Undercity player, and found the pursuit of trends in stories a good indicator of that. You were watching solely as an academic exercise, not from any personal interest. 

That was why you had regularly chosen to drink at the Drop for the past few months. The only reason.

Still, despite the stories - nay, Silco’s sexual exploits had reached the level of legend - you hadn’t expected to actually make eye contact with Silco himself. Even then, your tipsy-but-watchful demeanor hadn’t been enough to see him a second time. 

Perhaps it had been a fluke. You weren’t stupid enough to think it had been anyone other than Silco, but you were also willing to concede that he probably observed the goings-on of The Last Drop. It wasn’t impossible that he had been watching the crowd at the same moment that you had been looking around. Still, there was something about the way his gaze had slowly slid away from yours that made you think he had been watching you for a while.

And you had to consider the tingling feeling of being watched, dancing invisible fingertips between your shoulder blades.

But you hadn’t seen Silco again. Not until you had gone to the bar. The bartender had slid you a drink before you had even ordered, directing you to a hallway that led from one side of the room. There, you found a staircase, and the door at the top had been unlocked…

When you opened the door and stepped into the darkened room beyond, Silco had been inside. You couldn’t claim to be completely surprised - who else would have a bedroom in The Last Drop? 

You also weren’t stupid enough to believe that the room was actually where Silco slept. No, the bed was ridiculously big and the shelves against the walls held a variety of lascivious-looking toys. This was clearly where Silco hooked up with people from his club. 

That, at least, ended up being correct. Silco had shared a drink with you, telling you bluntly that he was interested in fucking you that night. He asked if you were interested in that, too. Your immediate and resounding ‘yes’ was embarrassing, but he only gave a small smirk and told you to finish your drink while you discussed preferences and limits. 

When that was settled, you found yourself on that giant mattress, flat on your back under him as he ravaged your mouth. He explored you thoroughly, taking control so casually and naturally that it only seemed to make sense. 

And then he was inside of you, pushing himself deep as you arched your back and cried out for him. Your voice was loud in the room - too loud, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was thick and hot, and you could feel him throbbing. Or maybe you were the one throbbing, your inner muscles working around him as your body tried to decide whether to pull him deeper or push him out of you entirely. 

Just as you were beginning to relax around and under him, a loud bang made you jump. You couldn’t see much from under the canopy of Silco’s body, but you managed to spy that the door was now open. More importantly, someone was standing inside. 

“Scoop told me to come find you- Oh.” 

The voice was low and rough, so much so that it took a moment for you to realize that it was female. And there was only one person you could think of who wouldn’t be apologizing profusely by this point: Sevika. 

To your mingled surprise and embarrassment, Sevika stepped around the bed until she could see you more clearly past Silco’s shielding body. Her lips curved into a sardonic smirk as her dark eyes wandered over every bit of you visible in your current position. 

“Nice going, boss,” Sevika congratulated lowly. “If you didn’t wreck that pretty pussy, I was gonna do it myself.”

Your breath caught at that, the muscles of your core fluttering at the unexpected filth. 

Silco rolled his hips, pressing further into you and driving a gasp from your lungs. “Mmm, she liked that. And, as it happens, I’ve already started working on ruining her.”

“Everything I’ve seen so far seems pretty tame,” Sevika said with a scoff. “I think you’re losing your touch. Maybe you should let an expert take over.” 

Silco bared his teeth, holding your hips tight against his to keep himself buried deep as he rolled. When you were on top, still laying with your chest pressed to his, Silco raised his eyebrows at Sevika. “I am the expert here. If you don’t believe me, perhaps you should see for yourself.” 

Sevika grinned, teeth flashing brightly in her smile. Her lightning-quick wink was the last thing you saw before she stepped out of view once more. 

When you would have turned your head to keep her in view, Silco gripped your chin and held it steady to press a kiss to your lips. When he let you pull away, he murmured, “Pay attention. You’ll hurt my pride.” 

The feeling of his chest rubbing against your stiffened nipples made your eagerness surge, but the sharp gasp was pulled from you by a different sensation: fingertips running upward along one side of your entrance, trailing around where Silco’s length had you spread wide around him. You couldn’t help a squirming shiver when that touch traveled up and between your cheeks. 

“Sensitive little thing, isn’t she?” Sevika asked, a warm chuckle rumbling through her voice.

“If you could feel her the way I can, you would not need to ask.” Silco punctuated it with a pulse of his hips that made you gasp and cling to him. 

Normally, this was not your kind of thing. You preferred to be an active partner in your sexual encounters, and the fact that most of the comments being tossed around were pointedly not directed toward you should have made you nervous. Probably would have in any other situation, if you were being honest. 

But you felt exposed like this, knowing someone was watching. Someone who had plainly stated that she was also interested in your body. That, combined with the knowledge of how dangerous both of them were, kept you calm as they spoke around you rather than including you in the conversation. You felt as if you were slowly turning into a pile of flesh and nerves, able to do nothing but limply receive the pleasure you were offered. 

Somehow, it was working for you.

“But you have yet to tell me,” Silco continued, giving another lazy thrust that made you squirm down onto him more firmly. “How does she look?” 

“Needy. Hot. Desperate. Sexy,” Sevika said with a hum. Her attention was still between your legs as she scattered adjectives through the conversation. She played idly with you and - if you were to guess from his low growl - with Silco as well. Her fingers pulled you wider, as if testing how far your folds would spread. “The only way she’ll look better is dripping with cum, too fucked-out to move.”

You were listening intently to her, but a sound in the room made it hard to focus. It was only when they both chuckled that you realized the sound was a whine, coming from between your own parted lips.

“I can think of something else that may be better still,” Silco mused. His voice sounded teasing, but he didn’t continue. The silence felt heavy, weighed down with expectation and more than a hint of anticipation. 

Silco’s hand smoothed over your temple, making you twitch with surprise. You glanced up to find him watching you. “What do you think, pet? Shall we invite Sevika to join us?” 

Your mouth went dry. You didn’t want to risk trying and failing to speak, so you settled for a fervent nod. Silco’s lips curled as he glanced behind you. There was a knowing light glowing in his mismatched eyes, but they were aimed at Sevika, not you. 

“Where do you want me?” Even Sevika’s low voice and brusque tone couldn’t disguise her interest. There was a stab of satisfaction in your gut - you may have been needy, but she wasn't as unaffected as she wanted to seem. 

"Hmm…" Silco drawled, tracing circles on your skin that made you shiver. "If we truly want to ruin her, there would seem to be an obvious choice." 

His touch lifted your chin once more, pulling your touch-drunk gaze toward his. With that orange eye burning deep into your mind and soul, Silco asked, "Shall Sevika and I share you? Take you at the same time?" 

You nodded again, but Silco stared harder. "And has your lovely rear ever taken anything before?" 

Feeling inexplicably disappointed in yourself and your past sexual partners, you slowly shook your head. 

"And would you like to try?" 

Your eyes snapped back to Silco's face, core throbbing. "Yes, I would." 

Silco's lips curled into a pleased and slightly predatory smile. 

Behind you, Sevika barked a laugh. "She can still speak." The chill of metal fingers against the side of your face made your eyes flutter closed. "We'll fix that." 

"Get harnessed," Silco ordered, and Sevika's artificial touch disappeared from you. "Use the smallest toy. I want her ruined, not destroyed." 

Even as your body gave a throb, clearly of the opinion that it wouldn't mind either way, Sevika said, "I’ll get ready. You keep doing what you were doing."

Silco took her at her word. He started slow, guiding your hips up and down on his length. When you had found the right combination of movements on your part and the right amount of Silco thrusting into you from below, your pace naturally built back to where it had been before. 

The sound of your panting breaths filled the room, pairing chaotically with the sounds of sex. You had almost forgotten about Sevika entirely in the sprint toward your impending orgasm. But Silco stopped you with a steady press of fingers against your hips, his attention moving to something behind you. When he gave an approving smile, you glanced back as well. 

Sevika was standing behind you, baring more skin than you could remember seeing her display. Her muscular arms were on full show, leading up to broad, strong shoulders. She was wearing a black breastband, but it could hardly contain the rounded swells of her breasts and your mouth watered at the idea of seeing them without any cover at all. Her abdomen was taut, a hint of muscle definition casting shadows on the flat expanse of her stomach. There was a suggestion of a rounded lower belly that made you itch to touch Sevika’s dusky skin, but that bit of softness was covered by a pair of black, form-fitting boxers. 

When your eyes finally fell between Sevika’s legs, you could see that the boxers doubled as a harness. The toy held in place by the boxers was also black, and you struggled to pick out its edges against the darkness of the background. Sevika helped you - perhaps inadvertently - as she worked the short shaft, coating it with shining lube. 

You watched her fist the toy, laying a thick coat of slippery gel over the surface. Your mouth was dry, but you did your best to pretend that you weren’t utterly entranced by the sight. 

Silco gave a rumbling laugh, and it buzzed pleasantly through you. “Like what you see, pet? Do you think you can take her?” 

Sevika smirked at you, hand spreading open between the toy and the boxers so you could see it more clearly. It was… smaller than expected. 

“That’s it?” you asked, cringing at yourself a moment later. 

Sevika laughed out loud. “For your first time? It’s plenty, trust me. Anything bigger and we really would destroy you.” 

You smiled back, but Silco was already moving on. “Sevika is going to prepare you. I want your eyes on me.” 

When you turned back to face the man beneath you, Silco nodded slowly. “One moment.” 

Silco’s hands were firm around your hips. He used the leverage of them to spear himself as far into you as he could get, pressing deep and deeper until there wasn’t a fraction of space between your pelvis and his. Your mouth had fallen open somewhere along the line as you dealt with the flood of sensations, but he wasn’t done. 

His palms slid up either side of your spine, pulling you forward until you were lying flat against him again, your breasts crushed to his chest and his length shifting oddly inside of you. You weren’t sure what look you were wearing when you stared down at him from inches away, but the pupil of Silco’s green eye was blown wide and you thought you would drown in the darkness of it. 

Sevika’s touch made you jump just a bit, but it was enough to pull you free of the trap in Silco’s gaze. She must have been touching you with her metal arm, since her hand was cool and firm against you. She found the place where your spine met your ass, the spot where the sway of your spine rose past your tailbone and into the swell of your hips. 

When her hand was on that anchoring spot, Sevika pressed down. It wasn’t painful, even with the unyielding metal of her replacement arm. However, it did lock you in place against Silco, holding you steady even when you tried to squirm at the feeling of him inside of you. 

The feeling of warm, slippery fingers came a moment later - hardly a surprise, even as a gasp fought to escape you. That touch traveled closer and closer to the center of your ass, working its way toward that secret place hidden between your lower cheeks. 

She quickly found your rear entrance and pressed a finger against it. You made an inhuman sound at the firm touch even as you fought to wiggle your hips closer. When her hand on you and Silco’s anchoring grip made that impossible, you settled for arching your back to give her better access. 

Sevika laughed, and the sound warmed your face. “Responsive. I like her already.” 

“Just wait,” Silco told her lazily. “She’s the best I’ve had in some time. Not overly chatty, either.” 

“Just the way you like ‘em,” Sevika remarked. Her fingers playing against the small of your back made you shudder - or perhaps that was the way her other hand was poised and ready to breach you. When Sevika spoke again, her voice was closer to you, as if she had leaned in. “Don’t worry, we’ll get some sounds outta you either way.” 

Somehow, you managed a halfway sexy laugh. "Promises, promises." 

A firm slap to your ass took your breath away. It was a good spank, but it also forced you further into Silco's cock and ground your clit against his pelvis. 

"Sevika," Silco's voice lashed lowly through the room. "Enough teasing." 

As if to prove his own point, Silco used his grip on your hips to pull you up off of him and slam you back down. The suddenness of it made it all the more intense, and you started riding him without any further prompting.

"We'll start you off slowly," Silco said, offering a nod past you. 

A cool drop of liquid landed just above the crack of your ass, sliding slowly downward. The first drop was followed by another and another, until the slippery gel had started working its way down to your heated core. 

Searching fingers slipped between your cheeks and you tensed reflexively. Sevika's voice was low and close as she said, "Relax."

That wasn't going to happen any time soon, not with her touching what she was getting ready to, but you made an effort anyway. The tension drained slowly from your muscles, and you were so focused that you hadn't noticed the way Silco had stopped moving again.

His hands traveled upward to splay across your back once more, holding you steady as one of Sevika's fingers found your rear entrance and began to press against it. 

Your vision seemed to dim. Not from the sensation itself - though that was certainly a source of interest - but because you were concentrating so hard on the way it felt that you weren’t fully using your eyes anymore. Beyond a vague recognition that Silco was watching you closely, all of your focus was on something you couldn’t see. 

With the lube that was coating you, Sevika’s finger provided almost no friction. If not for the press of her knuckles against the softness of your cheeks, you would hardly know what she was doing. Her finger was equally slick (you suspected it had been coated with a fresh sheen of lubrication), but far more noticeable with the way it pressed against you. 

Your entrance braced against the intrusion, fighting to keep it out. As the pressure increased against you, you drew tighter and tighter. Silco made a surprised noise at the way your inner muscles squeezed around him. It was quiet, but just enough to distract you. You relaxed as you glanced at Silco, and that was all it took for Sevika’s finger to breach you. 

Naturally, you tensed. It was an unfamiliar sensation. Not uncomfortable, but different in a way that stole your focus. That ring of muscle seemed to stretch impossibly wide around the invader, and that feeling only grew as more and more of her finger sank into you. 

“You’re a fool not to take her ass yourself,” Sevika informed Silco. “She’s gonna be perfect.”

“Perhaps I consider the privilege a reward for your excellent work,” Silco countered. “Besides, she is strangling my cock now. I think this will prove pleasurable for both of us. And even more so for our lovely guest.” 

Sevika hummed in agreement, the fingers of her free hand dancing over the small of your back. “If she can walk after this, we haven’t done enough.” 

With a twisting motion, Sevika curled her finger all the way into you, stopping only when her knuckles were pressing against the cheeks of your ass. The noise you made was short and sharp, an audible expression of your pleasure. 

“Are her eyes crossing yet?” Sevika asked. 

Silco caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, carefully turning your face from side to side. “I do not believe so, but we have plenty of time. Sevika will keep her finger in you, pet, while we resume our activities. I want you used to taking something in two places at once before we start in earnest.” 

It wasn’t a question - no part of it had been, but you nodded anyway. Silco grabbed your hips again, guiding you in a new rhythm. He stayed deep inside of you, his tip never quite leaving your core even as he thrust. You picked up the pattern and started to follow it eagerly. There was a different dimension to the pleasure with something in your ass. 

Sevika followed your movements with her hand, keeping her finger buried in you. It spurred you on, adding spice to every thrust as you adjusted to being stretched in two places. 

A warmth at your back warned that Sevika was leaning in again. “Let’s take him apart.”

Your movements stuttered when her finger started to move inside of you, but she didn’t start to fuck you with it. Instead, she curled the digit, timing each curl perfectly to catch Silco’s tip at every thrust.

Silco’s brows furrowed, a harsh curse leaving him. He picked up speed when yours faltered, holding the rhythm even when you were completely distracted by the feeling of Sevika pressing against the thin wall that separated her from Silco. 

At last - and long after your brain had melted entirely - Silco seemed to have had enough. With his chipped teeth bared, he hissed, “Sevika. Take her.” 

The abrupt feeling of Sevika’s finger sliding from you made you gasp. She and Silco both chuckled, though Silco’s voice sounded a little strained. 

“Ready?” Sevika asked, ducking forward so you could see her without straining your neck. Her eyes seemed even darker, excitement sharpening her features. You could only nod in silent agreement. 

Her hands pressed you forward against Silco’s chest once more. You felt them travel down slowly, teasing where you and the chem baron were joined. Her touch dipped briefly lower and Silco cursed again. “Focus, Sevika.” 

As if enticing her to do exactly that, Silco grabbed as much of your ass as he could possibly hold, spreading your cheeks wide as your face went hot. Sevika’s hastily stifled groan eased your embarrassment, but your breathing had picked up and you were fighting not to push back toward her. 

A metal hand against the base of your spine drew your attention from your own eagerness for a moment. “Keep relaxed for me,” Sevika urged. 

It was an impossible thing to ask, but you did your best as she placed the tip of her toy against your ass. You felt your eyes widen as she started to push into you. 

You had seen the toy. It was small, almost laughably so. But now, it felt immense against your rear entrance. As it started to spear into you, it seemed to stretch you impossibly wide. The intrusion burned slightly, even with the generous amounts of lube that coated both you and the toy, and you would have shifted away from it if Silco weren’t holding you so tightly. 

Your mouth opened, ready to call things off and walk away, but there was a slight popping sensation that made you jolt. “Head’s in.” 

Sevika’s explanation answered your unasked question, but you couldn’t acknowledge her verbally. The steady slide of the toy into you was smooth and inevitable, your body letting it in with minimal struggle. 

The firm press of her boxer-clad hips against your ass made you jump again, but Sevika’s hands smoothed down your sides. “Doin’ good for me, pretty girl. We’re gonna stay like this for a minute.” 

