#and it only took a decade n a half

[marvellous1917]

Icarus

(Part 1)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader

Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.

Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that’s it

A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?

————

“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.

“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.

“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.

“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.

“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”

“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.

“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.

“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”

“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.

The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.

He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.

“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.

He moved his left had to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.

The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.

“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.

“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.

“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?

“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.

“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.

“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.

“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.

“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.

“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.

“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”

“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth

“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.

“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.

“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”

“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.

“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”

“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.

“Could you give him some more time?”

He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.

“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.

“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.

“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”

“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.

The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.

“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?

“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.

“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.

“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.

“Can I see it?”

“…sure,” the word came out as a question.

He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.

“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.

Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.

“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.

“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.

“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design

He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.

“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.

“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.

“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.

“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.

“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.

He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.

“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.

“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.

The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.

“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.

“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.

“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.

“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.

“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”

“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.

“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”

“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.

“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.

“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.

Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.

“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.

Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”

“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.

“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.

He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”

“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted

“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.

This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.

“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.

It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”

As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.

James:

Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.

It makes me feel ancient.

I hate that.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #mob!bucky #bucky barnes #mob!bucky fic #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #bucky imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #tattoo artist!reader

[marvelobsessed134]

Life imitates art

A/n: whewww this is one of my favorite things I ever written

Pairings: Beefy!Art Professor!Natasha x Fem!Student!Reader

Warnings: age gap (not specified), Nat has a dick, smut, blowjob, degradation, painting a nude person, reader being that nude person, pervy Nat (?), student/teacher dynamics

Okay so you’ve been failing your art class in college. But it’s really not your fault you’ve just been so caught up with your other classes that you’ve been slacking off.

And of course your professor noticed. Natasha knew she had to talk to you after class because you were one of her top students and now you’ve fallen off the deep end.

So after the lecture and after everyone leaves, leaving their canvases up to dry, the redhead calls you to stay after class.

You walked towards her desk with a nervous feeling in your stomach. You know you’re gonna get some kind of lecture of your own.

“Yes Professor Romanoff?” You asked in a sweet tone hoping you won’t be getting into any trouble with her. Not that she’s a mean professor per se but when a student fails she makes them do an extra project to get their grades up. It’s almost like she loves to torture people!

“Miss Y/n you’ve been failing very miserably in my class. Any particular reason why?” She asked.

You gulped, “Well…you see professor I’ve just been so caught up in my other classes that I’ve kind of been slacking on this one but-“

“So is my class not important to you?”

“No! It’s very important to me I love art and I love painting but I have these two big tests coming up so I haven’t had the time to finish my projects and you know I don’t do half assed work when it comes to my art.”

The redhead smiled a little bit at that, “Yes, which I do admire and appreciate but I’d like you to put more effort into my class.”

You looked down at your feet shamefully, “Yes Professor Romanoff.” You sounded like a scolded child.

“Well,” she stood up and walked over to her empty easel and put a large blank canvas on it. She also put a chair right behind it.

Then she walked back over to you. “You know how to get your grade up in my class. But instead of you painting I want you to be my model. Can you do that?”

The thought of you being her model made your flush, “I guess.”

“Great. Now strip off your clothes.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me. I’ve personally always wanted to have a live nude model in my presence to paint so nows my chance.”

“Professor Romanoff…this is highly inappropriate im your student plus you’re like a decade older than-“

“Do you want those grades or not detka?” The nickname gave you a shiver down your spine.

“Yes I do but-“

“Then do as I say and take your clothes off.” You quickly complied, shakily pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra. Your shoes, socks, jeans, and panties came off next.

“Go sit on that chair over there.” She pointed to the chair that sat in front of the easel. You took a deep breath and walked over to sit down. Your arms resting on the armrests and your legs clenched together.

As Natasha got set up behind the easel she said, “Don’t hide your pretty pussy from me baby.” Your eyes widened at her words but you complied. Desperate for the grades, you slowly spread your legs. Unfortunately you were embarrassingly wet.

It’s no surprise you have a crush on your professor. She’s beefy with a pretty face and exudes dominance. Her shirt sleeves are always rolled up to her elbows and her slacks fit her perfectly. Along with the occasional blazer she wears.

Unbeknownst to you she noticed how wet your little cunt was and smirked.

She began to paint you, taking in every breathtaking detail of you.

You felt so vulnerable in this position. Sitting naked in front of your fully clothed professor as she painted your naked form.

She didn’t even bother to try to hide the erection in her pants, because she knew you felt the same way about her. It was only a matter of time before she could finally taste you and have her way with you.

Once she had gotten most of the painting down-she can finish it later she will remember every inch of your body-she walked over to you.

You sat up straighter, not daring to close your legs. Natasha towered over you and looked down at your pretty perky nipples and your wet pussy.

“I think my model needs a reward for being such a good girl don’t you think?” She asked and you sucked in a breath.

She tilted your chin up with her index finger, “Yes or no babygirl.”

Oh you knew it was wrong so, so wrong. But you found yourself saying, “Yes.” It came out as a whisper you were surprised she even heard it.

The redhead smirked, “That’s what I thought.” She got down on her knees, her hands sliding up your bare legs before she licked a bold strip against your pussy. You moaned, throwing your head back at the little piece of friction you just got.

“If my student didn’t want to get naked for me then…why is she so soaking wet?” As she said this she ran her finger up your folds. You hissed in response.

“I know you’ve wanted me since the first day of class. Don’t worry, I want you too.” She kissed the inside of your thigh before licking your folds again, eating you out with such passion that you forgot where you were.

Her mouth attached itself to your clit and you gripped her hair tightly as she sent you closer and closer to the edge before you drenched her face with your release.

“Oh god!” You moaned breathlessly.

“You taste so good detka. Care to return the favor?” She asked with a cocky smile. You immediately got on your knees in front of her and unbuckled her pants, pulling them and her boxers down to free her large cock.

Your eyes widened at the size and you wrapped your hand around her shaft and began to jerk her off.

“I wanna see those pretty lips around my cock baby.” She commanded dryly.

You gulped before wrapping your lips around the tip and sinking down onto it, bobbing your head up and down and jerking off whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

Natasha gripped your hair as you sucked her off. “Such a slut for me huh. Who knew you’d be so eager to taste my dick.” Your pussy was dripping onto the floor both from your previous orgasm and your arousal at the mere action of sucking her cock.

“Shit baby I’m gonna cum.” Your professor moaned before shooting her load down your throat. “Ah fuck that’s it swallow it.”

You swallowed it all and pulled of her cock, opening your mouth to show her you did in fact take it.

She caressed your chin, “Such a good girl. Come over here.” She made her way to the chair you were once sitting on and sat down. Her cock still sticking up in the air. She unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it off revealing her abs. Your mouth watered at the sight and you quickly made your way over to her.

The older woman smirked, “Ride my cock baby.” It was a simple command that you were more than happy to obey.

You straddled her waist and sunk down on her thick cock, moaning at the stretch.

“God you’re so tight.” She hissed as she gripped your hips and started moving you up and down her length, treating you like her own personal toy.

You were a moaning mess, rolling your eyes at the back of your head as she continuously hit your g spot. “Oh fuck professor! Feels so good!”

“Yeah? Oh god who knew my student wanted to be slutted out so bad.” She also thrusted her hips up as she moved you. Your hands gripped her muscular shoulders.

The only sounds that could be heard in the room were the sounds of skin slapping, moans, and grunts.

“I’m gonna cum again fuuuuck.” You cried.

“Cum again for me sweetie.” You reached down to rub your clit as you were sent to a land of ecstasy.

You clenched around her cock and your vision went white for a second. You absolutely drenched her cock.

“Oh yeah drench my fucking cock. I’m gonna cum again.” She quickly pulled out of you and forced you on your knees. You watched as she jerked herself off till she came on your tits.

“Holy fuck. You’re unbelievable.” Natasha breathed and you giggled.

“Did I get the grade?”

“Oh yeah you got the grade. And if you keep this up then you’ll be passing every exam too.”

#top natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel smut #professor!natasha romanoff

[7s3ven]

NOBODY’S SON, NOBODY’S DAUGHTER. luke (pjo) pt 1

PART 1 > PART 2 > PART 3 > PART 4 (last pt)

( master list )

IN WHICH… Y/N L/N, after spending a decade at Camp Half-Blood, still remains unclaimed. Luckily, Luke is there to keep her company as her good friend. And to, perhaps, provide a bit more.

“I’m in the wind, you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.”

( follows the show - kind of just a oneshot bc i’m bored )

Warnings : fighting, violence, a little too much of a description about injuries

—

Nobody had been this excited about a new kid since three years ago, when a H/C-haired girl showed up holding a Harpy’s head. The new arrival had slain a Minotaur, which Clarisse wasn’t too happy about. She was convinced he was a liar.

Y/N sat in the Hermes cabin, closely inspecting her empty juice box. She had waken up an hour ago yet her good friend, Luke, still woke up earlier. She always wondered where he went in the early morning. Perhaps to get some sword training in before the day started. He was, after all, the best swordsman in camp.

The rays of sun poured through the window, bathing the wooden floor in light. A few of the Hermes kids groaned, knowing Luke would burst through the doors any second and force them to get up. He always did when the sun rose.

As expected, Luke kicked the door open. “Good morning!” He exclaimed, as energetic as ever. “The new kid’s coming today so get up and start cleaning! I’m mainly talking to you guys.” Luke sent the group in the corner a stern look and added, “Y/N, you’re fine.” He pointed at her with his usual boyish grin.

Lately, Y/N had been sleeping in Luke’s bed while he slept on the floor. They took turns switching. Lying on the ground for more than a decade now wasn’t good for the back.

After all this time, Y/N was still unclaimed. It usually took a week or less. Y/N was a prime example of the Gods above ignoring their children.

“He’s the one who killed the Minotaur, right?” Y/N questioned as Luke collapsed onto his mattress, partly to annoy Y/N who was sitting on it. The H/C-haired girl scoffed and playfully rolled her eyes, yet she couldn’t contain the amused smile on her face.

“Yeah. He can join your little monster slaying group. Let’s hope he gets claimed because I can’t deal with a boy version of you.” Luke teasingly grinned while Y/N scoffed and slapped his shoulder.

“You love my company.” She uttered, rolling her eyes.

Luke’s friends snickered to themselves. “More like he loves you.” One whispered to another.

“What’s his name again?” Y/N asked, tilting her head to the side. “Was it… Tom?” Luke stared at her in disbelief before lightly snorting.

“You’re way off, Y/N. Stop thinking, you’ll hurt that tiny brain of your’s. Just do what you do best; sit still and look cute.” Luke ruffled her tidy hair, turning it into a bird’s nest again.

Y/N flung a pillow at him, and glowered at the Hermes boy. “I’m going to kick your ass in capture the flag.” She threatened, poking his shoulder. Clarisse, out of all people, was her best friend. So naturally, she teamed up with her.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, princess.” Luke lightly shoved her which caused Y/N to gasp in disbelief.

“Don’t push a lady, Luke!”

The other campers, already used to their antics, just chuckled. “Hey, love birds!” One of the unclaimed kids exclaimed. “Get a room!” With her smart she was, Y/N assumed she was Athena’s child.

Y/N and Luke liked to play a silly game where they guessed which camper belonged to which godly parent. It was fun. Luke was never wrong until the day he tried to guess Y/N’s.

A year ago, he guessed Aphrodite. His explanation? Because she was charming and she had a certain aura that followed her. And because she was pretty. That was the only time he was wrong because Y/N never ended up in a cabin.

“So, what do you think of the new kid? Which cabin?” Y/N asked as she and Luke walked outside. He shoved his hands into his pockets, laughing.

“Tough call. I haven’t even met him yet. Apollo, maybe?” Luke shrugged and frowned. “I’ll tell ya my guess when I see him.”

“I’m guessing… Poseidon.” Y/N uttered, earning a light snort from Luke.

“No way. Is that your confirmed guess? Being a child of Poseidon would mean being a forbidden child.”

The game had a few rules.

One. You can only take a single guess and once you confirm it, you can’t change it.

Two. You can’t ask the kid you’re talking about. Luke considers that cheating. You can only observe them.

Three. No asking Annabeth because she’s always right.

“I guess. It’s not like I ever win, right?” Y/N laughed, grinning at Luke. He stared at her for a moment before returning her bright smile.

“I know we don’t usually make bets, but if your guess turns out right, I’ll willingly give up in the next capture the flag game after he’s claimed.” Luke puffed out his chest, certain Y/N wouldn’t win.

“And if you win?” She asked, arching an eyebrow.

“You give me your strawberries.” Luke had an obsession with strawberries that everybody, even the gods above, knew about.

“You’re on, Luke.” Y/N held out her hand with her lips curved up into a teasing smirk.

“Good luck, princess. Looks like I’ll be taking all your strawberries.” Luke ran his tongue over his teeth, already being able to taste the sweet, red fruit in his mouth.

He walked off, playfully winking at Y/N. Clarisse, who saw the whole conversation go down, hurried over to Y/N. “Looks like you and lover boy have a bet going in.” She smirked, raising both her eyebrows. “You two are cute together.”

“Don’t mess with me, Clari. We’re just friends.” Y/N rolled her eyes at what her friend was suggesting. She had been friends with Luke for three years now and she had known him for even longer.

“Are you just friends… or you want to be more?” Clarisse leaned forward with that taunting glint in her beautiful eyes. Y/N groaned, shoving her away. Clarisse simply laughed. “Come on, princess.” She mocked.

“Oh, come on, Risse.” That was a horrid nickname given to Clarisse by an Apollo boy who seemed to be obsessed with her.

“Shut up!” Clarisse exclaimed, eyeing Y/N up and down in disgust as if she was the Apollo boy. “You know how I feel about him!”

“And you know how I feel about Luke.”

“Yeah… but do you?” Clarisse tilted her head to the side before her gaze flickered to something, or rather someone, behind Y/N. “The Minotaur kid is out.” She grumbled and sharply clicked her tongue.

“Great. I can see if my stupid guess was correct.” Y/N glanced over her shoulder, watching the boy walk beside Chiron. His hair was curled, much like Luke’s, and blond. Clarisse had wandered off in the midst of Y/N’s staring, but she didn’t mind.

Suddenly, the boy lifted his head. His eyes clashed with Y/N’s, and he almost jumped at how intensely she was staring at him. Y/N merely smiled before turning away.

“So, what do you think?” She asked Luke as they walked towards the Hermes cabin side by side, their shoulders brushing against each other.

“Hard to say for now.” Luke replied. Y/N looked at him and he stared back before the pair burst into quiet laughter. Just locking eyes could make two friends find anything hilarious.

“I assume you’ll take him under your wing? Good luck.” Y/N nudged him with her elbow, which seemed to be a normal gesture between them.

“Thanks, princess. See ya.”

Y/N turned around, almost crashing into a disoriented Percy Jackson. He seemed jumpy and panicked. Of course, how couldn’t he be? He had just unknowingly killed a monster and his mother had been taken.

“Hi. The first day is always rough. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Y/N muttered to him before she passed by.

She didn’t stick around to hear Chiron announce him. She sighed, wandering aimlessly around the camp. She saw Clarisse talking to her siblings. Y/N had always wondered what it was like to have siblings you could relate to. What did it feel like to understand each other? To go through the same difficulties?

The Hermes cabin was comfortable and friendly enough but it wasn’t the same. She wanted to feel what a true family felt like, or at least was supposed to.

As Y/N had expected, Luke was the first to talk to Percy.

“I’m Luke.” He introduced himself to the boy after the rocky start to their conversation.

“Percy. Hey, uh, who was that girl before? The H/C-haired one?” He questioned, clearing his throat.

“Y/N. She’s nice most of the time the time but a pain in the ass during capture the flag.” Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m just kidding. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

“You guys seem close.” Percy uttered, remembering the way Luke looked at Y/N when they talked.

“Yeah. She’s my best friend. Unfortunately for me, her best friend is an aggressive Ares kid.” He grinned, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Feel free to lie down anywhere. Just don’t get too close to Y/N. If she’s having a monster dream, she kicks in her sleep.”

One of the campers across the cabin groaned. “I know how that feels. The bruise lasted for weeks!” The others burst into laughter while Percy hurriedly made a mental note.

Avoid the pretty girl when she sleeps.

Percy was lucky that Y/N, who lay on the floor a few feet away from him, wasn’t having one of her infamous nightmares. He couldn’t say the same for himself, though.

Percy sat up, panting and sweating. He looked around, realising where he was. Birds chirped in the distant and he could hear the faint sound of chatter through the wooden walls.

“You okay?” Luke asked.

“Super.” Percy sarcastically responded.

“We all have them here, you know.” Luke clicked his tongue and sighed. “Intense, reoccurring nightmares. That’s normal here. Take Y/N for example. When she first came here, no one wanted to get near her while she slept. Girl’s a bloody good kicker.”

Percy lightly chuckled while Luke smiled. “The daydreams and ADHA and dyslexia are normal too. Demigods just process reality differently than humans do. For the first time in your life, you’re just like everyone else.”