You nodded, agreeing to yet another thing that hadn’t truly been a question. Slowly, Silco urged you to sit upright on him. You winced at the feeling of being stretched in two places, but it wasn’t painful. Silco wasn’t a small man and it was always odd to move this way with someone inside of you. Sevika’s toy was small, but it was odd and different enough to make you double-check every sensation to see whether it was good or bad. 

Sevika started things, gently massaging your breasts from behind. Her touch was gentle but insistent, bringing your body back to eagerness. Silco joined in soon afterward, focusing his attention between your legs. His nimble fingers teased your folds around where he was speared and further back, but most of his attention was fixed on your clit. 

Your lips parted as your breathing picked up. Silco and Sevika’s motions synced up, and Sevika’s fingers rolled your nipple just as Silco gave your clit a firm rub. You moaned aloud, head tipping forward in time to see a smirk spread over Silco’s face. 

“It sounds as if our pet is ready to be fucked,” he remarked conversationally to Sevika. “Shall we?” 

“Hmm…” Sevika hedged, rolling her hips against your ass as she thought. The motion knocked you off-balance, pushing you forward along Silco’s cock and spearing you back onto both of them when you corrected your position. You let out a plaintive sound. “How can I resist when she sounds like that?”

“Are you ready?” Silco asked, grabbing your chin once more. 

That grip kept you from nodding. With your three functional brain cells, you managed, “Yes. Please.”

“Please,” Sevika repeated, amused. “You don’t have to beg. Yet.” 

And then they started to move. The first few thrusts were disjoined, leaving you tossed back and forth between them like a toy boat in a storm. But they found a devastating rhythm soon enough. Silco pumped in and out of you, using his length to best advantage. Sevika had less of a shaft to work with, but she focused her energy on giving a little swivel of her hips with every stroke. The combination was lethal. 

It seemed that you had just started when your body tightened. Tension was screaming through every muscle, warning that you were only moments away from utterly imploding. 

“I- I’m–” you stammered, someone taking the words from your lips before you could get any further than a single word into your warning. 

“We know,” Silco said, smugness written across his face. 

“Surprised you made it this long,” Sevika agreed. 

You decided that the best revenge would be to come. Your body wasn’t waiting for permission from your brain, but the timing was great - no sooner had you made your decision than every muscle in your body locked down. 

Colors burst behind your eyes as the most intense orgasm you’d ever had roared through you. You had always imagined going through a hex-gate would be like that: an all-encompassing experience that robbed you of every sense until you were through. Of course, if the hex-gates felt anywhere near as amazing as it did to come on Silco and Sevika’s cocks, you would understand the exorbitant prices for passage. 

If not for Silco’s hands on your hips and Sevika’s arms around your torso, you would have stopped moving entirely, other than to collapse forward. Somehow, they kept you upright, even when they edged you toward overstimulation. 

Silco let out a low, wordless growl as he fucked up into you hard for a thrust, then two. When he was buried as far into you as he could possibly get, he came. The condom he wore kept you from feeling its heat, but his staccato pounding pushed you into a strong aftershock. 

He was almost pretty like that, you reflected, watching Silco writhe beneath you. Fierce, of course, and always imposing, but somehow pretty. Maybe it was the way his eyes flashed, or how his face narrowed even more with the intensity of his pleasure. Or maybe it was the way his jaw dropped, a helpless sound of pleasure leaving him even as his brow crinkled with irritation at his own vulnerability. 

Eventually, Silco lay slack on the bed, watching you and Sevika as his cock slowly softened inside of you. You were still pushed forward and back on him, moving slightly with Sevika’s thrusts. It felt inappropriate somehow, having your ass fucked while you were watched by the man you had started the night with. But Silco seemed unbothered, tracing lazy circles against your hips as he held you still to receive Sevika’s thrusts. 

You could come again this way, you decided idly. Anal was a slower build to orgasm than you were used to, but it was certainly more powerful when it got there. 

“Close yet?” Silco asked eventually. It could have sounded impatient or jealous, but his tone was nothing more than curious. 

“Close,” Sevika confirmed. “It’s a smaller hilt than I would have wanted.” 

“Did you choose the one that vibrates?” 

You couldn’t see Sevika’s expression, but there was something close to glee in her voice as she said, “Forgot about that, but yeah.” 

“Allow me,” Silco offered valiantly. He reached to grab something from a nearby table, and then you were too busy writhing to worry about what he was holding. 

Sevika’s toy buzzed violently in your ass, and you were choking on air at the unexpected sensation. You could only squirm with the surprise of it, but when you had regained some control of your muscles, your instincts hijacked your brain. The only thing you could do was lean forward onto hands you had planted against Silco’s chest, pulling away and thrusting yourself back onto Sevika’s toy as quickly as you could manage. 

Between your sudden eagerness and Sevika’s continued thrusting, the toy pulled free of and punched back in far more often than it had up to that point. A small, almost silent part of you recognized that the ache would be fierce the next day, but that concern was overwhelmed by the vast majority of you that insisted this was necessary. You needed to come again. If you didn’t, you would die. 

At last, Sevika gave a sharp, staccato cry and buried her face in your neck. The flexing of her hips buried the toy as far inside of you as it could get. The buzzing brought you to a small but powerful second orgasm. You reveled in every second of it, even as Silco turned off the toy’s vibrations and soreness immediately set in. 

Sevika pulled out of you, and the resulting motion of your hips allowed Silco to slide free as well. You collapsed on the surface of the bed, your fall cushioned by blankets and the arms of the two strangers you’d had sex with.

They started a low conversation above you as you throbbed and basked in the afterglow. Either they were speaking too quietly for you to hear or your brain wasn’t quite capable of processing speech yet. Either way, you were largely left to your own thoughts. 

You hadn’t watched Sevika come. That was the only part of the experience you regretted. Silco was beautiful when he came, and you were willing to bet that Sevika had been the same. Unfortunately, she had been behind you and there were no mirrors that you could see. You felt cheated, almost, robbed of the chance to see a strong, stunning woman brought to her knees with pleasure from your body. 

But you couldn’t truly complain. The rest of the night had been incredible. Silco truly deserved to have so many people talking about his talents in the bedroom. If he had orchestrated the whole scenario - and you strongly suspected that he had - he was both a master manipulator and someone with a keen need for pleasure. 

Yes, if you were only going to get one chance at this, you were satisfied in how things had played out. And you had been with both Silco and Sevika! Two of the most dangerous people in the Undercity had let you share their bed, and they had cared enough about your pleasure to be sure that you came twice. 

Now, you had your own story to share… but you didn’t think you would. This felt like something to keep quiet and close, to treasure for the rest of your life. And, of course, to get off to when you were feeling particularly lonely or needy. 

“Is she wrecked enough for your tastes?” 

Silco’s quiet question was the first thing you had understood in quite some time, and you realized with a start that he was talking about you.

“Mmhmm,” Sevika hummed, sounding wickedly satisfied. “Look at her.” 

Since they were sitting at the right angle to be staring at your sensitive core, you didn’t bother to keep your eyes open. You were tempted to be shy, but sleep was calling louder and louder. They had made a mess of you, after all. They could look at that mess if they liked. 

“I would like to try her mouth next time,” Silco added, almost absently. 

Sevika let out a short laugh. “Works for me. I wanna bury my tongue in that pussy until she’s sobbing.” 

“We’ll have to do this again soon,” Silco agreed. 

You could hardly believe your ears, but even your excitement couldn’t keep you awake. You faded into soft and filthy dreams, the words ‘next time’ echoing in your ears as you went.

---

Author's Note - The reader character does and says a lot less than I'm used to writing, so my apologies for that. Honestly, this was fueled by scraps of a weird dream after I had too much wine one night. My excuse is that it was a very overwhelming dream for an ace-spectrum writer, so I just got it all down on paper as soon as I could!

Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #arcane #arcane netflix #arcane silco #arcane sevika #silco #sevika #silco x reader #silco x you #sevika x reader #sevika x you #silco x reader x sevika #silco x you x sevika #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #lemon #spicy #not suitable for minors #minors dni

[wing-ed-thing]

Stay the Night (Smoker x Reader)

Synopsis: Smoker is surprisingly, bafflingly competent at taking care of you while you're drunk.

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags/Warnings: Alcohol, Intoxication, Alcohol Sickness, Vomiting, Fluff, No Reader Pronouns Explicitly Mentioned (Reader Wears Heels, Makeup, and a Wig), Language, Mildly Suggestive, Two Longtime Friends and Peers who are Clearly in Love with Each Other

Notes: I felt like Smoker was the kind of guy to reluctantly hold your hair back while you're throwing up.

Unlike the rest of his present company, Smoker usually avoided overindulging in elaborately planned social events, especially those with an open bar. It was best to stay out of the way. 

The Marines rarely allocated funds to such frivolous occasions, and so most officers and honored guests took it upon themselves to find the bottom of the generously offered bottomless champagne. While the hangovers were never worth it, that didn’t stop even the highest leadership from stumbling out of the ballroom doors with hair tousled and neckties hanging across their shoulders. 

Smoker preferred to sit at a table out of the way: a sanctuary among the chaos, away from the main path of foot traffic, with a clear view of the door. That’s where he nursed his single glass of whisky. If he were feeling especially celebratory, he would have two. 

You, on the other hand… were already standing on top of a table. Your stilettos were positioned on either side of the floral centerpiece in the middle, and the tiny point of your heels barely allowed you to balance as the bottle in your hands exploded in a loud, crisp pop. 

Smoker watched how the sea of Marines that gathered around you in disheveled formalwear cheered, and your hypnotized face admired the bubbles pouring from the bottle's neck. 

A group of newly trained officers jumped up and down together in time with the music on the opposite side of the circular table in celebration, knocking some tall glasses over onto the white cloth below. Smoker nearly leaped out of his chair as your knees began to buckle. But even despite your tiny shoes and even tinier dress, you managed to catch yourself. Your laughter resounded loudly among the voices around you.

Smoker heaved a deep sigh, sitting back down, swirling his drink with a flick of his wrist. 

He didn’t even need to see that stunt to predict what would come later that night. 

The streets were utterly empty. Aside from the glow of the street lamps, the only light that shone was from the venue as the staff hurried their clean up. Smoker strolled out of the double doors, tie loosened around his neck and suit jacket draped neatly over his arm.

He barely had to make it outside before he saw you. Hell, he’d be able to spot that glittery ass anywhere, even without your blinding choice of attire. 

You were bent over on your weak knees as you hurled your guts out into a bush. Smoker let out a low, resigned grumble, swiping a hand over his fatigued face as he approached you. You barely registered the large shadow that overtook you, let alone the hands that gingerly and neatly gathered your hair away from your face. 

You sputtered, coughing as a few tears streamed from your eyes. The insides of your cheeks were wet and bitter, and your throat burned. You spat onto the ground to get more foul-tasting mucus out of your mouth. 

You were a Marine, dammit, and a few too many took you out quicker than any pirate ever did. 

“Koby?” you whined. Tears continued to stream from your eyes at the pressure in your sinuses. You spat again. God, something was in your nose.

“Sorry to disappoint, Lieutenant Commander,” Smoker gruffed from where he squatted next to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” you whimpered, not wanting to be reminded of your rank during such a state of weakness. Your stomach convulsed, causing your sickness to start again. Smoker’s gaze drifted to the still street like another weekday night. “I’m never gonna drink again.”

“Mh-hmm” was about the only noise you got out of Smoker. He sat patiently and wordless, not one to croon words of assurance at you as you paid for your night of over-indulgence. But for his silence, he continued to pull your hair back, meticulously smoothing the bundle back as best as he could so as not to knot or tug at your stands. 

In a moment of relief, you finally turned over to sit on the curb. Despite the extra alcohol emptied from your stomach, you were far from sober. Smoker knelt on one knee in front of you. You could hardly get his face to focus, let alone register the warm jacket he hung across your shoulders. 

He took the pocket square from the left breast pocket and unfurled it with a snap of his wrist. Smoker swiped the fabric over your mouth, clearing away saliva and slime. The backs of your fingers knocked against his wrist belatedly as you shook your head.

“‘M gonna fuck up your hankie, Smokey,” you sighed, even though he had already wiped your mouth. He shoved the square roughly into his pocket, paying no mind to you as he heaved you onto your feet. “‘M alright. I can make it home.”

“Like hell, you can.” You stumbled as you tried to step forward, but Smoker caught you around the waist. “These, too. You know the whole street’s cobblestone, right?.” His movements felt incredibly fast to you as he bent down again to slide your shoes off, and with two large fingers hooked around the pinch of your stilettos, Smoker moved to throw you over his shoulder. 

“Whoa, whoa, wait…” Your hand flew over your mouth, and the other splayed across Smoker’s right shoulder. He held you at length, studying your face and movements carefully. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

You shook your head in small but rapid swivels.

“Can’t do that.” You heaved a deep breath, slowly removing your hand from your mouth. 

Smoker grumbled a hum of acknowledgment, pulling his jacket closed over your chest before shepherding you down the street toward your apartment. 

You barely remembered the walk, although you were sure your drunken meandering was more than a test of Smoker’s patience. Even so, he hardly said a word, only breaking his silence to ask you where your keys were when you reached your doorstep. 

They were in your clutch, which Smoker was holding with your shoes, of course. 

As soon as the door opened, you nearly collapsed into your apartment. With Smoker's help, you fell neatly onto the couch by the entrance. He slipped off his boots— no matter how formal the event, Smoker was wearing his combat boots— and disappeared somewhere into your apartment. 

You didn’t even care. Your head was so heavy that all you wanted to do was sleep as you slowly sank into your couch cushions. 

“Sit back up.” You heard Smoker call sternly from the other room. You didn’t think you could obey him if you wanted to. 

In a second, you were being repositioned. The light from the lamp in the corner of the room was sobering and borderline upsetting, but it allowed you to see the small trashcan Smoker brought for you on the floor to your right and the bottle of make-up remover on the coffee table in front of you. Smoker sat beside you, tilting your chin to delicately rub your make-up away with a prepped, textured cotton pad. 

It caught you off guard, to say the least. Even in your drunken haze, Smoker still didn’t seem like the type to have patience for tender acts of service. Hell, you didn’t even know he knew what make-up remover looked like. 

But despite your judgments, Smoker sat on the couch next to you, one elbow resting against the back cushion as he held your chin while his other hand swiped away your perfect contour. 

“Who taught you this?” you giggled. Smoker, make sure to get the creases around your nose. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Where do you want your lashes?”

“What?—” 

Smoker had already pulled your left eyelash off, the entire strip. 

“I’ll put ‘em back in the book I saw.” Before you could protest, Smoker had already pulled off your right lash. He stood quickly, stuffing the solution-soaked pad into your hand as he pivoted to carry your lashes to the other room. “Work on the rest of the glue.”

He turned back to you slightly, leaning over you just a bit to grasp your wrist and manipulate your hand to move in a circular motion on your face before you slapped him away. Smoker disappeared once again into your apartment. 

You finally noticed the plastic cup of water on your coffee table and mustered up the energy to take it. The outside was wet with condensation. It was cold. You couldn’t remember the last time you drank water. 

“What do you wanna do with your unit?” Smoker appeared from around the corner again; some linens balled in a wad under his arm. He held a pillow in his opposite grip as if he were holding a stray dog by the scruff. 

His white collared shirt had been pulled from the waistband of his dress pants sometime during the night. The black tie that was already draped over his shoulders drooped to one side, making one side longer than the other. The first three buttons of his shirt sat on his chest untethered. A dampened towel rested over his shoulder.

You blinked at him between sips of water. Your stomach was handling rehydration so far, but you were about to push it.

“You’re not touching my hair, Smokey.”

“Though I’d offer.” He set the pillow down to take the towel off his shoulder. Smoker wadded it in a ball before throwing it your way. You somehow still had the dexterity to catch it out of the air. A generous amount of adhesive remover had already been applied to it. 

Smoker pulled the coffee table out of the way, and as you stared at the towel he threw to you, Smoker began arranging blankets and pillows around you. You supposed he was trying to get you to sleep somewhere you could sit up. He draped a fuzzy throw blanket on your lap and moved two large decorative pillows to your right and left.

As your eyes moved from the remover-soaked towel to Smoker and back, you couldn’t help but laugh. The sensation moved through you before tearing out of your chest. Unrestrained by the liquor, it probably came out louder and more shrill than it would have usually, but if Smoker had any comments, he kept them to himself. 

He knelt before you, both his wrists resting on his bent knee. He shook his head as if regretting the question he was about to ask in advance.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

You swayed forward, racked with trembles, as you continued to laugh. The back of your heels knocked against the bottom of the couch. Smoker didn’t move, even as your face inched gradually towards his. Your cheek settled into your palm, allowing you to sit folded over to meet his eye. He waited as your laughter gradually subsided.

“What are you doing here, Smoker?” 