“So, are you also…” Percy trailed off, not wanting to sound rude to his first friend at camp.

Luke found his hesitation amusing. “Am I unclaimed? No. Hermes is my father.”

“And Y/N? Is her father also Hermes?”

Luke scrunched up his face like he had just eaten a sour lemon. “Oh, no. Heck no. Y/N’s unclaimed… still. She has been for a while.” The brunette pressed his lips into a thin line as he gazed at Y/N, who was laughing with Clarisse.

“Why hasn’t Aphrodite claimed her? I mean, she looks the part.”

“That’s what we’re all asking ourselves. We all thought she’d be Aphrodite’s kid.”

Boys and girls flocked towards Y/N like she was a muse. It was no secret that out of all the campers, Y/N stood out the most. There was something unique about her, how she always hung around the aggressive Ares kids like she wanted to be one of them.

She was a tough opponent but a little too soft for Ares’ liking.

Too gentle for Ares but too angry for Aphrodite. She was constantly stuck in the middle. It almost seemed like no god or goddess wanted her in their cabin because she had proved herself over and over again.

“How long has she been unclaimed?” Percy inquired. Kids before him had asked that very same question and every time, they were never ready for the answer.

“A decade.” Luke replied, “She’s been here for a decade. Last year, there was a stupid rumour going around that she was fully mortal but that doesn’t make sense. If she was, she wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“Why so long?”

“Nobody knows.” Luke shrugged. He had wondered that too. And he could see how it was weighing down on Y/N. The unclaimed kid was what campers referred to her as. They used her as an example of what not to do.

“Will she ever get claimed?”

Luke hoped she would. For her sake. He knew how she felt about not having a related family of her own. For now, she was satisfied laughing over silly tales with the Hermes kids.

“So, where does she go during the day? She disappeared yesterday and today.” Percy tilted his head to the side, not being able to spot Y/N anymore. Luke paused. It was uncommon for him to not have an answer to everything.

“I… don’t know. I assume Clarisse and her go somewhere.”

“Probably swimming in the lake.” Grover said, overhearing the two’s conversation.

It was scorching during Summer at Camp Half-Blood. Most stayed in the shade while an occasional kid or two tended to the plants. So it would make sense that Y/N would go to a lake to cool off.

Luke left Percy in the company of Grover and made his way towards the Lake in the middle of the forest. As Grover guessed, he found Y/N and Clarisse and a few other Ares kids swimming in the water or sitting on the nearby rocks.

“Hey, Y/N, your lover boy is here!” One of them exclaimed. Y/N, from her spot in the middle of the lake, glared at him. She huffed before swimming over to Luke, easily heaving herself onto shore.

“Hey, Luke, ready to make your guess yet?” She asked, grinning up at him. “Or do you wanna swim?”

“My guess is definitely not Hephaestus.” Luke said as he sat down in front of Y/N. His gaze flickered to her new swimsuit. “New bathing suit?”

“Yeah. Miya got it for me.” Miya was a child of Aphrodite and favored Y/N quite a lot.

“Ah. No wonder it’s so…” Luke hesitated, “Revealing.” He tried to act like a gentleman but his cheeks flushed every time he even looked at Y/N.

“One more day until I kick your ass.” Y/N laughed as she sank back into the water, returning a moment later with her hair dripping wet and her face shining in the sunlight. She looked effortlessly angelic.

“Are you sure you’re ready to handle Y/N again, Luke? She almost beat you last time.” Clarisse snickered as she floated on her back.

Luke scoffed. “Keyword. Almost.” It was true that Y/N had almost beaten him in his own game of sword fighting but that was because she was becoming increasingly more distracting.

Gone was the shy and quiet kid who always trailed behind Clarisse. With every passing year, Y/N became more headstrong and, well, beautiful. That’s why it was so hard for Luke to keep his feelings to himself now. Even Clarisse could see through his facade.

“I’m ready to make my guess.” Luke finally announced, catching Y/N’s wavering attention. She arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “My guess… is Demeter. I met the kid and he seems gentle. A soft and kind soul.”

“Nice. I guess we’ll find out soon.” Y/N’s guess was nothing but a joke and she’d end up laughing if she was actually correct.

“Join me for a little swim?” Y/N asked, reaching out to tug on Luke’s shirt. He sighed while Y/N merely smiled. A moment later, he gave in. Luke lifted his shirt over his head while Y/N stared at him a little too shamelessly for her liking. Some of the Ares boys teasingly wolf-whistled which made Luke chuckle.

He jumped into the lake, practically tackling Y/N and taking her under with him. “Luke!” She yelled, hitting his shoulder when they resurfaced.

“Oh no. The married couple is fighting again.” Zyra, Clarisse’s half-sister, said. She and Clarisse shared a knowing grin.

“They’re so whipped.” Clarisse whispered, subtly swimming away to give the two more space.

It was the day Y/N had eagerly been waiting for. Perhaps her favourite day at Camp. Capture the flag day.

Clarisse handed Y/N a spear. “I got it fixed for you.” The brunette said. During the last game, Y/N’s spear had broken. She was forced to fight with half of it after that.

Y/N adjusted Clarisse’s armour, ensuring that it was tight enough before putting on her own helmet.

“You’re gonna love this.” She overhead Luke say to Percy as they passed by. “Camp-wide mock warfare. All glory to the victors. Annabeth’s the head counsellor. She’s led our team to three straight wins.”

Y/N looked away, giving Luke the perfect chance to gaze over at her. “Y/N and Clarisse lead the other team. Clarisse is rather… impulsive, though. Y/N’s come up with some good plans but Ares kids always go off the rails.”

“What’s the deal with you and Y/N anyway?” Percy suddenly switched the topic, much to Luke’s surprise. “I mean, you guys say you’re just friends but you’re always looking at each other. And talking. And you stare at her like she’s your world. Sometimes I wish I could look at someone like that.” Percy sighed while Luke was left speechless.

Luke cleared his throat and shook his head. “Let’s just… focus on the game.”

The conch shell blew. Y/N stood side Clarisse, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Heroes, it’s time.” Chiron announced. “The game begins. The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor. As always, there will be no maiming and no killing. I trust these rules will be respected.”

He subtly glanced over at Clarisse and her cabin.

“Let the games begin.”

There was twenty minutes until the next conch shell, which meant game-on. Normally, Clarisse and Y/N would pair up and hunt through the woods for the first few hours. But Clarisse had a different idea this time.

“Good luck.” Y/N said to her friend, slinging her spear over her shoulder. Y/N split up with the rest of her team, taking with her small portion of campers.

“We follow Clarisse’s plan this time. We’re the last defense meaning that if the blue team manages to get through, we fight like our lives depend on it.” Y/N said as she gripped her spear tightly.

“What are going to do?” Someone else asked.

“I’m going to…. look around.”

Luke grunted as a sword piercing his upper arm. He easily disarmed his opponent and kicked them to the ground.

“We give up.” The red leader grumbled, wincing as their brushed their fingers over his cuts.

“I wanna move quick. Straight through the woods for their flag.” Luke uttered.

“Y/N and Clarisse hunt in those woods for the first few hours, you know that. They’ll cut us down.”

Luke grinned, shaking his head. “Annabeth has a plan for Clarisse. And Y/N, as always, is mine. Don’t worry about her.”

“Last time I didn’t worry about her, she almost chopped my head off. By accident!” Chris loudly exclaimed, shoving Luke. Unbeknownst to the pair, Y/N was watching from above in the trees, hidden by the thick leaves.

She skilfully hopped from branch to branch, sliding down in front of her teammates. “The blue team is coming. They got past the other defences. Get in position.” Y/N hid behind a thick tree branch, panting and listening carefully for the sound of Luke’s voice.

She heard a twig snap and peeked her head out slightly to see Luke, Chris, and the rest of their small team. Y/N looked up, signalling to her friends above that it was almost time.

The moment Luke, who was leading the pack, stepped right where Y/N wanted him, she revealed herself. “Now!” She shouted, raising her spear and striking Luke. He easily blocked her attack.

“Thought you could ambush us, princess? Nice try.” Luke chuckled, pushing Y/N back.

“I’d say that it worked just fine.” Y/N retorted, lunging at Luke again. She pinned him to a nearby tree, holding the blade of her spear to his throat.

Chris grabbed Y/N by her shirt, pulling her back. Luke swung his sword at her but Y/N simply ducked to avoid the blow.

She tried to run off to help her teammates but Luke blocked her path. “Where do you think you’re going?” He uttered, playfully furrowing his eyebrows.

Y/N scoffed, kicking his ankles. She pointed at spear at his chest, poking it ever so slightly. “Ready to give up, Luke?”

“In your dreams.” He rolled over, latching onto Y/N’s arm and pulling her down with him. Y/N yelped, quickly scrambling up before he could grab her again.

She looked around at her surroundings, finally understanding what Luke’s plan was. It was to keep Y/N away from her team so that Luke’s could take them down. That left Y/N solely alone, standing between the flag and the blue team.

She panted, glaring at Luke. “Bring it on, Luke.” She muttered, holding up her spear. Luke was the first to make a move. He jumped at her, swinging his blade. Y/N dodged it and blocked another attack from Chris.

She quickly lowered her head, tackling another Hermes kid. Y/N rolled across the floor, swiftly standing up. “You won’t be getting near that flag on my watch.” She kicked Luke and whacked Chris. One of the Athena girls launched herself at Y/N, gripping onto her leg.

Y/N shook her off but the girl’s weight caused her to topple over. The bits of debris grazed at her skin. Chris swung his sword, slashing at Y/N. The blade cut her lower arm and blood welled up from the slit.

Quietly groaning, Y/N heaved herself up. She lightly swayed, unbalanced and a little weak. “Like I said,” She murmured, “You aren’t getting that flag.”

Y/N blocked every attack and blow aimed her way but she was getting slow. She could barely lift her weapon fast enough to stop Luke from successfully landing a hit.

Everything was becoming too overwhelming as she struggled to keep up. It was all a fast blur filled with weapons violently clashing against each other and shouting.

Up above, thunder crashed and lightning flickered through the darkening sky. Rain poured down, drenching the campers.

The thunder got louder and the lightning brighter as the seconds passed until nobody could ignore it. A harsh flash of lightning hit a tree nearby, setting it alight.

“Y/N, watch out!” Luke shouted, reaching out. Strings of electricity rippled around Y/N as a burning tree branch fell towards her. Luke sprinted towards her, dropping his sword in the process. He tackled Y/N, shielding her from harm’s way.

She groaned as she hit her head, black dots swirling around in her vision. She felt numb and her head lolled to the side as she heard shouts of victory followed by gasps of surprise.

“Y/N L/N has been claimed by Zeus, the king of Gods and the God of thunder and ruler of the sky.”

#percy jackson series #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan x you #one shot #percy jackson fanfiction #demigods #romance #zeus #greek mythology #roman mythology #annabeth chase #grover underwood

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 2/2 (Astarion/F!Reader)

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk),

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read Part 1: Here

Read on AO3: Here

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Wow. I'll try to make this brief. First of all, I just want to say thank you all so much for your continued support. I know this took me forever to write, but I've been going through a lot of emotional turmoil with school and some health issues with my animals. Your patience means so much to me, and I can only hope this lives up to everyone's expectations! This is my first time writing smut, and ngl I feel a bit like Icarus, so let me know if y'all liked it. Last, but not least, thanks again to my bestie/beta @imaginarydromedary for holding my hand through the shame.

Astarion sits quietly beside the fire, absently picking the dirt from beneath his manicured nails. The night had unfolded like countless others before it: boring, mundane. Uneventful.

Perhaps he should retire early. The Realm According to Bumpo sits patiently atop the desk in his tent, and if he heads to bed now, he could potentially finish a chapter before his watch begins.

He stands, patting the dust off his trousers, just as Shadowheart emerges from your tent. He initially doesn’t pay her any mind - fails to notice the concern etched across her face. 

“Astarion.” 

He snaps to attention, recognizing the fear in her voice.

Astarion’s stomach sinks when their eyes meet. Shadowheart isn’t normally one to succumb to panic, but she looks as though she’s just stumbled out of a wolf’s den.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. She - I’ve never seen…” Shadowheart pauses, taking a steadying breath. “She’s feverish. She was fine only hours ago. I heard a cry from her tent and feared something was amiss. When I found her, she…” The cleric hesitates, eyes contemplative - as if weighing exactly how much she wants to reveal. 

“Out with it, damn it!”

“Is there any chance she’s been poisoned? You two stayed behind, back in the village. Did she come into contact with anything that might have pierced her skin?”

“Poisoned? No, she -” Astarion retraces the events, turning over your brief conversations in his head before landing on the only noteworthy detail he can think of.

He taps a finger on his chin, a thoughtful smile creasing his face. “Unless, of course, the Infernal chocolates didn’t agree with her.”

“I’m sorry, the what?” 

“The chocolate she found at the apothecary. I assumed she hid it away so she could enjoy her little treat, unbothered. There was Infernal text on the wrapper.”

She stares at him with wide eyes, jaw slack with disbelief. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

Astarion shrugs, unfazed.

“Where’s Wyll?”

He rolls his eyes. “How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

“Astarion!” 

“Oh, come on. That chocolate must have been at least a decade old. Are you certain this isn’t just some sort of stomach bug?”

The cleric shoves past him, groaning in exasperation. She shoots him a glare and mutters, “I’m certain,” before jogging in the direction of Wyll’s tent. 

“Infused with succubus spittle. Just one bite will have you and that special someone rolling around for hours. Consume responsibly." 

Astarion giggles boyishly. “An aphrodisiac? How fun.”

Wyll squints as he silently reads the next bit to himself, fingers tracing the text. He turns to Shadowheart, jaw tightening, "How much of this did you say she ingested?"

"I only found half the bar."

Wyll’s expression grows more serious. "This says the recommended serving size is one square… How many squares were left?"

“Oh, gods…” she breathes, "Six."

The three exchange silent, worried glances.

“Could she die from this?” Shadowheart asks, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Wyll’s lips press into a thin line. In truth, he doesn’t know the answer. He could ask Mizora for guidance, but the devil’s been awfully silent after his recent failures. He isn’t sure she'd be willing to answer him, let alone grant any favors. Still, it may be worth a call.

Just as Wyll’s about to suggest it, Astarion heaves a deep, dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, I know what we’re all thinking. I’ll take care of this.”

The other two regard each other, thoroughly confused.

“Look," Astarion explains, I may not be well-versed in magic, or magical remedies, for that matter, but now that we know what’s causing this… I think it’s obvious what needs to be done.”

“You’re joking.” Shadowheart laughs, incredulously.  

“No,” he continues, “We can’t just sit here and hope for the best. We need to act quickly, and let's just say, this fits into my... skill set.”

“So, you’re going to, what? Have sex with her? You think she’ll be capable of saying anything but yes, given the state she’s in?”

Astarion shoots her a glare. The mere thought that he’d ever so much as suggest doing something like that - bedding you when you’re too weak to reject him - the very idea of it makes him sick. 

He isn’t that evil. 

“Watch your tongue,” he spits at her, “before I do us all the favor of removing it.”

“Hang on, you two,” Wyll interjects, “Astarion, I think you might have a point. You would know better than anyone whether she’s in a right enough state of mind to… consent to this. You’re closest to her. She trusts you.” 

He turns to Shadowheart, “It’s worth a try.”

Astarion notices two things as he pulls back the flap of your tent.

The first is that it is unseasonably warm. Scorching hot, like summer. A stark contrast from the welcoming cool of the early spring night behind him. 

And second, that the air in the tent is heavy - heady with the scent of sweat and something else he can’t quite identify. It's clouding his senses, making his head swim. The taste of it settles on his tongue, like salt on the rim of an otherwise very sweet drink.

The moonlight at his back casts a dark shadow over your sleeping form. Astarion hesitates for a moment, taking in the sight of you, vulnerable and oblivious to his presence, feeling too much like a wolf looming over a snared rabbit.

You twitch, grimacing in pain. 

He frowns. This wasn’t the way he wanted to go about seducing you. His plan was much more sophisticated: a carafe of wine, a few honeyed words leading to a night of passion, your endless thanks, all culminating in some well-earned release and his assured protection.

A mutual exchange.

But, this?

He’s roused from his thoughts by another grunt, escaping from between your clenched teeth.

Whatever you’re going through, it looks like hell.

Ugh. You know what? Fine. Maybe this isn’t the way he envisioned it, but when has life ever blessed him with a perfect scenario? He’ll offer his… services, and respect whatever answer you give him. If you refuse him now, he can always try again later. Under less perilous circumstances, provided you survive the night.

And if not, well, he's never been one to play the hero, but at least he tried. 

He steps further inside, closing the entrance behind him. The moment he seals the tent shut, there is a palpable shift. The space feels infinitely heavier, laden with unnatural energy, reminiscent of anticipation, but just slightly… off.

He breathes, trying to focus on anything but that intoxicating scent. The haze of it is maddening.