He stared directly into your irises, and you didn’t know if his expressionlessness or the intensity of his gaze made your smug smile waver. Intending to tease him, Smoker didn’t humor you with an expression. Nothing you had done that night—nor anything you would do—could sober you up faster than the sharp and sudden twinge in your chest that came with simply meeting Smoker’s dark brown eyes. 

What the hell?

“Your girlfriend’ll be pissed.” You sharply recoiled, kicking your legs over Smoker’s bent knee to swiftly stand. You made a beeline deeper into the apartment. 

Smoker only wavered a moment, his eyebrows creasing for a second in confusion before he stood and followed you.

“What girlfriend?” he shouted. He nearly ran into you as you closed a small cabinet by the bathroom. The side of your lip drooped downward in an acute pout. Smoker, never one to enjoy feeling left out of the loop, hovered over you expectantly. You entered the bathroom without a second thought. Smoker found himself in the doorway.

“Weren’t you with that…” You snapped your fingers as you tried to recall her name. You didn’t have to wait.

“Six months ago… and we only went on a few dates,” Smoker defended, although he wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to defend himself to you in the first place. The two of you had known each other for longer than he recalled knowing anyone else, and more prominently, the two of you were peers. Why should it matter if he took some petty officer out for a few drinks a few months back? His eyes narrowed at the back of your head. “Why?”

You shrugged. You seemed far less worried about the whole thing; your face practically pressed against the mirror to remove the remaining patches of product Smoker missed. He did a more than adequate job. He hardly missed anything regarding your makeup, but the pointed glance you stole in the mirror escaped him. 

“Now I know I’m pretty wasted—” You met his gaze through the mirror. You cocked your head, and your hands gripped the side of the sink in pure bafflement. “But you said ‘lash book’—?”

“Got it. Got it.” Smoker crossed his arms as he tore his attention away. Steam filled the air. He hardly noticed the shower running, and he most definitely didn’t realize that you were standing in front of him, presenting your back, until you started speaking again.

“So, you’re just kind of a—" You glanced over your shoulder at him, and for as off as your judgment was, you knew you probably shouldn’t finish your sentence—even if his reaction would have been hilarious. You turned back around. “Get my dress for me?”  

You could have noticed Smoker’s single beat of hesitation if you were any less intoxicated. But for yet another instance that night, Smoker went quiet as he slowly tugged down the back zipper of your dress. The invisible zipper was thin and difficult to grip, but it slid down your spine like butter regardless, revealing the soft skin underneath.

“I have a pair of your shorts in the bottom left drawer of my dresser. The couch is yours.” You pivoted again on your heel, one hand holding your dress up on your chest and the other pushing Smoker back through the doorway. “Now get out.” 

You shut the door. Smoker sighed and resigned himself to rifle through your dresser, wondering why he had clothes at your place at all. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Based off my personal headcanon that Smoker has a surprisingly extensive dating history and an equally surprising library of knowledge about girly stuff because he's an extremely involved boyfriend. I'd say most of his previous relationships had amicable break ups. Reader was also going to say "so you're kind of a whore" but decided against it.

#smoker x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #smoker #vice admiral smoker #captain smoker #one piece marines #reader insert #x reader #x you #reader insert fanfic #smoker fanfic #smoker fanfiction #x gn!reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #x asian reader

[mothwingwritings]

Christmas Traditions with Baki, Retsu, Katsumi, Hanayama, Biscuit, Jack, Doppo, Yujiro, and Motobe <3

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! I hope you are all having a fun, nice, peaceful holiday! I wanted to write a little something for the day (I actually started a full on Christmas fic but very quickly realized I would run out of time oops) so here’s a little blurb I whipped out during down time at work. It’s nothing huge, and it’s basically unedited, but I wanted to give you all a little present of sorts if I could. I know I take forever to update and post things, so thank you all for your patience and being wonderful superb humans. I love you all~

So HAPPY HOLIDAYS! If you don’t celebrate-I hope you have a bitching weekend regardless. B)

(Also this is my first attempt at writing something slightly romantic for Yujiro where he isn’t horrible, so there’s that loooool)

Warnings: None really, it’s very fluffy. Maybe the tiniest hints of sexy stuff?

Your tradition with Baki is opening presents early. He never really had much of a holiday growing up, so the prospect of having a traditional Christmas with the person he loves gets him amped. Though you told him countless times you don’t really need material possessions from him, he approaches the task of gift giving with a sense of childlike enthusiasm. He’s thrilled to act as ‘Santa’ for you, feverishly going over in his head all the things you have ever mentioned wanting or liking in the course of your relationship. You in turn also have fun shopping for him, happy that you get to create pleasant memories for him during the holiday season to replace all the lackluster ones. The day’s leading up to Christmas mount his anticipation-he is as pumped to see and spend time with you as he is to exchange gifts. You’ll be lucky if you can get him to hold out tearing into presents by Christmas Eve, let alone the day of.

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Your tradition with Retsu is preparing a big meal. Christmas isn’t something that Retsu ever really celebrated previously, but he knows it’s an important and fun time for you so he wants to make it special for the both of you. He’s delighted to spend the day with you, and takes great pleasure in cooking a holiday meal the two of you can enjoy. So though he may not go all out on decorations or other holiday activities, you are sure to have a delicious feast in preparation for you at home-a mix of your favorite holiday foods and some of his own favorite recipes. He pours his heart and soul into it, and is sure to shower you in love and affection throughout the day. Seeing your face light up in joy as you take in the food spread before you is the only assurance he needs that he’ll have the honor of being your personal holiday chef many years to come.

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Your tradition with Katsumi is sightseeing. Christmas Eve each year is spent out on the town as you take in all the sights and activities the holiday season has to offer. You look at lights, listen to carolers, go ice skating, grab some hot cocoa/coffee. The whole day you stay linked arm in arm, smiling so hard your cheeks start to hurt. And when it’s time to wind down in the evening you both return home together to spend the remainder of the night wrapped up in each other’s arms, falling asleep to the favorite holiday movie or show of your choosing. He always seems to last longer than you do and considers those moments when you are nestled safely in his arms, right before he drifts off after you, some of the happiest moments of his entire life.

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Your tradition with Hanayama is traveling. It doesn’t matter if you want to go someplace warm and tropical, or cold and frozen. It can be the same place each year or someplace new. As long as he’s able to whisk you away from the hustle and bustle of your daily lives and spend the season in your presence, he really doesn’t give a damn where the two of you end up. He wants to be around you and only you, the best present he can provide and receive being your happiness and love.  Just understand that as soon as your reach your destination, that’s when the real holiday magic begins ~

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Your tradition with Biscuit is story reading. Biscuit’s life is chaotic, and the holiday season does little to lessen this burden. Sometimes it can feel like you barely have time or access to each other at all. That’s why on Christmas he makes sure to dedicate the entire day just for you. Nothing fills him with warmth and peace like Christmas night does, snuggled up together in front of the fire place, taking turns reading each other Christmas stories from an old, well-loved book you’ve had since childhood. When you first suggested it you were afraid he would find it silly or childish, but he was delighted by the idea. He loves listening to you speak, finds peace in the stories your voice weaves for him. He can think of no better way to spend the holiday.

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Your tradition with Jack is a movie marathon. Like his brother, he doesn’t have too many fond memories of Christmas time to reflect on, so when you enter the picture you made it your mission to change this. Appalled that he hadn’t even seen the classics, you suggest a movie night, complete with homemade cocoa and all the Christmas cookies you can eat.  You were concerned he may not like the idea at first, Jack wasn’t one to sit around for long periods of time and you were worried the movies may just bore him. But as he held you firmly in his laps, basking in homemade treats and your silly commentary, you knew this was the right move. Even as he poked fun at some of the films, calling them ‘kiddie movies’ you were ‘forcing him to watch’, you knew the small smile on his lips and the way he held you close relayed what he was truly feeling. This was cemented when he finished the marathon with the question “Same time and place next year?”

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Your tradition with Doppo is decorating. He humored you when you told him you wanted to do up your home for the holidays, and he let you go all out when it came to picking out and purchasing decorations. Unfortunately for him, all those decorations meant you needed help putting them up-and he was your prime target for assistance. Though originally he agreed begrudgingly, he ended up having a lot of fun decorating with you. It warmed his heart to see the smile that graced your lips as you dressed the tree, and he took great joy in the playful banter you shared over what decoration looked best in this corner of the room, or if the star atop the tree was crooked or not.  It was also nice showing off for you whenever heavier decorations needed to be assembled, he lived for the little blush the fell over your face as you laughed, telling him his flexing and posturing was ‘too much’. Next year he’d have to remember to purchase some mistletoe to add to the arrangement, he already knew the perfect place to hang it ~

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Your tradition with Yujiro is skiing. You had never done it previously and were concerned how good you would be at it. It also didn’t help your anxiety that the one who invited you was Yujiro, and he had gone out of the way to clear out the entire slopes for just the two of you. But even with all your nerves the trip ended up being surprisingly peaceful and enjoyable. Yes, Yujiro picked at you and was obviously disappointed with your lack of immediate skiing skill, but he was also shockingly patient and helpful, giving you tips and guidance that made navigating the slopes much easier. Hours flew by without you realizing, and by the end of the day you were exhausted, but had successfully navigated a hill all on your own (albeit it was a beginner one, which Yujiro made sure to make fun of you for, but a slope is a slope in your humble opinion). Thinking this was a onetime deal you thanked Yujiro for the experience, letting him know it was the most fun Christmas you had had in a while. You were taken aback when he busted out laughing at you, explaining you weren’t anywhere near done-he’d repeat this every year necessary with you until you could get on his level.

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Your tradition with Motobe is to build a fire. It’s a simple thing, and not necessarily a strictly Christmas event, but you both find happiness huddled up together on Christmas night by the fire. You relish in each other’s company, sipping a warm beverage, sharing a blanket, and talking about anything and everything under the sun.  The only time any banter occurs is when you argue over who needs to leave the comforting warmth to go get more firewood. This goes on late into the night until the two of you are too tired to keep your eyes open. The final words to leave both of your lips are affirmations of love and the promise to make the New Year great.

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

#baki the grappler #baki x reader #baki reader insert #baki hanma x reader #jack hanma x reader #katsumi orochi x reader #retsu kaioh x reader #reader x retsu #yujiro hanma x reader #yujiro x reader #hanayama kaoru x reader #biscuit oliva x reader #doppo orochi x reader #motobe izou x reader #merry christmas! #reader insert #reader insert fanfic #this was written very quick and not really edited so sorry if it stinks lol #ILU have a great holiday #thanks for reading! #mothwingswritings

[fourcornerstar]

Why Do Fools Fall In Love

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41862456

RUNAWAY BRIDE AU LOVERS COME GET YALL JUICE 

@paper-lilypie 

#runaway bride au #sun and moon #daycare attendant x y/n #william afton #fanfiction #reader insert fanfic

[midgardian-witch]

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts

Reader is Nathan's assistent and struggling with a crush on their boss. Nathan is drunk and flirts with them.

[next]

AO3

tags: alcohol | unresolved sexual tension | unresolved emotional tension | unresolved romantic tension | drunken flirting | pining | gn!reader

ships: Nathan Bateman/Reader

AN: I had a vague concept in mind (basically just the 'drunk Nathan proof = baby proof' joke) and this is what came of it. 2k words of pining reader and unresolved tension mixed with smart-ass quips. I may resolve this in a second part or maybe write a Nathan POV of this but idk yet.

"Oh Nathan. It's one of those days, huh?", you ask into the otherwise quiet room. You're not sure he actually hears you given the amount of empty bottles you see strewn around the place.

You step around the couch to see Nathan laying there: slumped over the upholstery, limbs spread wide and head buried in his own shoulder. In the low light you can't even make out if his eyes are open or not. And yet he somehow looks peaceful like this. Like his body and mind finally decided to give him a break. It’s a rare sight. You’re more used to seeing his face illuminated by computer screens amidst complete darkness or his muscles strained and body slick with sweat as he pummels into a punching bag. When you see him at all.

Either way it doesn’t take much to recognize that Nathan is a very attractive man. A man that you also work for. Which means you shouldn't really be thinking about how pretty he looks, probably passed out from a drunken stupor. You shouldn’t really be finding this attractive at all.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts. Not for the first time, you loath to admit. Quietly you start gathering the glass bottles laying about, making sure that if Nathan is truly hammered, he at least can't hurt himself with these by accident. Though you're sure he wouldn't even see an issue with that. The guy probably has a robot built specifically to pull glass shards out of his ass or something.

One by one you pick up the empty bottles and carry as many as you can to the kitchen to recycle them later - always careful to keep your footsteps light and to not clink the bottles together. Nathan needed some sleep. Even if drunk sleep wasn't the best, at least it was sleep. You weren't sure when Nathan had slept last.

When you think you’re done with your little clean up project, you look around to see that the only bottle left is one clutched in Nathan's hand, still half full. Deciding that making sure Nathan doesn't stab himself in his sleep (and avoiding a big spill) would be a good idea, you gently grab the bottle by the neck and pull a little. When there doesn't seem to be any resistance you carefully pluck it out of Nathan's hand and place it on the now empty coffee table.

You turn your back to the sleeping man, surveying the small-ish room again for any hazards you should take care of before going to bed yourself. It reminds you a bit of friends and family members talking about how important it is to make sure a living space is baby proof so an infant doesn't hurt itself while exploring the space. This isn't that different really. Ýou're just making things drunk Nathan proof so that the resident genius doesn't break his neck stumbling toward his bedroom. It's not what you'd imagined a personal assistant would do but you stopped asking questions when part of your job required moving your life to a remote facility in the middle of nowhere.

Not that you thought this position would be all sunshine and roses. Nathan Bateman was a famously reclusive man. Thus you had prepared yourself for the worst. Nathan is interesting to say it diplomatically. He's a genius, of course, and he knows it. While his arrogant tendencies are annoying his confidence can be quite charming. Sometimes - when he decides to be less of a dick - he can be nice, funny even. But those times are rare and usually limited to a very specific point of inebriation.

Not finding anything more that could potentially injure your employer you step away from the couch and start walking towards the door but a hand on your knee stops you from moving further.

"You leavin' already?"

It takes you a bit to understand Nathan's mumbling, his face still half-buried in his shoulder. You give him a short nod.

"It's late, Nathan. And some people need their beauty sleep."

That earns you a snort-giggle that makes you smile against your will. Nathan doesn't often laugh at your quips. Oh but when he does. His laugh makes your stomach tingle. You don't want to think about crushes and butterflies in stomachs so you push those emotions away.

You hear him mumble something else and as you turn you see him slowly sliding down the couch.

"Hey, watch it!"

Moving quickly, you gently push him back onto the couch, hands on his leg and shoulder. Once he is laying safely again he gives you another laugh. You roll your eyes at him and let out an exasperated sigh.

"I'm glad you find me entertaining, Nathan."

Finally he opens his eyes, glassy from the alcohol and looks up at you for a moment. His laughter died as quickly as it came and you are now stuck in this awkward silence, just looking at each other. You raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to explain himself.

"You don't need it."

Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him confused.

"What?"

Now it's his turn to sigh. It's a familiar sound - every time you need a clarification to his genius he sighs and looks at you like he expected more from you, like you should be smarter than this and he's disappointed by the fact that you're not. It's only mildly insulting.

"You don't need beauty sleep."

Was that a compliment? It's hard to tell with Nathan and his whole Nathan-ness but that almost sounded like a compliment. You're stunned for a moment as you just blink at him, shocked into silence.

With a grunt Nathan sits up on the couch, elbows on his knees and propping his head up with his hands. He scoffs.

"Come on. You can't tell me you don't know you're hot."

OK this sounded more like a compliment from Nathan. You roll your eyes at him again.

"Yeah sure. You compliment all your assistants like that?"

He grins at you and you know he has taken the bait just by the mischievous look in his eyes.

"Only the hot ones."

He leans forward, looking you up and down, studying you. You gather that he is not too drunk for now, even though the empty bottles would suggest otherwise, if he can still make quips like that.

"Alright, Casanova. I think that's enough of your compliments for now. I'm going to bed. And you should too. That couch can't be comfortable."

Nathan raises an eyebrow at you, one hand sliding over to the space next to him and giving it a pat.

"It's very comfortable, that's why I bought it. Take a seat."

It's unusual to see the genius in such a jovial mood. You think it over, not feeling too tired yet, and take a seat next to Nathan. Spending a little more time with him seems harmless. The couch is remarkably comfy, just as Nathan said, a good balance of soft and sturdy. You let out a sigh, your body relaxing into the cushion, head leaning against the back of the couch. You didn't even realize how exhausted you were before you sat down. You close your eyes, taking a breather before looking back over to Nathan. The resident genius is looking at you with a knowing grin, obviously enjoying that he was right.

"Yeah yeah, you're right. It's really comfy."

His grin gets impossibly wider at your admission, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I usually am. So if I am right about that, that goes to show that I am right about the first thing too."

You almost forgot what he means before it clicks. You let out a frustrated groan.

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Nathan, you're drunk."