The elf sits on his knees beside you, hands resting in his lap. 

He clears his throat, hoping the sound would be enough to wake you.

There’s no response. 

He whispers your name.

Nothing.

No choice, then.

He drums a finger against your bare arm.

The cleric was right. Your skin is so hot, it borders on scalding.

Finally, you begin to stir.

-

Again. It happened again. 

As soon as you closed your eyes to rest, you saw him - That thing that wore his skin. You felt his hands and mouth as he ravaged you until you fell apart beneath him, above him, wrapped around him, like he was everywhere all at once. 

He was demanding as he took pleasure from you. Ravenous. Mocking your cries, your begging.

The hours stretched into what felt like lifetimes, and you’d nearly given up hope, resigning yourself to the idea that this was your new, endless reality. 

Until suddenly, you hear a voice that pulls you from the dark recesses of your subconscious-- the very voice being used to torture you

Your name, uttered quietly by Astarion. Just Astarion. No second, more sinister layer beneath it.

Your eyelids flutter, then widen as a chilling realization washes over you. 

He’s touching you. The pads of his fingers are both a balm and an irritant, soothing and igniting the flames licking at the corners of your mind.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” He teases. 

You recoil from his touch, sitting upwards and crawling back away from him. 

He can’t be here. He, of all people, can’t be here.

And yet, something within you is screeching in delight.

'That’s him, isn’t it? The object of your desires? How fun!’

You swallow. Hard. 

“Astarion, I -” 

He holds up a hand, silencing you. “I’m aware.”

“Shadowheart informed us of your… predicament,” he continues, “I can’t help but feel partly responsible, seeing as I was there when you found the chocolate -”

“The chocolate? Is that - wait, what?” 

Shit. Your head is pounding. 

You press your palms against your eyes and groan. 

“I’ll spare you the details, but that chocolate was laced with succubus spittle - a highly potent aphrodisiac - and you, my dear, have consumed enough to bring an entire brothel to its knees.”

Your eyes snap open, meeting his own. There isn’t an ounce of humor in his tone. No sign of his usual mischief.

Gods, he’s being fucking serious.

“Now, as amusing as this might be if it were anyone else, I’d prefer it if our party’s leader made it out of this alive, and that leaves us with a choice."

You gaze at him silently, waiting as the candlelight paints his sharp features in warm hues of amber and honey. 

'He’s quite handsome. I see why you like him.’

“You can ride this out alone,” Astarion explains, “Shadowheart will return with her best salves and more potions for the fever. We’ll hope this passes quickly, but Wyll’s translation suggests the amount you consumed could leave you in this state for up to a week.”

Your stomach churns. You’re going to be sick.

“And the alternative?” you manage to ask.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your skin prickles at the contact.

“The alternative is that you let me help you through this. Consider it a repayment, of sorts, for gifting me your blood. I’m somewhat of an expert on… well,” he lets out a humorless laugh, “let’s just say, I’m the best chance you’ve got.”

Maybe it's the blood roaring in your ears, or maybe you’re still dreaming, but it sounds like Astarion is offering to… fuck you?

“I’m sorry, what?”

He groans, visibly frustrated. “Sex, my dear. If the magic is compelling you to have it, I think we should listen.”

‘Handsome and smart.’ 

You hiss, “Would you please shut up?”

Astarion squints. “What was that?”

“Nothing, sorry.” You clear your throat. “Listen, I - I get what you’re trying to do. I appreciate it, really, but -” 

Pain lances through your abdomen, a sharp, icy shard that interrupts your words. You clutch at your side, releasing Astarion’s hand before falling helplessly on your back, twisting in agony.

He inches closer, voice tinged with urgency. “We’re running out of time. If you want my help, it's best to ask now, because as much as I love the idea of you begging for me to bed you, I won’t be comfortable doing this unless you agree to this while you’ve still got your wits about you.” 

Tears sting the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision at the edges. He’s right. You don’t think you can endure this alone, and as much as you fucking hate to admit it, the damned succubus magic - that thing - is right.  

You do desire him. You’ve wanted him since the moment you met beside the nautiloid. Now here he is, offering to alleviate your suffering.  

There’s just one part of his offer that you can’t quite come to terms with.

“I didn’t let you drink from me because I was hoping you’d repay me.” Your voice warbles, wet and stressed, “I can’t have sex with you if it’ll just be part of some ridiculous transaction. Not with anyone, and certainly not with you.” 

His expression softens as your words sink in. It’s a confession, of sorts. The kind he’s wholly unfamiliar with. It stuns him almost to the point of speechlessness.  

“My apologies. Believe me, it was more of an excuse than anything. I didn’t mean to suggest…” He lets his words trail off, shaking his head. You two can revisit this conversation later, when time isn’t of the essence. “It doesn’t matter. I want to do this. Let me help you.” 

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver up your spine.

It’s clear he means this.

He means every word. 

You nod. “Okay.”

Astarion clears his throat, rolling the tension off his shoulders. 

“Good. Now that we’ve got that taken care of,” he says as he throws one of his legs over your waist, straddling you, “Why don’t you lie back and let me take care of this, hm?” 

His posture is relaxed. Confident. He regards you with hooded eyes and the faintest hint of a smirk. It’s quite the sight, one you’d enjoy significantly more if your body wasn’t busy screaming for his attention. 

His deft hands make quick work of the laces of your shirt, and with every string that loosens, your composure unravels further. You squirm, unable to resist the heat that teases your skin and the growing itch beneath it. 

As if Astarion can sense your rising panic, he places a cool palm against your burning cheek, his touch both gentle and practiced as he rubs smooth circles at the dip of your temple. 

“Relax, dear,” he whispers, both a request and a command. The gentle lilt in his voice masks the underlying authority, but your body obeys all the same, tension releasing from your muscles. “I’ve got you.”

Astarion quickly rids you of the offending fabric, chest and stomach now bared to him. His eyes scan over your form with focused intensity, lips pinched between his teeth, like an artist deciding what to make of their blank canvas.

“Normally, I’d take my time with this,” he admits, “but given the circumstances…” He swiftly undoes the buttons of your trousers before yanking them off along with your smallclothes. One single, fluid motion. 

He can’t hide the mild shock that follows when he sees the state of you - dripping wet, red and pulsing with need. 

He dips the tip of his finger between your folds. It glides over velvet skin, coating the digit in warm, wet slick. A strangled, pitiful noise escapes from your throat.

For a moment, Astarion’s calculated expression falters, surprised by the rate at which your body opens itself up to him. A glint of hunger lurks beneath the surface.

“This may be easier than I thought.” He says with a smirk, more to himself than to you. 

He presses two digits in, slow and intentional. There’s no resistance; A knife through warm butter. You’re dripping down his knuckles, gripping around him like a vice. He slides all the way in until the heel of his palm meets your clit. 

“Breathe.” 

Not even realizing you’d been holding your breath, you release it with a shutter.

“Very good.” He punctuates his words with the slow drag of his fingers. Long, languid movements. He’s taking his sweet time with you, pulling scandalous little cries from your lips. It’s like he’s toying with you - seeing how long you can hold out before breaking. 

It doesn’t take much time at all.

“Astarion -”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Please, what? What do you need, darling?” His eyes are fixed on your own, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. A cat playing with a cornered mouse.

“More. Anything.” 

He hums in approval, then wets the pad of his thumb on his tongue before drawing circles exactly where you need. Heat coils at the base of your spine, forming a ball of tension that threatens to snap. 

The sheer intensity of it is enough to scare you, caught between the urge to chase the sensation or flee from it. “Astarion, I -” 

He ignores your warning as if he hadn’t heard it, plunging his fingers into your heat and curling them - expertly caressing a spot that threatens to shatter you. Your hands fly out, gripping the fabric of his shirt, the sheets beneath you, anything in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

“Go on, love. Let it out. I’ve got you.” 

Your body seizes as your orgasm tears through you, igniting every one of your oversensitive nerves. Back arching off the bedroll, several strangled sounds - almost pained - rip from your throat. The pleasure threatens to tear you apart, but the thick fog of lust occupying your mind begins to subside, offering the slightest bit of clarity as you twitch beneath him. 

Astarion grabs you by the jaw, tilting your head this way and that, admiring his handiwork. He's quite pleased with himself, with the mess he's made of you - jaw slack and brows pinched. He coaxes out the aftershocks, watching you squeeze around his fingers.

"There,” he gives you a playful pat on the cheek, "You're looking better already." 

"You're - agh - enjoying this too much."

"I never said I wasn't going to enjoy it." 