"So? Drunk words, sober thoughts and all that shit"

You wave off his comment. Nathan usually is a little flirty, drunk or not, but he never means it. There isn’t a goal to his flirting. The man doesn’t really get much social interaction in this remote facility and from what you’ve gathered Nathan doesn’t really do relationships of any kind. You’re pretty sure you heard him fuck one of his androids the other day. And while, admittedly, Nathan is a very attractive man, he is also your boss. Flirting isn’t an issue, it’s harmless, it’s fun. But you won't let it be more than that. It can't be. Even if Nathan can’t stop himself to tease and prod, to poke the open wound until you either snap or give in. Sometimes you’re so sure he knows. He’s a genius with an ego the size of Jupiter, how could he not figure out that you are attracted to him. Every damn smirk pushes you closer to the edge and you don’t know what you will do when he finally pushes you over.

You won't let him get you to that point.

"You're overthinking. I can see the gears turning in your head."

His voice is so much closer, almost too close. You flinch and look over to where Nathan is almost leaning against you, face just a few inches away from you. His eyes look so much darker in the low light, pupils like deep, dark voids you could fall into if you let yourself.

You don't.

You scoot away until you hit the side of the couch with nowhere else to go. In turn Nathan rolls his eyes at you.

"Just take the fucking compliment."

"Just go the fuck to sleep."

Your counter startles a laugh out of Nathan. He looks up at you through his lashes, his wicked grin making you feel a little uneasy with how much it affects you. Stupid, sexy Nathan.

“Take the compliment and I’ll go to bed. Fair deal, hm?”

Your eyes are glued to his lips, still smirking, knowing that he has you now. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly feeling as dry as a desert as you realize the situation you’re in, pinned between the couch and Nathan. The closeness does not help you push down the ill-fated attraction you feel towards him. You shake your head, his name an exhausted sigh on your lips.

“If you can’t take the compliment you can always give me a good night kiss.”

Your eyes immediately flick up towards his, your mind reeling. Without conscious thought you lean in further, pulled in by the dark voids of his eyes. It would be so easy to just give in, to finally put an end to this cat and mouse game the two of you had been playing since when you first moved into this damned facility.

Your lips almost meet his as you hold his gaze. His eyes burn into you, anticipating and analyzing your movements, clearly enjoying himself. Your mouth opens just enough for your tongue to run over your lips.

“I-I…”

Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic rhythm playing against your ribcage. You’re just a hair's breadth apart. It’s just a kiss. Just one quick press of lips and you can go back to business as usual. It doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything. He doesn’t feel anything. He is just playing with you because he can. Because it’s fun for him. It won’t change anything.

“I don’t need it.”, you whisper instead.

Nathan blinks, dumbfounded for what may be the first time in his life.

“Huh?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and gather all the confidence you have. You lean back, keeping your eyes on his and with the smuggest smile you can muster, all while your heart is still beating like a wardrum, you repeat yourself.

“I don’t need it.”

You break eye contact and with one swift motion rise from your seat. An exhausted laugh escapes you as you turn back to Nathan.

“I don’t need the beauty sleep. I’m already hot.”

You can see it in his eyes as the shoe finally drops. A few moments pass and yet there is no witty quip, no smart counter, no smartass one liner. Taking your chances you give him a grin, as confident as you can fake it, and turn to leave. 

“Good night, Nathan.”

As you open the door and leave the room you swear you can feel him staring at you. But that may just have been your imagination. This is a game after all. And you won’t lose it. 

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman/reader #ex machina fanfic #reader insert fanfic #nathan bateman fanfic #nathan bateman #fran-writes

[isawthisangel]

Professor (Steven Grant x reader)

word count -> 5.2k

plot summary -> your egyptology professor is HOT

a/n -> i finally got round to writing this, as requested by @propertyofkingvalkyrie , hope you enjoy the shameless unedited indulgence that is this fic <3 (also my new @ is isawthisangel, changed from isawanangell)

Autumn. The start of term, the start of your final year at university in London.

You walked into the lecture hall and cast about the room for your friends, your gaze falling instead on the man stood at the front of the room. He smiled at you, and immediately your heart shot up into your throat. He was gorgeous.

You’d flashed him a smile in return, praying that your expression was one of utter neutrality, and made your way to the left-hand side of the room where a few of your friends were sat huddled together, your thoughts still very much with the man at the front of the lecture hall. Who is he?

‘Hey. You look like you’ve taken something. Have you taken something?’ Annabel asks you, by way of greeting. You hit her lightly with your bag as you sit down.

‘I haven’t taken anything. Don’t be stupid,’ you reply.

‘She looks fine to me,’ Monica comments, squinting across at you.

‘Nah, she’s all glassy-eyed.’

‘She is fine. Shut up,’ you say, pulling your laptop out and opening it up, using it as an excuse to peek over the screen at the man again. He’s still handsome.

‘Oh Lord, she’s got a crush on the professor,’ Annabel sighs, and you flush red before her words actually sink in. 

‘I have not – wait, what? Did you say profess-’

‘Okay, let’s start. Good mornin’ everyone, I’m Professor Grant and I’ll be your Egyptology professor for this term.’

Even his voice was attractive. You sank a little lower in your seat, and Annabel raised an eyebrow next to you. How were you supposed to concentrate now? You were going to fail the unit for sure.

You’re hopeless, Annabel typed on her screen.

What’s that supposed to mean?, you typed on yours.

Crushing on the professor two minutes into the lecture, she typed, and you could see her annoying smirk out of the corner of your eye.

I’m not crushing on anyone

Sure.

I’m NOT, and besides

‘Excuse me, Miss Y/L/N, Miss Clarke.’

The name of your last name in his mouth made you jump almost violently, and your finger flew to the backspace button on your keyboard.

‘While I appreciate the enthusiasm, there’s no need for notetakin’ quite just yet,’ he told you, his gaze fixed so directly on you that you felt as though you were about to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Willing your face not to go red, you tried to remember how to form words with your mouth. Everyone was looking at you.

‘Sorry, Professor,’ you said, mortified. Annabel stayed silent next to you.

He continued the lecture, and you sat very still, practically buzzing with embarrassment. Half an hour later, when notetaking was apparently now acceptable, you heard a muffled giggle from Monica, and turned to look in her direction.

Written on Annabel’s screen: Bet you £20 Y/N tries to come on to him by the end of term.

You aimed a kick at her under the table.

September passed in a daze of auburn leaves swirling in the wind and thinking about Egyptology a lot more than was maybe necessary, and by the time October arrived the course was really getting underway.

You promised yourself that you wouldn’t let your stupid crush get in the way of your course; the thought of doing badly on assignments because of your feelings was just ridiculous. That didn’t stop a small firework display from going off in your stomach every time your professor made eye contact with you for more than five seconds, though.

One week you’d worked up the courage to ask him a question at the end of class (‘Oh, yeah? What about?’ Annabel had smirked), and it had taken every ounce of concentration you possessed to speak to him coherently without losing your train of thought.

‘Thanks, Professor,’ you’d said afterwards.

‘Call me Steven,’ he’d told you, offering up a small smile, and you swear you’d forgotten how to breathe for a full minute afterwards.

It’s not that you were trying to sabotage your grades, but you got it into your head that maybe, just maybe, he was looking at you in the same way that you were looking at him.

The days were drawing in, the clocks went back, and it rained almost every day. The Friday before Halloween you walked into class in a pleated skirt, platform boots, and polo neck jumper, shaking out an umbrella which dripped all over the floor, raindrops clinging to your bare legs.

Chancing a half glance at Steven as you walked by, you caught his gaze flying away from your legs as your head turned. You spent the rest of the day feeling quite giddy with satisfaction.

November arrived alongside an onslaught of assignments, which required more time spent on campus, something which might have annoyed you if there wasn’t a chance of seeing a certain professor at any given time.

In lectures, you were finding it increasingly hard to concentrate.

He’s not even that good looking, Annabel typed on her screen one day, and you had to supress a snort of derision.

Seriously?, you typed. You could look at him for hours. You did look at him for hours, fighting to absorb the information he was relaying to you, to not get lost in the way he would sometimes push a hand absentmindedly through his hair, leaving it perfectly tousled.

Everything about him was distracting. The way he was almost constantly frowning slightly in concentration, his brow furrowed as he read or listened to someone speaking. His glasses, which when he put them on shouldn’t have made him better looking but somehow did.

Even the way he moved, the way he stood, drove you to distraction. He’d ask a question and then stand, his feet slightly apart, arms crossed over his chest waiting for raised hands while you concentrated on not watching the way the fabric of his shirt strained across his biceps.

One time he’d rolled his shirt sleeves up and you’d almost imploded on the spot. Monica had offered you some paracetamol, asking if you felt okay, while Annabel rolled her eyes in exasperation.

‘Oh, come on,’ you’d said quietly, nudging your friend. ‘Tell me that’s not attractive.’

She’d been silent for a second.

‘I think that vein in his arm is looking at me.’

You’d accepted it as a win.

Winter. It snowed, and you had to stop wearing skirts so often. The end of the semester loomed, and Christmas lights started appearing around campus.

Steven called you Y/L/N, instead of Miss Y/L/N, in a lecture, and your friends started accusing him of favouritism. Not to his face, of course, just to yours. Their accusations filled you with an intense sort of pleasure.

During your last lecture before the Christmas holidays you’d been invited to a Christmas party right after class, and decided, against Annabel’s advice, to wear your outfit to Steven’s lecture.

It was nothing overly special, but the dress was nicer than anything you usually wore to class, and quite a bit lower cut. Not that you had taken this into consideration, of course. Heads turned as you walked into the lecture hall; one of the guys you’d worked with on a group project gave an appreciative whistle, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit.

‘Goin’ somewhere nice, Y/L/N?’ Steven asks you as you sit down. You hadn’t looked to gauge his reaction when you’d walked in, and you’re regretting it now. The use of your last name by itself sends a thrill through you, even though he’d addressed another girl in the class in the same way last week and it had made your blood practically boil with jealously.

‘Christmas party,’ you reply with a smile, shrugging your bag off of your shoulder. The guy who’d whistled at you is still looking your way; you can feel his gaze on you. You get your laptop out, and when you look back up Steven is looking at the guy, who is now chatting with his mates.

It might be your imagination, but you’re sure you can see a muscle going in Steven’s jaw as he watches him. Your breath comes short for a moment or two, but then he’s starting the class and you’re almost certain you had imagined it.

An hour and a half later you’re faced with the prospect of not seeing Steven for three weeks (he’s taking your class again next term - thank God, you’d thought when you’d found out) as people begin packing up and filtering out of the room.

‘I might ask him to come to the Christmas party,’ you say to Annabel at the end of the lecture. She turns to you, an expression of muted disbelief on her face.

‘Are you mad?’ she asks politely.

‘Well… probably. But I-’

‘Don’t. Please, God, Y/N, do not do that. I’ll pay you not to. How much do you want?’

You laugh, feeling slightly hysterical. ‘I’m going to do it.’

‘Right, and what happens when he turns you down and you have to come back and sit here next term knowing what you did?’

‘But what if he says yes?’ you ask. Annabel throws her hands heavenward and stands up.

‘Please allow me to escort you from this room.’

You sigh, and let her, fully aware that you would most likely get rugby tackled to the ground by her if you tried to break away. Just before you follow her down the steps, you drop your jacket surreptitiously on to the back of your seat.

‘Have a good Christmas, girls,’ Steven says to you as you’re practically dragged past him and out of the room by Annabel.

‘Thanks. You too,’ you manage to smile, and then you’re in the corridor.

‘Right. Do I have to escort you to the party as well? Or can you be trusted by yourself?’ Annabel asks you.

‘I’m fine. Thanks for looking out for me,’ you say begrudgingly, and receive a rare smile from your friend.

‘You wouldn’t last a day without me.’

You say goodbye, wishing her a merry Christmas, and start heading across campus to where your car is parked. It’s snowing gently, and you’re beginning to regret your little plan. Now you have no jacket and pretty solid confirmation that you’ve been making everything up about Steven.

‘Y/N!’

Your heart skips a beat as you hear him calling your name, and suddenly you’re not at all cold anymore. You pretend not to hear him and continue walking.

‘Y/L/N, hey!’

A small smile creeps across your face; you force it away as you turn and pretend to look confused. Steven is striding towards you through the snow, clutching your jacket.

‘Oh, thanks!’ you say, retracing your steps to meet him and taking the jacket from him. He’s frowning.

‘Aren’t you freezin’?’

‘I don’t really feel the cold,’ you lie blatantly, hoping that he can’t see the goosebumps which have erupted across every inch of your exposed flesh. Which is quite a lot of flesh.

‘Well, don’t get ill. Enjoy your party,’ he says, taking a step backwards. Before you can stop yourself, you say, ‘Thanks. Are you doing anything nice tonight?’

‘Yeah, actually I – have a date.’

The air turns to solid ice in your lungs, rendering you unable to draw a breath. You are frozen, unable to do anything but blink. Smile, Y/N. Smile!

It only takes a split second for your face to catch up with your thoughts, but you’re certain the crushing disappointment you’d felt had been clear to see all over your features. The thought makes you want to bury yourself under the snow and stay there forever.

‘Oh, that’s great! Have a nice time,’ you smile, gripping your jacket hard. There’s snow in his hair and a few days’ worth of stubble on his face and he’s frowning at you in that way and he just looks so, so gorgeous.

And he’s going on a date.

For a few seconds he doesn’t speak, and you stand looking at each other in the snow, him frowning, you trying desperately not to shiver. Say something, you find yourself silently begging, suddenly feeling warm rather than cold as he holds your gaze.

‘Thanks,’ he finally says. ‘Merry Christmas.’

And then he turns and walks back the way he came.

Much to your surprise you don’t die from either embarrassment or heartbreak over Christmas, and come January you’re so stressed about assignments that Steven is the last thing on your mind. Well, maybe not last. Maybe second. Or joint first.

You get through January’s lectures mostly by telling yourself that he’s probably now in a relationship, which actually does nothing to help and makes you quieter than usual. To make matters even worse he’d started growing his beard out; you’d decided that he was doing it specifically to torture you.

January rained its way into February; you got ill and were forced to stay in bed for just under a week, missing your lectures and having to rely on Annabel’s sparse notetaking to keep up with your studies, and when you were feeling better she came to visit you.

‘I swear he kept looking at your empty seat.’

You rolled your eyes, ‘Yeah, right.’

‘Like, you know I don’t condone this weird thing you have for him, but it was like every five minutes.’

‘He’s definitely got a girlfriend, Anna,’ you told her, wiggling the mouse around in circles on your laptop as you spoke.

‘How do you know?’

‘Well, how could he not?’

‘To be fair, he’s definitely hotter now he has a beard.’

‘Hey, back off. I saw him first,’ you grinned.

‘He asked where you were, as well.’

Your heart did a sort of weak bellyflop.

‘Did he?’

‘Yeah, after class. He looked proper concerned and everything.’

‘Only because I’m top of his class and he doesn’t want me falling behind.’

Annabel erupted into cackles.

‘If you’re top of the class then I’m a PhD student,’ she chortled.

‘Well I’m not bottom,’ you protested, feeling quite put out.

‘I’m kidding, you’re doing great,’ Annabel said, getting to her feet. ‘You’ll be back next week? I can’t stand another two hours of him gazing forlornly at your empty chair.’

‘Shut up. Yes, I’ll be back next week.’

Annabel had reignited a spark of hope in you; maybe he wasn’t with someone after all.

Spring. Slowly but surely, the temperature began to climb, however the rain stayed relentless. You started wearing skirts again, not really knowing what you were hoping to achieve by doing so but wearing them all the same.

You managed to sit through a one-to-one meeting with Steven to discuss your dissertation without breaking out in a sweat, which you viewed as a win. There had, however, been one moment where he’d handed you some paper across his desk and your fingers had brushed together.

You’d felt the contact like an electric shock, a tingling sensation shooting up your hand. Steven had flinched as though he’d been burned, a movement so minute that afterwards you’d decided, again, that you had imagined it. The meeting ended quite abruptly after that.

April arrived and the downpours finally ceased. Your exams loomed, and a sort of quiet dread had descended upon you and your classmates in lectures.

There was little time for distraction anymore, even when Steven called you by your last name or stood behind you to read your work over your shoulder to offer advice. Even Annabel had stopped teasing you.

That eighth month of university was lost to you through your enormous workload; you lived, breathed, and slept assignments and essays.

Suddenly it was mid-May, and Steven was wishing you luck with your exams.

‘Not that you need it,’ he added, and everyone had smiled sort of grimly. You got the sense that, much like you, everyone was ready for this to be over.

You had a final one-to-one meeting with Steven after class, and walked with him to his office, Annabel staring after you. A few months ago this might have had you breaking out in a sweat, but the stress of your exams was leaving you little room for any other emotions.

‘Will you wait out here for a second? Won’t be long,’ Steven asked you as you reached the door to his office.

‘Sure,’ you said, moving to lean against the wall.

You wait for a minute, then two, and it might be your imagination but you… can you hear him talking in there? You’d been certain there hadn’t been anyone else in the room when he’d entered.