A beat of silence passes between the two of you as he allows you to catch your breath. For a moment, you think the coast is clear - that maybe, this was as far as things had to go. This was what the magic was compelling you to do, or at the very least - it was close enough. You fulfilled its wishes. Surely.

But then he pulls out of you, and the second you feel the vacuum of emptiness where his fingers once were, that voice in your head is screeching like some sort of petulant child. It pouts, waggling its non-existent finger in your direction. The demanding bitch. 

Part of you, instinctually, realizes that this is just the beginning - that you’re simply at the edge of the shore watching the tides recede while a devastating wave builds somewhere in the distance. 

“What is it? Does it still hurt?” Astarion asks, breaking the silence, and you realize that no, it doesn’t. Not like before, at least. 

You shake your head.

“Good. I’d wager that means this is working.” He smiles triumphantly, working the laces of his own clothes, and ridding himself of the final layers between you, revealing an intricate network of muscle beneath. For a man who’d supposedly been starved for the last two centuries, he certainly doesn’t look the part.

Astarion nudges your legs apart with his thigh, then settles between your knees, dragging the head of his cock between your folds. He hums in approval, admiring the sight as he coats himself in your slick. It practically drools out of you.

There’s no resistance when he dips himself into your entrance. 

His eyes scan over your face, searching for any discomfort, but all he finds is need. 

So, he presses in further. 

“Shit, you -” 

He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath as he bottoms out, then takes a moment, eyes pinched shut, collecting himself. 

He slides out, just an inch or so, before plunging back in, buried as deeply as he can reach. It’s so damn easy, the sinfully wet mess you’ve left all over his cock allowing him to glide in and out, tilting his hips with each thrust.

The stretch of him is perfect, like you were made for this - made to take him. His length rubbing and dragging against your walls acts like a balm, relaxing your body as you swallow and grip him in scorching heat. 

He grabs one of your thighs, pressing it into your chest - the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper into your core.

It isn’t long before you’re begging him for more, digging your heels into the curve of his back.

Astarion starts pounding into you - a new, brutal pace spurred on by your encouragement and the wet, filthy slap of his skin against yours. The sounds reverberate off the canvas of your tent, blending with your choked sobs. You just know your companions are going to have something to say about this in the morning, but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care. 

The only thing that matters now is the man above you - his nails digging into the flesh of your ass, whispering how good you feel. How well you’re taking him, “Like you were made for this - for me.” His grunts are like music to your ears, drowning out all other thoughts as his chest vibrates against your own.

It’s all too much. 

Your orgasm sneaks up on you before you have a chance to warn him, but he feels the way you flutter around his cock and acts on instinct - snaking his fingers between your bodies and rubbing your clit in quick circles. 

You throw your head back with a cry, shaking beneath him, and grip him like a vice as you come. The force of it slams into you, hot and devastating, tightening every muscle within its wake. You wind your limbs tightly around the hard planes of Astarion’s body as he rolls his hips into you, slow and deep. 

You can feel him twitching inside you, his rhythm suddenly stuttering with each thrust. Something tells you he’d come now, if you’d allow him.

But where?

'Where else?'

The very idea of him not spilling every drop he has inside of you disturbs you nearly to the point of panic, and with that, you finally understand what this damned succubus has been demanding of you this entire time.

“Astarion, please. I need you.” 

“Where?” he asks, voice muffled, panting hot and open-mouthed against the swell of your shoulder.

“Inside,” you beg, “Please. Please -  It’s alright.” 

He shudders, surging up into you one last time with a strangled grunt. Holding onto your hips, he pulses within you, the warmth of his release filling you to the brim, until a thick white ring of come forms at the base of his length. You can’t help but clench around him, moving to match his previous pace and trying desperately to wring as much out of him as you can, until it begins to seep out onto the sheets beneath you.

It isn’t until he stills inside of you that you release your hold on him. The two of you take a minute to collect yourselves, waiting for your heart to settle and listening to Astarion’s ragged breaths. 

He lifts his weight off of you with a grunt, settling back on his knees. 

“That was - agh,” he shivers as he pulls out of you. You don’t even want to look at the mess.

“I’m going to have to burn these sheets, aren’t I?” you ask, sitting up on your shoulders.

He throws his head back with a genuine, hearty laugh, and cards his fingers through his dampened hair. 

This is the most relaxed you think you’ve ever seen him - not a scowl line in sight. He rolls his shoulders, and sighs at the subsequent pop before turning his focus back on you.

“I’ll have you know,” Astarion muses, “I’ve done this more times than I can count— but this, my dear,” he chuckles, “This was one for the books.”

“So, was sleeping with me everything you could have possibly imagined?” It’s an obvious joke, given your tone. An offer to squash any chance of this happening again, should he wish to. An exit. 

He hums playfully. “Well, next time I think I’d prefer the subtle influence of wine over a mind-altering aphrodisiac, if it's all the same to you.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Did he just offer to do this again? Well, not exactly, but -

“And how are you feeling?” Astarion asks. 

Better, is the honest answer. Slightly confused and deeply embarrassed, but better. 

The apologies you’ll have to make after the night’s over seem endless, both to him and to Shadowheart for all the trouble you caused. Not to mention the others, who’ve probably had the sound of your squealing burned into their memories forever. The idea of it is daunting.

“Because if you’re still reeling from any nasty, lingering effects,” he continues, “I’m sure I could be… persuaded to help again.”

Oh.

Hm.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

-

Tag List (sorry if I missed anyone! I only added you if you explicitly asked to be tagged): @daedriclys @captain039 @sushiumex @sugasweettea @marauders-moon @starlightelegy @ablxssm @the-lake-is-calling

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion acunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #astarion x you #spittle

[mydearlybeloathed]

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: even as you grow older, you'll always be his baby sister

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: strawhats x sanjissister!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lowercase intentional, cursing, allusions to insecurities

𝐚/𝐧: this is basically just sanji curing my childhood wish for a big brother. i have more ideas about how sanji would be at his wits end with a reckless little sister so look out for those hehe

i imagine sanji is two years older than you, but it never felt like it. you and him were never apart for too long, more by obligation than choice.

so it was no surprise when sanji dragged confused little you with him as he hid from the pirates invading the ship, only outing your hiding place in the name of saving his food from oregano.

you'd hurried after him, of course; that's all you knew to do at such a young age.

and when zeff had sanji up against the wall, being so young meant you also knew only one thing to do in this situation: you bit zeff, latching your teeth around his arm and drawing blood from his broken skin.

zeff howled and very nearly threw you into the wall as well, before his eyes zeroed in on you, this little girl with wild eyes and a mighty strong jaw. he only jerked you off him, then, staring from you to sanji then back to you. "wha—? what kind of little gremlin just bites a man?!" your eyes were steely. "I'm not a gremlin." then, "bitch." though it was clear you didn't understand what it meant, probably catching it from the other chefs of the now sieged ship. gritting his teeth, zeff continued on his shouting. it made you and sanji angry, and zeff marveled at how your expressions were twin–like, despite your difference in appearance. then, the ship had wrecked, and it all went downhill from there.

sanji always made sure you’d eaten more than him on that damn rock, even when you fought him and scratched him as he forced a morsel of bread into your mouth.

he'd held your hand as you cried the first ten days, and he had mourned when on the eleventh, your eyes took on a dead sort of sheen, like you were now a decade older in the head.

it was unnerving, really.

sanji learned a lot on that rock. like what it meant to be the responsible one, or at least more responsible than you.

sanji just wanted you to listen, but it seemed like all his words went in one ear and out the other. you wouldn't eat despite all his begging, only staring at him with that horridly blank stare and pushing the food back toward him. tears started to form at the corners of his eyes as he held up the very last piece of bread. "please," he begged. "please just eat it." you shook you head, forcing the tears to stream down his cheeks. that broke through your indifference, your frown deepening as you inched closer to him. "we'll half it," you offered, taking his shaking hand and guiding him to split the bread, taking one half and waiting for him to calm down before you ate in silence. you really did feel older than him, and he didn't like it. only when that night fell did he realize you were simply a very, very good actor. your whimpers were like thunder in his ears as he sprang up from a featherlight sleep, his eyes locking on your quivering form just a hair's breadth away. "y/n?" he whispered, shaking your shoulder. you spooked awake, and in the reflection of moonlight he saw glinting tears traced down your face. "nightmare?" your nod and sniffle tore him up inside, and in seconds he was hugging you to his chest, telling you stories till he was sure you were at least sleeping better than him. "someday," he said, "we'll find a place where we'll never go hungry. where every flavor and ingredient can be found. the all blue. i'll take us there, and we'll never starve again." you were asleep by the time he started plotting to raid zeff's side of the rock in the morning. it had been sanji who guarded you from seeing the stump left of zeff's leg, ignoring you when you asked him to explain what was happening.

growing up on the baratie was an experience, for sure.

your only company were the crooks who worked in the kitchen alongside you and sanji, and you found them amusing company indeed.

especially when they started teaching you how to be a remarkable little con-artist. once in your late teens, it wasn't long before you'd abandoned your work in the kitchen to wait tables.

not only were the tips amazing to pocket away, but your charming smile and whimsical attitude made you a master of sympathy.

there isn't a customer you can't placate, a fight you can't break up; sanji would never admit it, but you'd save him from one too many brawls with just a single simper.

it was easy to hold that over his head, but for some reason, sanji never let it keep him from completely wrecking your social life.

to say sanji is protective of you is the understatement of the century; you'd be the first to attest to that.

it was growing to be annoying and just plain inconvenient, if you're being honest.

was it too much to ask for some time to yourself... with the company of a horny teenage boy... in your quarters... alone?