Another minute passes, after which the temptation to move closer to the door and try to hear what he’s saying grows too strong. You strain your ears, trying not to look too conspicuous.

‘Can’t,’ you hear him say, and he’s speaking too quietly for you to make out full sentences. The only other thing you hear is, ‘Don’t you dare,’ about another minute later, and then footsteps. You slide quickly back against the wall, positioning yourself as you had been when he entered his office.

The door opens.

‘Come in,’ he smiles, and you tell yourself, yet again, that you must have imagined him speaking, because there’s no one in his office.

The meeting goes quickly; you have ten minutes to ask him a million questions about your papers, and you’re so focused that you don’t notice the whiteness of Steven’s knuckles on his left hand, which grips a pen in danger of snapping in two.

You do however notice his voice, which sounds slightly hoarse.

‘Are you… okay?’ you ask him once your ten minutes is up, putting your papers back into your bag and standing up.

He seems to relax, his features softening as he looks at you.

‘Yeah, just… it’s been a long week,’ he says. You smile and sigh, tilting your head in sympathy.

‘Tell me about it.’

And then there’s a moment where you’re not entirely sure what happens. Steven tenses suddenly, his smile vanishing, and he closes his eyes, bowing his head. But before you’ve even had time to frown in confusion, he’s looking back up at you, and your heart launches itself against the inside of your chest as though it’s trying to throw itself at him.

Because all of a sudden he’s looking at you like you’ve wanted him to look at you since September. Like he wants you.

He looks the same but… different, somehow. His eyes are darker beneath his hooded eyelids, and when he stands up it’s not with the careful composure you’re so used to, but with careless abandon, as though he means to go somewhere and is not planning on letting anyone get in his way.

You’re frozen as he comes around the side of the desk and settles just in front of you, sitting back carelessly against the wooden surface and crossing his arms slowly, still looking at you like a man starved.

You swallow nervously, and then realise that you have stopped breathing, taking in a sudden breath of air which mortifyingly sounds like a small gasp. A smile begins to spread across Steven’s face, slow and almost contemptuous. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

‘Was there… anything else?’ he asks you.

A small part of your brain registers that he speaks with a deep, American drawl instead of the English accent that you’re used to, but it’s buried too deep for you to hear it at the moment. There are more important matters at hand, like the way he continues to look at you.

You open your mouth to say no, but find that you’re physically unable to form words, and shake your head slightly, lips parted, instead.

His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, and if possible, darkens even further. For a few blissful seconds you really think he’s going to do it, that he’s actually going to kiss you.

And then, then, his eyes continue downwards, almost excruciatingly slowly, and it’s like you can feel his gaze on you as it moves south, carving a searing line of warmth down your skin. He stops around your shins, before his eyes make their way back up, if possible even slower than before, and you feel suddenly actually lightheaded.

When your eyes meet his again, you feel almost faint, your ears buzzing with shock.

‘Off you go then,’ he tells you, tipping his head towards the door.

For a few seconds you don’t move, can’t move, before wrenching your gaze away from him, turning on your heel and walking out of the room. Chest heaving, you walk-run down the corridor, and don’t stop until you’re in your car, where you allow your head to fall into your hands.

Steven’s POV

It’s so very frustrating wanting to hurt someone who lives inside your head.

‘She’s about to start her exams, she doesn’t need her professor comin’ on to her!’

You won’t be her professor in a few weeks, Marc replies, in that stupid, haughty tone he uses when he knows he’s in the wrong but won’t admit it.

‘That’s not the point!’ Steven half shouts, collapsing on to the sofa and imagining how mad he must look, yelling into the reflection of the TV screen.

It’s exactly the point. You don’t have to wait anymore.

‘It’s not about waitin’, Marc. We’ve been over this; I’m not goin’ to ask her out, student or not.’

Oh, come on. You know she wants-

Steven turns and walks away, flicking the kettle on so that he doesn’t have to listen to Marc’s voice anymore. This would have worked if not for the fact that he was literally inside of his head.

You need to hurry up and do it, or I will.

‘If you so much as go near her you can say goodbye to frontin’ for the foreseeable future,’ Steven snaps. He hears Marc laughing.

As if you could stop me. I managed well enough earlier without you giving me control.

Steven puts his head in his hands when he thinks about earlier. He’d had to watch, in utter, agonising helplessness as Marc had looked at you like that, as you’d gone the most perfect shade of pink, eyes wide, lips parted, looking so ridiculously kissable…

He groans quietly, and can almost feel Marc smirking in his mind.

‘Shut up.’

I didn’t-

‘Yeah, well don’t,’ Steven growls, preparing to make the angriest cup of tea ever. To Marc’s credit, he does shut up after that.

Later that night, Steven says, ‘Two weeks, and then her exams will be over. Maybe, then, I’ll say something to her. If I see her again.’

The thought of not seeing you again, ever, is sudden and unpleasant.

We will, Marc says, and Steven doesn’t ask how he can be sure.

Two weeks later you’re still the first thing on his mind. Some students have been coming to see him before and after exams, but you’re not one of them, and he can’t decide whether to be relieved or disappointed about it.

He’s in his office the day after the last exam, marking some second-year papers and resigning himself to the fact that you’ve forgotten about him, and that Marc had been wrong, there was nothing to it apart from him pining after you.

A knock on his door startles him out of his brooding, and he realises that he’s been staring at the same sentence on the page for over a minute and not actually taking any of the words in.

‘Come in,’ he calls wearily. He’s going to have to do this later, at home.

The door opens slowly, and when he looks up and sees that it’s you he’s instantly on his feet without remembering deciding to stand up.

‘Hi,’ you say, and Steven’s heart starts beating double time, despite his best efforts to stay calm.

‘Y/N, hi. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

And a pleasure it was; you were wearing a summer dress which barely reached your knees and no jacket, with boots and a bag slung over your shoulder. You stepped inside the room, leaving the door slightly open, looking… nervous?

Marc was suddenly front and centre in Steven’s subconscious; he could see Marc watching you in the reflection of the tinted glass in the window behind you which looked out into the corridor. He was looking at you the same way he’d looked you at last time you’d been in his office.

‘I just… wanted to talk about – before,’ you said, and he could now hear the nervousness your voice carried.

‘Before?’ Steven asked, and caught sight of Marc rolling his eyes.

You took a few slow steps closer to his desk, hovering nervously before him.

‘When I came in here before. I heard you talking when there was no one in here, and then you seemed… different,’ you told him, looking almost apologetic.

Great. She thinks we’re mad.

‘Different, how?’ Steven asked you, feeling Marc virtually vibrating with tension, and watched as you practically squirmed under his gaze.

‘Well, you… you looked at me like – like you wanted to…’

Steven had had his chance. You were all but throwing yourself, verbally, at him, and he was just stood there like a lemon, doing nothing, saying nothing. Marc was at the end of his tether. You were struggling, it was plain to see, and Marc was loathe to sit by and watch a damsel in distress.

He took the body so abruptly that Steven barely had time to look surprised, and then he was finally, finally walking around the desk towards you, eyes fixed on you like you were the only bright point in a room full of darkness.

The door, he heard Steven saying, panicked, as if from down a very long tunnel. The door was still slightly open, and Marc almost scoffed at the thought of that getting in his way.

He reached you and, instead of pulling you to him and kissing you like he wanted, he took hold of your waist and without breaking his stride backed you up against the door, using you to push it firmly shut, a small gasp of an exhale escaping you as he did. Then he locked it, without breaking eye contact with you once.

Your pupils were blown wide with want, your lips parted slightly in that way which had driven him crazy last time, which had been keeping Steven awake for the last two weeks. And now he was inches away from them.

‘Can I?’ he asked, and didn’t even think to be embarrassed by the way it came out as a hoarse, whispered plea.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly before dropping to his lips, and then you lifted your face a fraction of an inch and it was enough for Marc, who instantly, almost frantically pressed his lips to yours, kissing you hard.

You immediately turned pliant in his hold, kissing him back readily, your hands coming up to his arms, sliding up his biceps to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you while his hands gripped your waist, his thumbs pressing against your hips in the most intoxicating way.

He feels your hands carry on up meet at the nape of his neck, and then your fingers are in his hair and he’s in heaven, he’s actually in heaven. It’s better than he’d imagined it, your lips are so soft and fit perfectly against his, just like your body between him and the door.

Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, and all of a sudden you make a fist and tug gently, and it feels so delicious that Marc can’t help but let out a quiet groan against your mouth. You react with a small gasp, pressing yourself further against him, and it’s all Steven needs to take control, taking advantage of Marc’s stunned mind as he manages to front.

He breaks away from the kiss just to look at you; your lips are swollen from the kiss and your eyes have a slightly glazed quality to them, as though you’ve been stunned. Your faces are just inches away from each other, your body still pressed between him and the door.

‘…like you wanted to do that,’ you finish your sentence, breathless, and then you’re kissing him again except for Steven it’s for the first time and you feel so good. Your fingers in his hair are making his brain short circuit and he slides his hands up from your waist so that they’re flat against your back, pressing you to him as though he can’t have you close enough. Which he can’t.

He could kiss you forever, and truly thinks that he would have carried on for days if not for his need for oxygen.

‘Remind me why we didn’t do this months ago?’ he asks you when he pulls away. You giggle and blush, and maybe it’s not just lust because something warm bubbles up inside Steven’s chest when you look back up at him shyly.

‘I didn’t want you to think I might be doing it for the wrong reasons,’ you say, and all of the reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this rush back into Steven’s mind. You must see his change in expression because a small frown appears on your face, and your hands leave his hair.

He lets go of you, despite all of his bodily instincts telling him not to, and takes a step back, leaving you stood, flushed-looking, in front of the door.

‘You’re still my student until you graduate,’ he says, hating himself.

‘But you just kissed me,’ you reply, a small smile playing on your lips.  

‘I know,’ he says, running a hand through his hair. Your smile vanishes.

‘Do you want me to go?’ you ask, your voice suddenly sounding very small, and abruptly he wants you close to him again, pressed flush against his chest.

Steven, Marc says, and it sounds like a warning.

‘No, no, that’s not what I meant,’ Steven says quickly, taking a step back towards you and taking your hands in his. ‘I’m just - if we get caught…’

‘So we’ll wait,’ you say, and he’s shaking his head before you’ve finished the sentence.

‘No, enough waiting,’ he replies, and you look visibly pleased as he says it.

‘We should just maybe… not meet here again,’ he continues, and you nod.

‘Fine. I won’t be here from now on anyway.’

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and it seems to snap you back to reality.

‘I should go,’ you say, and Steven nods, letting go of your hands.

‘Here, take my number,’ he tells you, casting about for some spare paper and a pen on his desk. You take the piece of paper and fold it, putting it in your pocket.

‘So can I kiss you again, or..?’

His lips are on yours before you can finish, and you smile into the kiss, which makes Steven’s heart feel like it swells to twice its usual size. You break away reluctantly, and then you’re saying goodbye, smiling, and disappearing around the door.

Steven sits back down behind his desk, and tries to find it in him to be angry at Marc for kissing you first. He can’t.

You’re welcome, Marc says, irritatingly.

‘Shut up,’ Steven says.

tag list💌 : @later-gators12

comment to be added ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

#moonknight #moonknight fanfic #steven grant #steven grant fanfic #steven grant fanfiction #professor steven grant #marvel fanfic #steven grant x reader #steven grant x reader insert #reader insert #reader insert fanfic #professor #moonknight fanfiction

[ohhiimweird]

The Owl, the Necklace and the Traveler Update

Summary: While cleaning out their grandparents’ attic, MC comes across a mirror that transports them to the world of MonkieKid. As a fan of the show, they have to navigate the dangerous world while prancing around with dangerous magic they don’t know a lot about. All the while, they uncover secrets that their mother desperately wanted to keep hidden.

#monkiekid #monkiekid x reader #lmk #lmk x reader #traffic light trio #lmk mk #mk x reader #lmk mk x reader #mei #mei x reader #redson #redson x reader #reader insert fanfic

[l0rds-in-black]

Hi!! I’m Chaos! I use they/them pronouns and I write fanfiction!!

My requests are currently opening for Starkid things, but for now I’m focusing on Hatchetfield reader insert stuff if you want to request anything specific!! (Mostly NPMD at the moment but I’m open to anything!!)

When requesting, please make sure to include any want prompts and characters, specify if you want fluff or angst. Unless you ask for specifically male and female reader, I will be using they/them pronouns. If you want a certain pov (first person, second person etc.) than please include that as well. [If you don’t, second person will be the default since it has been a long while since I wrote reader insert.]

Everything will be posted to my AO3 and a link to the post will be posted here.

Current Anon Sign Off’s:

🩰 | 🦇

Requests:

Max Jagerman x Reader x Richie Lipschitz

Pokotho x GN! Reader (First Person, comfort cuddles)

Tinky x Transmasc! Reader (Comfort cuddles)

The Lords In Black x Male, Long haired! Reader (Cuddle Pile)

Paul Matthews x Reader

Hivemind Paul x Fem! Reader (Angst, First Person)

#nerdy prudes must die #npmd #nerdy prudes must die x reader #reader insert fanfic #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #requests #intro post #introduction #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #tgwdlm x reader #black friday starkid #Black Friday Starkid reader insert #hatchfield reader insert

[the-yandere-cryptid]

How Noble - Professor Venomous/Reader

Link

Description: After finding yourself more and more attracted to the villains you were supposed to be demolishing, you decide to make a profile on a shady dating website to vent some of your frustrations.

Rating: E (Important! Read Tags on Ao3!)

A/N: Making a separate post for this one to throw it in the tags, hope you enjoy my trash OTL

#professor venomous #professor venomous/Reader #Ok ko #fanfic #reader insert fanfic #yandere scribbles

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

Nights at the Circus: Part X

Things look precarious in Europe as you put your life on the line to help your new squad track down something big. After a long day planning your assault on Hydra’s base, you finally have a heart-to-heart with Steve in your hideout, and Loki sends you a ‘surprise’ when you least expect it.

Series Masterlist

Content Warning: None Word Count: 3k

When you landed just outside of the outer borders of Hydra’s territory in the snow-covered mountains of Sokovia, the entire evening was a blur. Briefed on your respective positions for the planned raid in the morning, you felt yourself becoming more nervous as the threat become more real before you, even with six of the most powerful humans in existence (well, five humans and one Asgardian) having your back.

The team bunkered down inside a decrepit fallout shelter, built during the Soviet days. It had no heat, little light, and the two small sets of bunk beds inside only had bare mattresses flatter than a cardboard box.

“Alright, kids, your mission for tonight is to eat up and get some shut-eye. At 6-hundred tomorrow, we assemble with the local brass and get to the fun stuff,” said Tony.

“Eat?” you asked. “We’re inside a concrete cell the size of a studio in Harlem, and I’m pretty sure these beds are older than my mother! What food?”

Tony smiled at you. “The kind you swallow, digest, and eventually—”

“—we get it, Tony,” interjected Bruce, sitting on a lower bunk next to Natasha.

“Well, you all know your roles, so we will repeat them in the AM and go forth to do some really cool shit,” concluded Tony. “Now let’s have Thanksgiving and get some sleep.”

Apparently, “having Thanksgiving” was Tony’s way of saying “pass around the cans of tuna and slabs of cheap bread.” You didn’t complain, and instead tried to enjoy the conversation in the small room.

You still didn’t like how you’d essentially been forced to join the motley crew, but the more you experienced their shared life, the more you felt this was more of some oddball family than just a group of friends from work.

Clint snarked about playing ‘truth or dare,’ which led to Tony suggesting everyone pass the time before bed actually doing so. Seeing as there was nothing else to do but go to sleep (and no one was tired at that point in the evening), the Avengers all circled up on the floor, a tall bottle of whiskey in the middle (“only one, we can’t afford to raid the base hungover” Steve had reasoned).

“So, Steve…truth or drink?” Tony went after Steve pretty quickly, like a big brother teasing his little sibling. “The question: Are you a virgin?”

Steve let out a surprised laugh. “Excuse me, but what?”

Tony repeated his question. “Are you a virgin? Have you ever actually played Hide the Salami with anyone? I mean, I know back in the Ye Oldie Days, you all had to keep the chastity belts on, so what’s the story with you?”

Steve, quickly turning red, looked at you first, while you tried to keep your expression neutral. After a pause, Steve reached into the circle and grabbed the half-empty whiskey bottle, taking a swig while everyone else in the circle groaned.

“You just told us everything, kid,” Tony said, smiling in his usual douchey way.

Steve shook his head. “Innocent until proven guilty, Tony.” He looked slowly around the circle, but you knew what he was going to do next. He was a pretty predictable person. “Y/N, truth or drink?”

“And the question?” you asked, “Unless you want to know about my sex life, in which case, I have to sadly inform you all that I am not, in fact, pure as the driven snow.”

“Nah, enough with that,” Steve quickly steered you away from that subject. “Truth or drink: would you have ever come to join us of your own choosing?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Not a bad one, Patriot Games.”

You looked at everyone and shrugged. “Honestly? No. Remember, that’s why I was hiding out with the circus to begin with?”

Bruce was the only one who nodded, but you got on to your story. “My parents didn’t think the added attention was good for me. They told me to forgo college and find a place where I could disappear, where government agencies and groups of rogue vigilantes couldn’t exploit me. I still don’t know exactly how I got these powers. No family history of anything remarkable. In fact, my parents were probably the quintessential suburbanites before I threw a fireball at my brother for the first time.”

“Maybe when we get back, I can take you to the lab and see if there are any clues,” Bruce suggested.

“And with that,” you continued, “Bruce: truth or drink: you and Nat are going to share a bed tonight!”

Clint chuckled, and Tony grinned. Bruce didn’t waste any time before reaching for the bottle. “Boo!” Clint howled.

“Actually,” it’s probably a good time to settle in, kids,” said Tony. “Four bunks, seven of us, and I’m calling the single bunk because I’m a narcissistic asshole and pulling rank. Do some math and have a good night.”

You still weren’t too tired, but in the scramble to find a bed buddy, Natasha did, in fact, choose to share a bed with Bruce. Clint and Thor paired up as well (despite Clint groaning “I’m gonna have no room, his biceps are going to push me off the bed!”).

Great, it’s me and the Boy Scout, you thought, looking over and patting the mattress beside you for Steve to sit.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked immediately, taking a seat beside you and handing you one of two thin blankets he had brought over. “Because I can sleep on the floor if you aren’t comfortable.”

You shook your head. “No, I trust you enough to be a gentleman, because if you make one wrong move, you’ll wake up to someone roasting a turkey over your burning body.”

“I will tuck myself in so tightly I can’t breathe well, if that’s what you need to feel alright about this.”

You nodded. “Thanks for the offer, Turkey Lurkey Time, but I think I’m okay.”

Steve let out a laugh. “So, does the joke mean we’re on good terms again?”

You took a good look at the dashing hero, and in that moment, he could’ve been the little loser kid who asked you out in eighth grade, shy and anxious. You were wondering if Loki’s influence hadn’t given you a bit of bias towards The Cap. Maybe he deserved a fair shot after all, even if you weren’t sexually attuned to his particular brand of ‘dashing.’

“I won’t lie, I don’t appreciate the knight-in-shining-armor routine. I can, in fact, defend myself. If you can put that to rest, I think we’ll get along well,” you said with a small smile.

“My apologies, Firebird. It’s only a carry-over habit from my time.”

“Your time…the forties?” you asked. “Are you about to tell me that in those days, men respected women, music was music, and everyone had a car in every garage and a chicken in every pot?”

Steve sighed, a tinge of woeful nostalgia in his tone. “Not at all. War is hell.”

You’d completely forgotten that you were technically talking to a World War Two vet. “So, you can tell me, Steve, are you actually a…a…”

“…inexperienced with women?” Steve asked softly. “In a manner of speaking. Pardon my hesitation, but men of my time weren’t open about such things. There was…there was a woman, though. A special lady I was close to.”

“Who? Eleanor Roosevelt?” you asked with sarcasm.

“Actually, you know the portraits of the founders of SHIELD on the wall of the conference room? Agent Peggy Carter. It was her.”

You did recall the Founders on the wall, Ms. Carter being the only woman among them. “No kidding? She was beautiful.”

“She’s still alive, actually” Steve added, a bit more longing and sorrow in his voice now. “Bedridden, but she’s in her nineties.”

“Good genes on her, then,” you remarked. “Badass and long-lived.” You remained silent for a moment, then added, “Hey, you’re into me, right? Like, I get the feeling you didn’t just escort me to the party to introduce me to the crowd.”

Steve looked at you with a neutral face a moment before smiling. “What tipped you off? How much I’ve been blundering around you like a schoolboy, or everything that happened at the party?”

You returned his smile, which was genuine and a little embarrassed. “I won’t say your taste in women isn’t impeccable,” you answered, “But why me?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“I guess sometimes feelings just happen,” you suggested. “No reason to fault you for that.”

“You know my story. I was a small kid with no prospects, my best friend was the ladies-man, then the war happened and everything fell onto my shoulders. Then I was frozen for seventy-odd years and came out entirely clueless to what courting and what girls liked in this new world.”

You gave his admission a little thought, and he was right: why was it his doing that his default setting was ‘chivalrous soldier’? Maybe the fact that he’d never been laid wasn’t so surprising anymore.

“I know my charm with the opposite sex doesn’t match my outward appearance,” Steve continued, “But I know how to respect women, and I know that if you gave me the chance, I’d devote myself to you and love you every day.”

You swallowed anxiously. “Steve, I am flattered by the attention. God knows every woman (and many men) would kill me for that kind of attention from you—”

“—but?”

“But, I’ve only lived this life for a month, and it’s still overwhelming me. Even before, when I was a performer, I wasn’t one for, well, I guess your generation called it ‘going steady.’ But we did more of the casual thing backstage.”

“Casual, meaning ‘free love’?” Steve asked with hesitation.

“That’s a very outdated term for it, but yeah. Just getting our kicks,” you affirmed. “Though, I lost my virginity to a fire juggler named Ted. It’s not something I would add to my resume.”

Steve nodded. “That’s fine with me, maybe one of us should have that kind of experience.”

“Steve,” you said again. “We can’t be a couple. I have some things I need to take care of first.”

“Like Loki?”

“WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?” you blurted out in a loud voice.

“SHADDUP, Sparky!” Tony growled from elsewhere in the dark.

Steve paused a moment, then lowered his voice. “He hasn’t left you alone since you got here. It’s pretty obvious he has a crush on you too.”

You scoffed. “Steve, let me give you a tip: that whole ‘boys bullying girls because they secretly like them and just can’t express their feelings’ is a long-debunked trope that just serves to justify the dumb shit they do.”

…just because that was exactly what Loki did with me, and it worked, doesn’t mean I have to say it did…

“I guess I’ll have to remember that.”

You sighed softly, feeling conflicted for the first time. You wanted Loki; there was no doubt in your mind that your bed would only have the God of Chaos in it. But did The Cap deserve the polar opposite from you, just because Loki was letting his jealous flag fly? He was sincere, more sincere than your current fuckbuddy. You had no doubt that Steve would fall at your feet if you asked him to.

But that was just it, in spite of Steve clearly making the most sense, Loki’s piercing eyes were ice daggers that stabbed your senses every time he looked down at you. His touch sent shivers radiating throughout your core. His kisses sent you to new places.

Sorry, Steve, but unless something changes, I’m Loki’s, you said to yourself (not that you could ever admit that).

“But, I do want to make sure we’re on the same page,” you said. “Can we just be close friends for now?”

Steve looked at you a moment, taking in as much of you as he could make out in the darkness. You became self-conscious, dressed in a tunic two-sizes too big and bicycle shorts. You were about to share a bed (literally) with one of the most eligible men in America (and history), and here you were dressed like a college sophomore. Even if you didn’t care nearly as much about Steve’s feelings for you as you did Loki’s, you still wanted to look like a human and not a cave-dweller in front of him.

“Sure, Y/N, I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable. But, may I ask something?”

“Yes.”

Steve gently nudged your shoulder with his elbow. “Do you think there’s even a small chance that your feelings towards me will change one day? If we stay friends for a while and get to know each other?”

You didn’t know how to answer him. “Gee, Steve, I’m too busy boning the one co-worker you actively dislike to give a shit about you, but we could be like brother and sister or something?”

“Maybe,” was all you said.

Steve seemed satisfied with this answer. “Maybe we should go to sleep before Tony yells again.”

“I can hear everything,” Tony replied.

“So can I,” Thor and Clint said in tandem.  

“Hey Nat, didya hear The Cap strike out just now?” asked Tony.

“I did!”

Even though you couldn’t see it, you knew Steve was blushing. “So, you sleep at the head of the bed and I sleep at the foot?”

You nodded and laid down on the crappy mattress, facing the wall. After you felt Steve shift around next to you before stilling, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, hoping your fears about what tomorrow would bring would allow you at least some sleep.

You didn’t notice the single, ice-blue eye hovering above you a moment before blinking out of existence.

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

Back at the Tower, Loki sat at his desk, blinking the seidr out of his eye before letting out a victorious “ha!”

While it was closing in on midnight where you were, it was late afternoon in New York, and for the first time in quite a while, Loki was totally alone. Naturally, as soon as you’d taken off with the other Avengers, Loki began thinking of your return, and how fearful he was for your safety. He spent the entire day in thought, images of you going toe-to-toe with heavily armed Hydra soldiers flooding him with concern in a manner he rarely felt for anyone but himself.

He knew you were strong, and he knew your flames would serve you well in battle, but if something went wrong, exactly how much would sparring experience with the Boy Scout really do?

Those oafs had better take care of you, because if you come back to me with so much as a black eye, I’m taking the scepter and turning them all into drones, Loki swore, thinking about whether or not he should plan on taking you aside upon your return and confession to his confusion over you.

Normally, he wouldn’t have risked magic to spy on the Avengers from halfway around the world, but he got the feeling Steve would take advantage of being with you away from him. He’d managed to catch a few minutes of your heart-to-heart, and had felt his heartbeat quicken as he listened to you push Steve back into friendship. Even your “maybe” answer to his question about the future wasn’t bothersome.

Hmmm, Loki thought with pride, my lovely Firebird might not get much sleep, and she will need it come morning. Maybe I can give her a gift to reward her loyalty and bring her some gentle rest…

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

Your subconscious arrived in a very realistic and oddly-detailed dreamscape, and you looked around to find yourself in the middle of an enormous ballroom dance floor. Women in swirling skirts twirled past, their ruffles brushing against the gown you wore. Looking down at yourself, you gasped at your appearance. Your dress was pristine white with gold trim, the skirt billowing almost comically wide. Patting your head, you felt that your hair was in a tall up-do, a gold circlet dangling from your forehead. Gracing your neck was a diamond collar, delicate, but still a statement piece against the rest of your outfit.

You took a better look at yourself in the mirrored wall along the side of the floor, and you were impressed at the fruit of your imagination.

I clean up alright! You thought. I almost look like a princess!

You turned back to look at the brightly-lit room before you, crowded with revelers arrayed in the finest clothes a fantasy had to offer. Along one wall was a large buffet table. Along the other, a full orchestra working to fill the air with a gentle, twinkling waltz. Above, a massive chandelier illuminated the room, hanging precariously above the dance floor. The noise of fifty partiers engaged in laughter and chatter nearly obscured the band’s efforts, but nothing about the sound overwhelmed your senses. If anything, you felt light, pretty, and peaceful in this dream.

The dancers on the floor were beautifully synchronized with each other and to the music, and you wanted to join them. But…where were you? Why was your dream taking you here? Was anyone else you knew even here?

Strange, you thought. My dreams are never this vivid.

“My, my, fancy seeing you here!”

You spun on your heels, and standing before you was Loki, dressed in fine Asgardian attire, his shiny black hair loose around his face, yellow gold rings on his fingers, and a confident stride that commanded the attention of everyone in the room as he approached you.

“This is a dream, then,” you said quietly.

Loki nodded. “It is a dream, but I also thought you would be missing me,” he said with a wink. “How do I look?”

“You thought you’d be missing me? What, you’re making this dream up for me?” you asked.

Loki extended an open hand, bidding you follow him to the dance floor. “It’s my gift for you, a dream so blissful your corporeal body dare not stir in its slumber. “

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“As are you,” Loki replied. “Now, I was never much of a dancer, but perhaps if you joined me, I’d remember the steps?”

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

@huntress-artemis @el-zef @lokisgoodgirl​ @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokisninerealms @michelleleewise @toozmanykids @xorpsbane @lokisasgardianvampirequeen

#MCU fanfiction #fanfiction #MCU Loki #MCU Steve Rogers #Loki fanfiction #MCU #MCU Tony Stark #MCU Thor #Avengers #MCU Avengers #smut #loki x reader #loki/reader #reader insert fanfic #reader has powers #pyrokinesis #MCU AU Fanfic #Loki Smut #Loki romance #Loki laufeyson

[the-witty-pen-name]

Love is Blind Part 2

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut in later parts, reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, tooth rot worthy fluff, Eddie being a major flirt, cursing, mentions of substance use

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab. 

Read Part One!

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed! If ! forgot anything to include as a warning please let me know. Also, if you would like to be added to the taglist for this fic, just let me know!

Day Three:

Eddie is sitting on the couch upside down, his legs hanging over the backrest and his head dangling over the seat. He stares up at the makeshift ceiling above as he pretends to play the drums on his stomach. The overhead light is starting to make his eyes slightly water but he’s too comfortable to move.

You’ve told him your name and he’s been almost obnoxious with how much he’s using it in your conversation. He’s using any excuse to work it into the front or back of a lot of his sentences. It doesn’t bother you like you thought it would, and you actually love hearing him call you by your name. It helps create a sense of intimacy where you both obviously can’t have it. It makes you feel more real to him, makes you feel closer to him, reminding him that if he sticks this out he could actually see you, maybe even touch you…

“Do you worry about what’s going to happen when this thing ends?” you ask.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he replies, moving so he is sitting upright. You sound concerned, your voice sounding smaller. “I don’t want to talk through a wall anymore, I want to talk like actually in person- not like some lab rats.”

“Do you think about what I look like?” you ask cautiously, and Eddie shakes his head as he stands up to walk directly up against the wall. 

“Of course, I’d love to see you,” Eddie explains, “I haven’t actually thought so much about what you look like, I just want to see you. You know? We’ve talked for what- uh, 7 or 8 hours at this point? Which honestly- insanely small amount of time to get to know someone. But like think about it- average date is what? 2 hours, sometimes less. We’ve been on like 4 “normal length” dates in 3 days. And usually you know you like someone by then at least. And I know I like you, and I love talking to you- without seeing me you have made me feel seen. God, that was so fucking cheesy.” 

You feel the corners of your ears well with tears- a little overwhelmed from the affirmations and attention you are not used to receiving. You realize that you never once doubted you’d not like how Eddie looks, nor do you even care either. You don’t understand why your brain won’t let you accept the same could be true for the way Eddie thinks about you. 

“I feel the same way about you,” you respond, and Eddie pumps his fist in victory. “I’ve had so much I’ve needed to work through. I mean, still working through. I have a lot of trouble accepting the fact that someone could actually like me as I am right now. I’ve always had the thoughts of well, I need to change myself and once I’m more like this, then I’ll be attractive or whatever. But, when I’m here, talking with you, I’m not worried about it anymore. But I’m still worried about what it's going to look like when this whole ordeal is over and you actually see me, and I can’t hide behind the wall anymore. But here, when we’re talking, I feel like I can be completely myself with you and I’m scared of losing that. Cause I also really like you.” 

“I can promise you there is nothing about you that would make me not interested,” he reaffirms. “I mean, I already know that you’re pretty- inside and out so it isn’t going to change anything. Except… I’m hoping you’d let me kiss you if you aren’t completely repulsed by me that is. Ugh, I’m sorry. I sound like a pathetic 14 year old boy. But, you know what I mean. Fuck, this is torturous.”

Eddie beams when he hears your little laugh from the other side of the wall again. He wants to know if there’s anyway he can get out of the experiment early. He needs to touch you, pull you into him. He wants to hug you, and have you here sitting next to him- flush up against his side. He’s craving the small pieces of physical intimacy that would just satisfy this restlessness he’s feeling throughout his whole body. It’s like he’s experiencing withdrawals but for something he’s never even been allowed to taste. He wants to shower you with affection the second you let him. 

“So, what are you hoping for at the end of this?” You ask, snapping yourself out of your daze. In the little notebook they provided to everyone, you’ve caught yourself writing Eddie in different styles with little hearts. You snap the book closed, like you're worried he’s gonna see it or something. You roll your eyes at yourself, leaning back on the couch and putting one of the pillows up to your face, embarrassed. You’re so past the point of no return. 

He takes a deep breath, contemplating his answer. Wanting to be honest, but not so honest that he scares you away by moving too fast. Case closed: he just wants to get your number and ask you on real dates. There’s also wildly inappropriate things swirling around in his head, as he reminds himself of what he did last night. But, he’s not ready to admit that fantasy to you just yet. 

“It depends on how you’ll feel most comfortable,” he settled on. “But I’d love to take you on an actual date. Like a real one, not this weird shit anymore. We can sit and talk face to face, so I can stare at you and you can yell at me to cut it out. I want to make you feel special and attractive because you are and you deserve to be entirely spoiled and pampered. However that looks for you, I’m down. I just want to be near you. I’ll go at your pace.”

You were never the type to make the first move, ever. Which is also why you’re here in the first place. You have never had the courage to vocalize any sort of desire to a man like you have with Eddie. It’s been really thrilling, the way he’s been able to help you open up. You feel like you can share your thoughts on what you want physically and he won’t judge you or shame you. You decide to be blunt. 

“If it’s actually true, that you’re physically attracted to me when you see me for the first time,” you say, unable to control the way your whole body gets covered in goosebumps at the thought. “I don’t want you to hold back. Just whatever feels right to you in that moment, do it. Kiss me, touch me, I’m down for everything.”