"sanji!" you hissed, face bright red as your brother dragged you and this young sailor boy--you hadn't caught his name--out of a broom cupboard, his grip on the boy's collar deathly. throwing the boy aside, sanji stormed back up to him. "did you touch my sister? you think you can just take advantage of her like tha'?" you ran your hands over your face and rushed to separate sanji, shaking in anger, from the boy, shaking in his boots. "stop! he wasn't takin' advantage of me, sanji. hell, i started it!" "y-yeah!" the sailor boy piped in, cowering behind you. "she was all over me and—" "shut up," you and sanji said in tandem, shooting the boy matching glares that sent the poor sailor darting for his crew's ship.

as the years dragged on, you and sanji couldn't deny that the idea of remaining on the baratie all your lives would be... well... sad.

you wanted more for yourselves—you specifically wanted to get sanji away from zeff's constant criticism, no matter how well–meaning it was.

but the years really were dragging, and could you ever really bare to leave the man you'd nearly called father on several occasions? could you leave the shit-hole restaurant that raised you in it's wooden arms?

probably not. you'd probably die washing dishes (snore) and burning water (whoops) and charming the pants off grumpy old men (yuck).

that is, it always seemed that way until a grand vessel with a goat for a masthead docked at the baratie.

the day had been it's usual level of boring, until two customers decided to have a little row which heated up with every word shot back at each other.

you, having a good track record, rushed forth to prevent the fight just itching to break out. but today was not your lucky day.

"gentlemen," you grinned. stepping between the two men, you held up your hands and settled each of them with batted eyes and a soft expression. "what's this about, hmm?" sanji loitered at a nearby table, refilling drinks with one eye on you. he was ripely kicked out of the kitchen, snug in his waiter's jacket. one of them huffed, "he's at my table!" "i don't see your name on it!" the other snapped. your patience wanned, your thoughts screaming man-child. "i'm sure we can work something out. just please, don't start anything in the restaurant." the first man seemed to consider you, his eyes dragging up and down your form, but any progress you might have made was destroyed by the next second. "i ain't movin', girl. he can go shit 'imself in the corner." that was how you winded up directly between them, your hands pushing against either chest to keep them separated, your heartrate accelerating as they pressed in on you as if you weren't even there. grunting, you called out, "brother?" in seconds, sanji had a grip on your sleeve in one hand and a fistful of the first man's collar in the other. he jerked you away from them and swiftly shoved the men away from each other. "sister," he said in turn, cracking his neck as the men continued to not learn their lesson. "take these rolls to table four, yeah?" you didn't need to be told twice, swiping the tray of bread from his arm and beelining for a booth housing a motley crew of people. behind you, grunts and winces and crashing could be heard, followed by the thick silence of your brother's victory. you set the tray down on the table, shooting a tight lipped smile up at the guests. a boy wearing a peculiar straw hat locked you in place with his bright eyes and wondered aloud, "he's a great fighter." "yep," you quipped. "a real hero. any drinks for the handsome crew?"

it turned out the boy with the straw hat was crazy: he intended to become king of the pirates.

you admired his tenacity, of course, but really? he had a death wish.

still, the more you spoke to luffy and the more you observed his character, being king of the pirates didn't seem so crazy. he had guts, that was for sure.

as crazy as it sounded, you started to believe he could do it.

so it was really no surprise you said yes when luffy asked you to join his crew.

he had already asked sanji the day before—before luffy's swordsman friend got obliterated by a warlord of the sea.

you didn't know him, but when you rushed onto the going merry after zeff an sanji, and you saw the bloodied man lying there, you could barely move a muscle.

you were never good around the air of death, and it was all around roronoa zoro, lingering like a knock you expected but never came. so you couldn't move, not even when they moved zoro to a bed, out of sight. not when zeff and sanji retreated back to the baratie.

you snapped back to life at the sound of luffy's voice, finding him leaning down to be directly eye level with you. he was still speaking, and it felt sort of like being under water, till finally, you surfaced. "sorry what?" "are you okay?" he asked, brows knit. you pondered your response while looking anywhere but his face. "yeah, sorry. i... i don't like feeling helpless, i guess." you vaguely gestured to where zoro's limp body had laid upon the nearby table. "being out of control makes me wig out." luffy tilted his head. "why're you out of control?" "because," you nearly laughed. "your friend is dying." immediately, you regretted your word choice, hating how the light fizzled from his eyes. "he's not dying," luffy snapped back. "he was injured and now he's healing. why does everyone insist he's dying?" you shuffled on your feet. "right, sorry." when you met his eyes again, there wasn't any frustration like you assumed there would be. instead, he settled you with a curious look. "you don't have to keep apologizing." luffy was an odd type of pirate, you thought with a forced little grin. "then how will people know i'm sorry?" he smiled. "fair point." taking a hold of your sleeve, luffy started to drag you deeper into the going merry, leading you right to where zoro was laid. his grip on you loosened as he passed into the room, but you stayed cemented in the doorway. nami was there, sullen looking. you watched as nami berated luffy and stormed away, shoulder checking you on the way out, leaving luffy smileless. that didn't sit well with you. walking up beside him, you took a kneel just as he did, and turned your eyes on zoro's pallid face. "hello," you murmured. silence was your reply. "i'm y/n. you don't know me... your friends care a lot about you. it'd be... sad, if you died." luffy stiffened at your side. "which you won't! i've heard of you. no way the demon pirate hunter will let—let a scratch get him..." as your rambling died down, luffy slowly shifted to look at you, all serious for a moment. unnerved, you chuckled nervously. "what?" a tiny grin worked its way onto his lips, a glimmer in his eyes. "will you join my crew?" you nearly laughed. "luffy, you don't want me." "yeah. i do. why else would i ask?" "i'm useless." "you're kind," he said, shutting you up as a flush bloomed in your cheeks. "not everyone can say that."

a long story short, you joined luffy's crew of strawhats right along sanji.

your parting from the baratie had been watery, to say the least. whilst sanji shouted curses at zeff and stormed out to luffy's ship, you stood shaky as zeff huffed, his eyes roaming toward you.

you very nearly tripped head over foot in your sprint to wrap him in a hug. he was the only father you'd ever had, really. leaving him was bittersweet.

the going merry was a very nice place to call home, in your opinion.

you were a jack of all trades amidst the crew, choosing to do odd jobs around the ship. most days, you found yourself asking around with a little list in your journal, taking note of everyone’s grocery needs and even keeping track of the ship’s supply inventory.

not only that, but you found your crewmates tended to lack the sense to take care of themselves in a timely manner. 

that is, none of them could be faster than your attentive eye, and no one was safe from your protective inclinations.

nami was attentive, but she tended to disassociate, and when she did it was very hard to get her back. she would go on for hours, working herself to the brink of exhaustion, not accepting even a sip of water. (she couldn't stop you, however, from forcing a cup of ice water down her throat. even she was intimidated by your determination to hydrate her).

then there was zoro, who absolutely refused to allow anyone to help him dress his wounds; and since he wasn't the best at it, you often stared at his haphazard bandages with fear of infection. he brushed you off enough times to invoke your wrath upon him. (zoro quit refusing after the first three times you ambushed him, wrapping your arm around his neck and blocking his airway).

you always listened to usopp's stories, but oftentimes you grew tired of the repetitive and clearly fake tall tales. you wanted to know his real stories, and you told him so. he'd laughed awkwardly and replied that he wasn't interesting enough for that. (he was fairly surprised at your insistence, and was warmed at your fascination with the silly story of how he met kaya).

luffy, your captain, was a walking migraine most days. he was smart, but just as brave, and jumped to action faster than you could process. it left you stressed beyond what you could handle, and this alone was enough to make luffy more cautious. (he never wanted to make you unhappy, so you'd inadvertently given him some of your common sense).