“Everything?” 

“I want everything.” 

“Shit, sweetheart, you can’t just say that,” Eddie responds, sounding almost pained. He chuckles, “you’re a tease, you know that?” 

“I’m just being honest,” you respond, and Eddie can hear how you’re being coy. He loves it, he’s happy to hear you coming out of your shell. He’s excited to finally hear about this side of you. You’re slowly but surely peeling back your layers for him. 

“I want you to be more honest,” he flirts. “But Christ, it’s going to be a long week.” 

There were four more days to go before the big reveal. If any of the participants felt they had a connection to another- or fell in love, they’d submit their picks to the technicians and then the technicians would set-up the next phase of the experiment. Unfortunately, if this does happen, the first time you actually get to see Eddie, it’ll still be under surveillance, most likely monitoring heart rate and whatever else they’re looking for. It will feel clinical, which is so not ideal, but once it’s over- you and Eddie could walk out together and do whatever, go wherever. If he still is interested.

“So, um, what type of girls do you usually go for?” you ask, a slight twinge of insecurity working its way back to the front of your mind. 

“Um,” Eddie replies, letting out an exhale, “Alive.” He smiles when he hears a laugh from the other side of the wall. 

“No seriously,” you urge. “I’m curious.”

“I mean- I really don’t have a type,” he states honestly. “I’d like it if she's nice to me, but that’s not even a deal breaker,” he jokes. 

“You like girls being a little mean to you?” You flirt, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“I don’t think I’d hate it,” he grins. “Um, but seriously? I guess I want someone who likes some of the same stuff as me- or at least will put up with me talking about it. I want someone who I feel comfortable around and I’m not afraid to be myself.”

“What about like- appearance wise?” you ask tentatively.

“This feels like a question we shouldn’t be asking,” he taunts. You feel your face get hot. “I feel like if I tell you the truth you won’t believe me,” he answers. 

“Why’s that?” you ask, confused. 

“It feels like you're expecting me to say skinny, blonde and leggy or something, and if I say anything else you’re going to just think I’m lying,” he muses. Your eyes widen at how well he’s able to read you, and it’s mildly infuriating. 

“I think someone or maybe the world or whatever,” he continues, “has convinced you that you aren’t attractive and I really, truly think that isn’t the case at all. And baiting me to try to confirm that isn’t going to work because I can tell it’s a defense mechanism cause you’re afraid.” 

“Well darling,” he smirks, stepping as close as possible to the wall so you hear him clearly, “I’m not gonna let you get away with it. Because, talking to you is convincing me with each passing hour that I’m cooped up in this damn box that this experiment might actually work. I have not been able to think about anything else but getting back to talk to you when I’m not here. You’re desirable, I want you and you’re just gonna have to wrap your pretty little head around that.” 

Buzz

PART THREE

Taglist:

@woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @ali-r3n @cherrycolas-things @hellfirebabe666 @trixyvixx @stardancerluv @i--wont-run-this-time

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x plus size!reader smut #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fan fic #eddie munson #joe quinn characters #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x insecure reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x reader #eddie x you #plus size reader #plus size reader insert #reader insert #reader insert smut #reader insert fanfic

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Grand Deception - Part One

As a seamstress, you know your way around a ballgown. A ballroom is a different story, but you are determined to experience it for yourself.

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Personal Disclaimer: I wrote this having only watched the Bridgerton tv show. About a week ago, I discovered that Benedict's book-canon love story shares some similarities with my fic. These similarities are coincidental. After posting a poll about the topic, I decided to share this work anyway. Please know I am aware of the situation!

Rating: Mature. Minors, do not interact

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: A lot of backstory, trespassing, lying about identity, alcohol consumption, flirting, references to Regency-era values. Author played fast and loose with rules of Regency dining etiquette.

Next | Masterlist

---

It was of some comfort to you that - when the situation inevitably unraveled - you could not claim to have invented the idea yourself. 

You were hardly the first seamstress who used her skills to disguise herself. Nor were you the first to use her overheard knowledge to learn who may be hosting a masquerade ball so she could attend. 

To that end, Madame Delacroix had told you of her own experience infiltrating the ton’s events. You had learned well, but you were merely another follower, not a visionary. The penalty for your transgression would not change, but your conscience would be eased slightly with the knowledge. 

The single inspiration you could claim as entirely your own was that of your shop. You purchased gowns at the end of every season, researched coming trends for the next season, and altered the gowns to fit. 

Ladies of rich and respectable families were willing to part with gowns for a relative pittance, but most of your gowns were from society matrons. When their time playing chaperone to some wide-eyed miss had ended in a successful engagement, the lucky matron retired to a comfortable life in the countryside. What use did she have for extravagant society gowns there? And, with the style of gathers and ruffles for married women, you could easily fashion multiple gowns from one matronly dress. 

Your shop was hardly the most popular one in London, but you ran a brisk enough business. There were no investors to keep fat with your profits, and you poured most of your money back into the materials and help you hired. It could tax the nerves to operate with such a small amount of money in your coffers, but such was the nature of the business. The lead-in to a season was incredibly busy and profitable, but the off season could ruin you.

But you were happy. Your work was varied and interesting. You worked with sumptuous fabrics in the richest colors. It was a necessity to keep abreast of the latest fashion trends. You truly could not have imagined a better life for yourself. 

And yet… you were unbearably curious about how it would feel to wear one of your creations. You were occasionally hired to style a hopeful debutante, but you handed her off to a chaperone before she walked out through the front door of her own home. You witnessed all of the preparations and you had been party to the aftermath, but you had never had the opportunity to attend a ball. 

It was a silly dream. You were the daughter of a tailor, and not one who served the upper echelons of London society. Your mother spent her time running the household herself - a necessity, as your family could not afford to keep servants. Your brother worked at a newspaper, operating the printing presses. Your sister had married well, wedding a butcher who lived above his shop in a respectable section of the city. 

You had already achieved one silly dream when you had opened your own shop. Rather than satisfying you, that achievement only convinced you that you were capable of incredible things. Why should a ball be the exception?

Fortunately, the ton was an uninspired thing and thus wholly predictable. At least once every season, at least one family believed themselves to be the most creative souls and hosted a masquerade. 

Your ability to foresee the trend had allowed you to plan far in advance. After the last season had ended and you made your purchases, you had bought just enough fabric to fashion yourself a dress. The material was simple, but of high quality, and you had embroidered beading and embellishment enough to allot the finished product an artistic simplicity rather than leaving it painfully plain. 

The mask you had chosen only assisted the illusion of being understatedly gilded. It was a shining silver - not a true metallic mask, but a close enough facsimile that it seemed to be a choice due to the weight rather than the price of the silver. There was a delicate tracery over your brow and along the swells where the mask arched over your cheekbones. 

The effect of the outfit was far from dramatic, especially when you very well knew the sort of dresses that the young ladies of the ton would be wearing at the ball, but you had been purposeful about it. You were trying to fade into the background, and it seemed likely that you would succeed. 

One of your more clever ideas had been to cut the dress as a matronly garment rather than a daring one meant for a debutante. Doing so would relegate you to the realm of mamas, chaperones, and spinsters. Few bothered to steal a second glance at that foreboding cloud of judgment, disapproval, and eager plotting. You were too pragmatic to think your plan foolproof, but you had taken as many precautions as you could imagine.

The Lawsons had been the ones to secure a masquerade theme for the season, and you strategically arrived at the home at eleven, a full hour after the ball had begun. It was a simple thing to slip around the corner of the great manor house, entering through a side corridor. When you passed any of the house’s servants, you ducked your head and nervously arranged your hair. 

With that attitude and countenance, they would likely believe you were returning from some secret tryst in a private place, not attempting to sneak in entirely. Servants were paid for their discretion - at least, in the eyes of the ton - so your exploits would not be disseminated until the following morning at the earliest. 

Your matron-styled dress allowed for a more flexible corset than the most fashionable styles, but you still found that your breath was short as you reached the ballroom. You were thankful for the music, as it gave you a better idea of where your ultimate goal was. 

The room was cavernous, yet filled to the brim with intricate details. A second-story balcony curved around the majority of the room, rather like the opera house you’d had the privilege to visit once. A grand staircase descended from the middle of that balcony, and it was full of still-arriving debutantes and their chaperones. 

The orchestra was sat on the balcony along either side of the staircase, and you noted the way each instrument seemed to take precedence in turn as you walked along the length of the floor. They were playing a quadrille at the moment, and the dancing couples seemed as enamored by the music as much as by each other.  

Above and all around, candles glowed and flickered, casting small pools of light across every surface. A chandelier hung overhead, eye-catching in its size and brightness. The crystals set among the candles sent tiny reflected rainbows dancing across the crowd beneath. The reflectors behind the candles on the main floor helped catch the brightness that would otherwise be wasted on the walls, throwing it out into the room until it looked near daylight. The effect was multiplied by an array of mirrors set around the room, refracting both light and the furor of activity in the ballroom. 

Conversations filled any spaces left in the music. Everywhere, men and women chatted, laughed, and told stories. They were eye-catching with their grand gestures, only made more fascinating with their ornate clothing. You longed for a scrap of paper so you could make note of the styles of this season, and how they might be adapted to meet the styles of the next. 

A table at one side of the room was manned by a servant offering refreshments. You knew from the stories you had heard that a supper would be served at one, but there were beverages for any guest or dancer who may need one. You accepted a glass of iced punch with a grateful nod to the servant. It was remarkably hot in the room, especially compared to the chill of the January evening. 

Sipping the strong punch - and abruptly understanding the wisdom of such small glasses - you ventured forth to find a vantage point for observing the crowd. 

You found one buried in the crowd of matrons and chaperones. They were watching the dance floor with great interest, speculating about matches and comparing notes on how the gentlemen and young ladies had been occupying themselves during the season thus far. It was the perfect location - a view of everything and in earshot of all the information you could possibly desire. Some of the information was likely to be nothing more than rumor, but you cared little. It was entertaining enough to compensate for a lack of veracity. 

“Benedict!” one woman called. She was a handsome woman, dark hair perfectly coiffed to match her elegant dress. You recognized her even from behind as the widowed Lady Bridgerton. 

A man separated from a group of other young men and approached, smiling expectantly. He bore a strong resemblance to Lady Bridgerton, and was wearing the simple black mask that seemed popular among the men of the ballroom. “Yes, Mother?” 

“Do dance with Miss Harper this evening,” Lady Bridgerton instructed. “She needs cheering after the loss of her uncle. And she would be quite an excellent match for you.” 

You wrinkled your nose. Arranged marriages were less common than they had been when you were a child, but the aristocracy still tended to take a heavy hand in deciding their children’s future spouses.

Unfortunately, the young Bridgerton glanced over his mother’s shoulder and took in your expression. You hurriedly glanced down at your glass, as if your face had been a reaction to the strong punch, then applied yourself to staring around the room. 

“I will take that under advisement, Mother,” Benedict said. Your wayward glance prevented you from seeing his face, but his voice was filled with laughter. “If you’ll excuse me?” 

He departed then, retreating back across the ballroom. However, you were far from unobservant, and you counted the multiple times he noted your position from among the group of laughing gentlemen. You did your utmost to ignore him, taking solace in the knowledge that your mask protected your identity from whatever scrutiny he may choose to apply. 

You could hardly pretend surprise when you found him standing beside you scarcely an hour after you had overheard the conversation between Lady Bridgerton and her son. He was facing quite the opposite direction, but you could not fail to miss the way he inched closer every time you took a step away. 

At long last, he bumped into you with his broad shoulder, sloshing your punch onto the floor and still refusing to acknowledge you. 

“And to think Bridgertons are said to be well-mannered,” you snipped waspishly. 

He glanced back at you, eyes bright. “I beg your pardon, miss. I did not see you. Allow me to fetch you a new glass of punch in recompense for my rudeness.”

“No, thank you,” you said, the coldness in your voice detracting from the politeness of your words. “I would not take the risk of another incident.” 

“Did it stain your gown?” he asked, taking your elbow and looking you up and down. However solicitous it may have seemed at first, the mischief in his expression belied the gesture. 

You glared at him until he dropped your arm. “You need not feign concern, Lord Bridgerton. You have apologized, I have accepted it, and my gown escaped the incident unscathed. There is no need to continue our acquaintance.” 

With a final frown for good measure, you turned away. Benedict seemed undaunted, keeping step with you as you found a servant to take your near-empty glass. 

“May I ask your name, then?” Benedict asked, for all the world like you had not dismissed him. 

“Lady Sharp.” 

It was a falsehood you had planned well in advance. The Sharps were one of the largest families in London, some branches so far-flung that no one seemed capable of remembering who was who. 

Despite your confidence in your assumed identity, Benedict paused for a moment and your heart stuttered. At long last, he smiled. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” 

Perhaps if you continued to be short with him, Benedict would understand that he should leave you well enough alone. 

And yet… The young Bridgerton continued to stay close as you watched the dancers, interrupting your overheard bits of gossip with remarks of his own. His commentary was amusing, but you continued to be irked by his presence. He was drawing attention by standing with the chaperones, dowagers, and doting mothers, and some of that attention was reflected onto you by virtue of proximity. 

“You need not remain close as some form of apology, Lord Bridgerton,” you informed him at last. “You have more than adequately apologized for your earlier misstep, and I would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s scorn if you miss your dance with Miss Harper.”

Benedict shrugged. “Miss Harper is occupied well enough with other partners. It is my duty to see to it that every lady may dance if she chooses. Shall we?” 

You frowned deeply, staring from his face to his proffered arm and back. “I do not dance.” 

He paused at that. “Surely you are simply being modest…” 

“I assure you, I mean what I say,” you told him, voice appalled, “I do not dance. If you feel a particular urge toward the dance floor, I urge you heed it and find a suitable partner before they have all been otherwise engaged.”

Benedict turned slightly, his gaze traveling from one end of the crowded ballroom to the other. When he had completed the visual circuit, he faced you, grinning engagingly once more. “I appreciate your concern, but I would rather continue our conversation.” 

Your mouth fell inelegantly open. Thankfully, the room was called to attention before you could loose a scathing comment about your time together.

Lady Lawson stood at the bottom of her grand staircase, Lord Lawson standing attentively to her left. A servant you recognized as their butler announced in a booming - yet not abrasive - voice, “Lord and Lady Lawson invite you to adjourn to the dining rooms.”

To your dismay, the men and women of the ballroom paired together. The crowd moved steadily in the direction indicated by the butler. 

Benedict offered his arm once more. “May I escort you to the dining room, Lady Sharp?” 

You paused, frantically searching for a reason you might excuse yourself. If the Lawsons had arranged for their guests to sit in predetermined places, your presence would not only be marked, but commented upon and questioned. And yet, the gathered crowd meant that slipping away would be nigh impossible. 

“Lady Sharp?” Benedict asked again, pulling you from your thoughts. “You are attending dinner, are you not?”

“Yes… yes, of course,” you said, immediately belied by your trembling voice. From a sheer lack of options, you accepted Benedict’s arm. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton.”

He inclined his head as if to silently acknowledge your thanks and steered you into the dining room. 

Truly, there was far more than one room in which to dine. There seemed to be at least three hosting tables set with full arrays of silver plates and utensils. The dining areas seemed far less brightly lit than the ballroom was, the low lighting offering a soft intimacy that made the surrounding couples perk with excitement. Clearly, the flirtations of the dance floor would not be suspended due to a simple supper. 

“May I help you find your seats, sir?” 

You had been too entranced by your own thoughts - the sudden appearance of the servant made you start like a spooked horse. Benedict patted your hand. The gesture was a bit condescending, but you found it oddly soothing. Far more worrisome, however, was the sight of small name cards resting at every place setting on the tables.

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he said. “I believe I was to be seated with my family a few tables behind you. This is Lady Sharp. I will dine with her this evening.”

“But sir…” The servant looked bemused, white brows drawing together. “Lady Lawson was informed that the Sharps would not be in London for this year’s season. Lady Sharp reported that Miss Rosalie Sharp was far too ill to be moved out of her confinement in the countryside.” 

You stammered weak protests, but Benedict smoothly interrupted. “Surely Lady Lawson is aware that Lady Clara Sharp decided to winter in London this year. The physician said that a change of scenery would be good after leaving a confinement of her own.”

“A confinement of her-?” The servant shook his head. “My mistress said nothing of this when she was preparing the ball.” 

You gathered your nerve. If your ruse were to fall apart, it would not be at the hand of an overly curious servant. You drew yourself up to your full height, giving your best steely-eyed, matronly disapproval. “I had assumed that my lack of an invitation was no more than an ignorant oversight. However, I begin to suspect that it was something far more intentional. Perhaps it would be best if I departed…” 

“My apologies, Lady Sharp,” the servant hurried to say. “Please, allow me to find a place for you.” 

You inclined your head in the shallowest nod you could muster, watching imperiously as he rushed off to find a place setting for the fictitious Lady Clara Sharp. 

“These events are growing less organized by the day,” Benedict confided, shaking his head in mock despair. 

The servant returned, sparing you the effort of inventing a response. “I will guide you to your seat, Lady Sharp. Lord Bridgerton, you requested your seat moved beside Lady Sharp’s, did you not?” 

“Yes, I believe I should like to dine with Lady Sharp,” Benedict said amiably. 

“Very good, sir,” the servant said. “This way.” 

You did not particularly enjoy the tone with which Benedict said ‘Lady Sharp’. In his voice, it sounded less like a title and more like a private sort of jest. 

Fortunately, your arrival in a far dining room provided a much-needed distraction. This was clearly the last table to have been filled, and as such was seated with an interesting amalgamation of people. 

A timid-looking young lady sat nervously adjusting and readjusting the skirt of her dress. Her watchful chaperone eyed the process with fascination and concern. Seated at the chaperone’s other side was an older gentleman who seemed to have overindulged in punch, if you were to guess from his flushed face and exaggerated gestures. 

On the other side of the table was a young man who kept glancing at the young lady and pretending that it had been accidental any time he was caught at it. Beside him were two place settings. From the lack of name cards above the plates, you assumed they were meant for you and Benedict.

Abruptly, a wave of vertigo washed over you. You had accomplished so much to be here, yet how many accomplishments were too many? It was as if you had climbed something terribly tall - every time you moved upward, it only left you with further to fall. And if you were to be discovered during this dinner? You would have very far to fall indeed.

“Are you well?” Benedict asked. 

You blinked. The servant was holding your chair, waiting to help you be seated. You weren’t hungry in the least, but there was no way to excuse yourself that would not draw more attention than was wise. The only way to return to safety was to continue on as if nothing were amiss. 

“Yes, thank you,” you demurred, moving to your seat. 

When the skirt of your dress was safely tucked under the table, the servant offered a slight bow and moved away. The first course was laid out on the table, a manservant lingering nearby incase someone required a dish from a different part of the table. 

“What may I tempt you with?” Benedict asked. His smile was a touch too wide for the question to be entirely innocent. Before you could say something harsh, he half-stood, fork extended toward a dish holding chilled cuts of meat. 

You took a moment to study everything. “Roast chicken, please. And perhaps a few prawns.” 

Benedict took your plate and began transferring the items you had requested. “Soup as well?” 

“Perhaps a little.” 

You eyed the women across the table. The young lady was picking delicately at a few scraps of meat and you were concerned by the quantity of the choices you had made, but her chaperone was tucking into a plate piled high. 

Benedict placed your dishes back in front of you and gathered his own selections. When you were both seated again, you cut a piece of chicken and ate it as delicately as you could manage. It was delicious and you congratulated yourself once more on choosing to attend the ball dressed as a chaperone rather than a debutante. 

“So, a Sharp in London,” Benedict mused. “I rather believed you all traveled together. Like a herd or a pack.” 

You gave him an unamused look at the animal references. “And you pretended to know all of my family’s concerns when we were finding our seats. Do you always lie to achieve your own ends?” 

He gave a wince, but it was decidedly playful. “‘Lie’ is such a harsh word, Lady Sharp. I simply choose the path most likely to lead to my destination and follow it.” 

“By lying?” 

“And I suppose you are a paragon of virtue?” he asked, and you fell silent. It would be rather paradoxical for you to blame him for a lie when you were currently lying to an entire ballroom of people. 

“That was not an admonishment,” he clarified after a moment. “Nor was it a bid to halt our conversation. I was enjoying myself.”

“From what I have gathered of your temperament, I doubt you often suffer from the lack of enjoyment,” you snipped. “You seem to find infinite amusement in everything surrounding you.” 

Benedict’s eyes widened. “I… am flattered, truly, that you’ve taken such pains to truly detail my character. Perhaps I should return the favor.” 

“Do not.” You regretted the warning a moment after you had issued it. Rather than looking dissuaded, Benedict seemed intrigued.

“Indeed, I may be unable to help myself,” he mused. “Your motivations are fascinating, and they would be even more so if you turned out not to be Lady Sharp after all.”

“I am Lady Sharp,” you insisted stubbornly. 

“Of course you are,” he agreed easily. “But imagine if you were not. Why would you pretend to be?” 

Your mind halted abruptly when faced with the task of imagining your own motivations as if they belonged to another. What should you say? What could you say? For all of his casually friendly demeanor, Benedict was not stupid. It was possible that your false theories of your own motivations would provide him with proof that you were the very person you pretended to understand.

But still, the rules of polite conversation required that you provide some sort of an answer. Your voice was slow as you asked, “Who can begin to guess at the motivations of the poor?” 

It was more harsh than you had imagined it would sound, but Benedict did not recoil. Instead, he replied, “Motivations are mysterious, those of the poor and the nobility alike.”

The answer was vague, but you understood why - his eyes were fixed on the young lady at the end of the table and the young man seated across from her. 

“Miss Barrett, I found the most interesting flower in the park yesterday afternoon-” he started. 

He had the young lady’s attention immediately, a shy smile on her thin face, but her chaperone pointedly cleared her throat before the young lady could reply. “Elisa, it is not proper for you to answer him without being formally introduced.” 

“Finnie and I have been friends since before we could walk!” Elisa argued.

“His name is Lord Finlay Spencer,” the chaperone corrected. “And your childhood acquaintanceship does not matter. You have not been officially introduced in the time since he returned to London.” 

The young pair fumed silently, with nothing more than frustrated glances shared between them.

“Lady Barrett,” Benedict said abruptly, drawing the attention of everyone who longed to be distracted from the tension. “I understand you are a most loyal patron of the arts. Is that so?” 

“It is so, Lord Bridgerton,” Lady Barrett confirmed. “I believe in the importance of preserving artwork for years to come.” 

“As do I.” Benedict smiled at her… and at the red-faced man seated to her right. “And our sentiments are shared by our companion, Lord Hopkins. He has recently donated a number of works to your preferred museum. I believe they are to name a wing in his honor.” 

Lady Barrett turned to Lord Hopkins, an expression of mingled surprise and admiration. “I recently took in the Hopkins collection. Most impressive, Lord Hopkins.” 

Lord Hopkins blinked rapidly, clearly attempting to gather himself. He made an admirable effort as he returned her smile. “You are too kind, Lady Barrett. I mourn the loss of those works, yet they were wasted with only my family to appreciate them. And, if you will pardon my directness, I believe I may have been the only one of the Hopkins family to truly appreciate them.” 

“I am certain the Hopkins family has an interest in art ,” Lady Barrett demurred, “though I understand the sense that one has a keener appreciation for art than those around oneself.” 

With such a topic brought up, the pair slipped into conversation. Lord Finlay Spencer and Lady Elisa Barrett cast grateful glances in Benedict’s direction and began to speak in softened tones to avoid drawing the attention of the elder Lady Barrett.

“Neatly done,” you complimented lowly. “Yet it prompts me to wonder how often you concern yourself in the affairs of others.” 

Benedict shrugged. “I simply enjoy pulling strings to see what unravels. Perhaps that is why I find you so interesting.” 

You arched your brows. “And precisely what string of mine do you believe yourself to be pulling?” 

“That you are not Lady Sharp, of course.” 

He took a sip of wine as you fought to control your expression, and his utter lack of concern was infuriating. 

“Are we to continue this thought experiment, then?” you asked at last. “In truth, I am beginning to find it tiresome.”

“I do not need you to confirm my theory,” Benedict told you. “I have gathered proof enough of my own since we met.” 

“Proof?” you asked, attempting to sound skeptical rather than afraid. 

“You did not wait for an introduction, you claim not to dance, and you did not shyly simper away when I touched your arm,” he listed. “You are no more a lady than I.” 

These arguments were presented without censure, but you loosed an inelegant snort regardless. It was foolish and you knew it, but you could not prevent yourself from showing your own powers of observation: “You are wearing a fine silk shirt, a perfectly pressed cravat, and more perfume than anyone else in the room. I am a lady, so it follows that you may be one as well.” 

Benedict - unbelievably - grinned at your insults, his eyes crinkling at the edges. You fought not to return the expression, though you found it remarkably contagious. “I believe it is called ‘cologne’ when it is worn by a man. I confess, I’ve never quite understood the difference myself.”

“If you believe I am a fraud, why have you kept me company all evening?” you asked. It was not a confirmation of his suspicions, but it was close enough to make your heart race.

“You are interesting,” he countered. “Certainly the most interesting person here, and among the most interesting people I have ever met.” 

You would have found a reason to cut the conversation short if Benedict had pressed for any further information, but he did not. Instead, you continued speaking plainly together through the remaining courses. He wanted to learn your opinions on all manner of things, from politics to the latest fashions. 

When the time came to return to the dance floor, he stayed close. He was charming and amusing, but refused to be parted from your side. It could have been cloying, but you privately thought him akin to a particularly amiable sort of burr.

After a few dances had passed, Lady Bridgerton approached, nodding to you with an assessing sort of look. However, she spoke to her son rather than question you. You were grateful for the slight. “Benedict, I believe I asked you to dance with Miss Harper.”

“You did, Mother,” Benedict agreed, “but Lady Sharp and I are speaking of important matters. I could not possibly tear myself away.” 

Lady Bridgerton gave him a look filled with motherly disapproval and you cleared your throat. “Lord Bridgerton, we may speak at another time. The number of dances at this ball is limited and the hour grows late. I fear Miss Harper will be fully occupied if you delay longer.” 

Lady Bridgerton turned, triumphant, to her son. Benedict sighed and bowed shallowly in your direction. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sharp. I look forward to continuing our conversation after this dance.” 

He wove his way through the crowd, presumably in the direction of Miss Harper. Lady Bridgerton remained by your side, and you glanced at her in the silence. She met your gaze, tilting her head curiously in a manner that reminded you of her son. “I do not believe we have met, Lady Sharp. I am Lady Violet Bridgerton.” 

You returned her nod with one of your own. “Lady Clara Sharp. Lovely to meet you.” 

“I was unaware that any of the Sharp family were in London this season-” she started. Thankfully, she was interrupted by the arrival of a dark-haired young lady.

“Mama, I need to speak with you-” 

“Eloise, I am not-” 

“Mama, please!” the girl insisted, tugging at her mother’s elbow. Lady Bridgerton studied you for another moment before giving an apologetic smile and allowing her daughter to pull her away. 

As cues went, it was a fairly clear one. You steadily worked your way through the crowd until you could slip into an unguarded hall. From there, it was a simple thing to leave the Lawson house, find the cloak you had stored in a disused shed, and travel back to your shop. 

When you had removed the mask and the dress, you took careful stock of the evening. The dress and mask would need to be destroyed, and you regretted not bidding a true farewell to Benedict Bridgerton, but you considered the endeavor a success. 

One that could never be repeated.

---

Author's Note - As usual with Fanfic February fics, this is a two-parter. Tomorrow's chapter will have spice in it, so please be warned.

Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #not suitable for minors #minors dni

[wing-ed-thing]

Foundation (Armin x Reader)

Synopsis: You had a special place you went to vent your frustrations. You weren’t expecting company.

Word Count: 1k

Tags/Warnings: Hurt and Comfort, Fluff, Language

Notes: Why do the shortest fics take the longest time to write?

The Garrison patrols typically left around sunset, and with the discovery of the shore beyond the walls, they were suggestable to taking an early dinner. In their newfound finiteness, Titans were becoming less of a worry as time went on, after all. You had held in your tears just long enough for the Garrison patrols to leave, but now, as you were left completely alone, they had begun to stream down your face. 

 And so you stood atop Wall Maria, watching as the sun set. You ran a hand through your hair, fingers getting tangled, further spurring your frustration. Pressure mounted inside you, bubbling from your throat in a frustrated grunt as you slammed your heel on some metal part of the wall-mounted artillery. The impact felt nice through the sole of your boot: solid and secure. 

You turned, kicking over a crate of supplies. The wooden box was heavier than you anticipated, falling directly off the one it had been stacked on with a thud. The lid popped off, and a few spools of ODM wire spilled out onto the wall. You stepped over them, right up to the very edge of the wall, as you let out a gut-wrenching scream. 

You howled off into the land beyond the walls, hands clenched at your sides as you heard the vastness swallow up your voice. You let out another sob. The setting sun cast a pretty hue in the distance, painting the modest clouds that swirled overhead in shades of pink and orange. You admired the view through teary eyes. After all, there was no better view of Paradis than atop the Walls. 

Having thrown your tantrum, you turned to leave, drying your eyes. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Fuck!” You stumbled back, two firm hands gripping your sleeves before you could even move toward your grips. “Armin!” 

His big, bright blue eyes stared back at you. Your heart pounded in your chest from his sudden presence and your near-fall off the side of Wall Maria. He slowly helped you to more solid ground; your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to compose yourself. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” Armin’s hands hovered around your shoulders as if ready to catch you if you collapsed at any moment. You took a breath, trying as discretely as you could to wipe away the evidence of tears from your face. You knew that Armin had already seen them; even if he didn’t, he would have inevitably figured it out. 

“It’s… It’s okay. You just surprised me.” You didn’t look at him, instead pivoting slightly to turn your attention back to the setting sun. Armin’s hands recoiled. “Everyone is usually at dinner around this time.” You crossed your arms, taking a few meandering steps away. 

You heard him laugh. It was a nervous, boyish sound.

“I guess we have more in common than we realized.” He passed in your peripheral, his sword holsters scraping against the material of the wall as he sat on the edge. Armin hunched a bit forward, his feet giving the slightest kick as he situated himself where you just were. You eyed him like a wild animal, suspicious and wary. “I like the view here too. There’s no view like Maria.” 

Armin didn’t spare you a glance as you slowly approached him and didn’t say a word as you settled down next to him. You held a knee up to your chest, the flat of your foot nestled securely against the edge of the wall. 

The two of you sat silently, watching the sun fade in the distance. The miles of untouched, unexplored land below looked much less intimidating than it had just years before. Now, below was just dirt. The bloodshed on the soil had since faded into the ground. Now, below were just trees. The monsters— was it appropriate to call them that anymore?— that lurked in the forest had been put to rest. It was just space now.

“Would you like to tell me about it?” Despite its softness, Armin’s voice cut cleanly through your unorganized thoughts. You still refused to look at him, no particular reason coming to mind. 

“No,” you answered with a shake of your head. You watched as a flock of birds flew overhead. “Nothing that all of us aren’t thinking anyway.” Your chest heaved with a hefty sigh as you resisted the urge to bury your face in your arms. 

“I see.” Armin mirrored your posture, propping up one knee to lean his elbow on. His palm smushed the flesh of his cheek. He hummed to himself, nodding a few times. “If you think the same as everyone else, maybe talking about it will make you feel less alone.” 

“Maybe.” You leaned to the side to rest your head against his shoulder. Despite the full gear you wore, you managed to find a comfortable angle. Armin tilted his head gently against yours.

The two of you sat alone. Not a soul would bother you for the rest of the night, which was why you enjoyed your secret spot so much in the first place. You thought to yourself, just you, Armin, and the vastness in front of you. The golden light cast warmth across the land, which shot out of eyesight and into the distance, the unknown. 

You studied where the land met the sky and couldn’t help but feel small. The Walls, at least, allowed you to feel a sort of control in the face of the certain abyss. 

You remained wordless, even as you started to cry again. You buried your face deeper into his collar, soaking the white fabric. He held your hand in both of his, resting on the seam where your holsters met each other. Your fingers intertwined as he rubbed light circles across your skin with his thumb. 

“I feel the same,” he whispered against your hair, squeezing your hand.

Armin held you until it grew dark. You heard a sniffle from above you, but you were met with the slightest resistance when you turned to look at him. He held his face firmly against your head. You melted back into his shoulder, understanding. You squeezed his hand in response, calm in his presence. Solid. Secure. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: When I first met my boyfriend, who looks strikingly like Season 4 Armin (just with brown hair I guess), I was having a hard time when I first started work as a first responder. I said that I really just needed to scream “FUCK” somewhere and he said, “okay, let’s go.” He took me to a local shore to scream out into the void. I’m sure someone thought a murder happened that night. He also says, “I see” a lot so whenever it comes up in my writing he knows what’s based on him haha

Also, I feel like Armin is the kinda guy who accidentally sneaks up on people all the time

#armin x reader #armin arlet x reader #armin arlert #armin #armin aot #aot #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #aot reader insert #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #x you #x reader

[alieinthemorning]

TwistedχHearts | Six [Heartslabyul 24 - 25]

“You are Riddle Rosehearts, Heartslabyul Housewarden!” His eyes snapped back up. “You are their leader, they look up to you. What kind of example would you be setting if you stayed here?”

His eyes widen, and then his head dropped. Then his body shook as laughter bubbled in his chest.

“You’re absolutely correct!” Flames licked at his body, setting the inky threads to a flame. “What kinda of Housewarden would I be if I allowed myself to be felled here!”

AO3 | Quotev

Index Carrd

Relationship Chart

#alie fics #alie fics: twistedxhearts #twistedxhearts #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland x kingdom hearts crossover #reader insert fanfic #female reader #fanfic update