finally, sanji, who you'd been dealing with all your life. you knew all his tells, whether it was baking macarons when he was upset or going eerily silent for far too long. you always knew what he needed, and when he needed it. (more often than not all he needed was a compliment, and not just from some doe–eyed woman at a bar; a word of sentiment from his baby sister could drag him out of any stupor).

overtime, the crew took to calling you their boatswain. after all, you fit the job description, and you took the title with pride.

as time flew by with the strawhats, you began to listen to the dreams and aspirations of the others, and began to wonder what exactly you wanted out of life. the all blue was sanji’s dream… so what was yours?

the going merry was docked at a friendly port for the next few days, meaning the crew was free to explore and roam the city as they pleased. you, however, remained behind that very first night.

as far as you knew, the others had decided upon a bar for the night’s celebration. The quiet dwelling over the ship was calming, and from your sweat crisscrossed on the afterdeck you had a wide view of the stars. 

your notebook rested on your belly, pen tight between your fingers, thoughts moving a million miles an hour. there hadn’t been time to get shopping done that day, so you would rouse the ship early the next morning and assign them to fetch groceries in pairs of two—just to be safe. 

and though the heavy thinking could wait till the morning, you were stuck in a spiral of inventory and lists. it was… exhausting, and offered little to no fulfillment. still, it was what you did to help. 

A familiar patter of boots broke your reverie, and you peeked up to find sanji coming to loom over you, his hands shoved in his pockets. his suit jacket was draped over one shoulder and his hair was a mess—he wasn’t drunk though, which was a very good sign.

silently, he disposed of his jacket and laid down beside you, resting his hands behind his head. for a split second, you got a glimpse of the damn rock imbeedded in your memory for all time, and how sanji used to make up stories about the stars.

since then, you’d come to know their true stories. you knew every constellation by name, having memorized them upon the baratie and spoken to them every lonely night. the stars had been your friends in your youth, and though your conversations with them were few and far between now, they always shined for you. so as far as you knew, you were never alone.

sanji raised an arm and pointed in a random direction. “bet you can’t name that one.”

a grin worked its way up your face. “how much?”

he turned his head, eyes boring into you. “if you can’t, you tell me what’s on your mind.”

“that’s hardly fair.”

“take it or leave it.”

you huffed, but complied, glaring up at the sky. “cassiopeia. cursed to remain in the stars for claiming her daughter was more beautiful than the nerieds.” you kissed your teeth. “hardly a punishment. i’d love to be in the stars.”

there was a weight behind your words; a truth so deep you had to take a long breath to recover. wetting your lips, you asked your brother, “do you think, someday, i could study them?”

“why someday?”

“well, you need supplies. tools. there’s only so much our eyes can tell from down here.”

“tools,” he murmured. “so, you want to study the stars?”

the words flooded from your lips. “i want to know everything about them. i want to know why they shine, how far they are, what’s beyond them… can we get there?” you sighed into a smile. “there are some cities that have observatories dedicated to astronomy, but you’ve got to be some kind of noble scholar to get in.”

sanji listened, and he listened well. He laid by your side and listened to you tell him about the stars till nami and zoro came lugging a drunk usopp between them, luffy taking the lead. he remained in thought for most of the night, and sought out nami to ask about expenditures, and then set out to find luffy. 

it was safe to say you weren’t quite as upset at sanji and luffy for disappearing all evening when they returned at sunset, some beri short, with a gift in hand.

you stood slack jawed as they revealed a beautiful telescope, the metal polished and bright and shining. how they had managed to sneak it past you and set it up on the afterdeck was beyond you, but you hardly cared to ask.

you threw your arms around your brother, whispering your thank yous, and quickly turned to tackle your captain in a hug just as tight. the night to follow was marked by your awed sighs and the excited way you told the crew about ursa major and ursa minor, then about castor and pollux, and so on till you could barely keep your eyes open.

and sanji would never say it out loud, but he admired you. you turned out pretty damn good despite having him as your big brother. someday, you’d reach the stars. he knew that for certain. he could only hope you’d come visit once or twice.

“g’night,” he muttered to the crew as he stood, making his way over to where you’d drifted off against a barrel. he scooped you up in his arms and was veyr careful to not wake you as he made his way to your and nami’s quarters. 

sanji rested you down and moved to take off your boots and pull the blanket over you, and he found himself frozen all of a sudden. lips pursed, he patted your hair, and turned to go. at the door, he paused and looked back. you slept so soundly for once, something he was so very glad for. he wasn’t blind to how you’d been overworking yourself.

perhaps he would talk to you about that in the morning, but for now, he simply smiled. “good night, sister. love you.”

and whispered back to him, just in time for him to hear: “g’night, sanj. i love you.”

#sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x sister!reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #luffy x reader #nami x reader #usopp x reader #one piece live action x reader #one piece #one piece live action #opla #opla sanji #opla x reader #x sister reader #x sister!reader #x platonic!reader #x reader #reader insert #female reader #sanji's sister saga

[murdockparker]

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say. 

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed. 

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”   

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by. 

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise. 

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?” 

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.�� In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?” 

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion. 

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more. 

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct. 

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”  

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.” 

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.   

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room. 

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it. 

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process. 

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze. 

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.” 

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal. 

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”  

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display. 

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter. 

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door. 

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon. 

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask. 

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say. 

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish. 

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly. 

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered. 

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck. 

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water. 

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face. 

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out. 

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward. 

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed. 

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above. 

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said. 

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—” 

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”  

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother. 

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—” 

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?” 

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain. 

Rain. 

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting. 

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in. 

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise. 

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…” 

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—” 

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified. 

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience. 

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this. 

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him. 

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again. 

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while. 

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter. 

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray. 

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have. 

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #this is a doozy and i am sorry #but only a little bit!!!

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 01. It's 2018, Baby!

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: It's the big year of 2018 and y/n is looking forward to win her fourth championship title. A pretty boy with green eyes won't distract her damnit!

Word Count: 4.5k

Previous Masterlist Next

2012

When Formula One fans talked about paid driver, they said that the position can go either two ways.

The first one, is being proven unworthy for the seat. With the highly competitive nature that the sport serves, it will only took one race, one qualifying, only one bad day, to show the world that you don't have enough experience or talent to deserve a seat in Formula One. That the reason why you're one of the top drivers in the pinnacle of motorsport is because daddy's got money.

Unfortunately - to the fans, or even to the said paid driver themselves - this scenario is often the case.

It is such a bad branding for rookie to have. To be branded as a spoiled and talentless kid that doesn't know how to do anything without the help of their famously wealthy parents. For someone that ha just entered the sport, for someone that is still searching for fans and sponsors, this kind of branding can be the death of their career.

Yet, why is there so many paid driver when the risk is evident?

The second scenario, is the most unlikely one. Though, it is still possible.

There is a probability that a paid driver can enter the sport, and show the world that they're as talented as y/n l/n, just like what she did back in 2012 when she famously entered Formula One because her dad bought the Porsche Formula One team.

It was such a controversy back then, for such a young driver - a female driver, something that the sport had never seen in decades - to easily enter the pinnacle of motorsport with the large monetary support from her dad. Back then, when it was not revealed yet that her dad had bought the team, many had anticipated her debut. When the news came out, many had muttered things like-

"Maybe she's just that talented?"

"She did won a lot of trophies in the lower category."

"Who cares? It's a sign that Formula One is finally evolving!"

"Bet she got a lot of skills."

And well, y/n does have skills. People had actually anticipated her arrival at first, saying that it’s time for Formula One to change and she will be the one to start the change.

Though back in 2012, that was not the reason why she managed to get into Formula One. Her dad, a famous billionaire from France, had bought the Porsche Formula One team and gave one of the seat for his daughter.

Cue, the many controversy.

Now, when she looked back, y/n really have to admit that the online and offline attack that she had received back then was simply atrocious. News outlets and magazines would print photos of her without her knowing, calling her a spoiled princess who is throwing tantrum and making Formula One a joke to the eyes of everyone.

Sport critics would make a whole segment with previous or current Formula One stars to talked about her. Many calling her undeserving, talentless, and many many sexist slurs that she doesn't even want to remember anymore.

While, okay, being a paid driver, it’s obvious that controversy will always follow. Thought, back then, she had thought, if she was a man, would the controversy became this big?

Paid drivers, after all, is known secret to everyone who watches the sport. Formula One is an expensive sport to start with, so it's no wonder that many people from a privileged background would start using Formula One as a chance for them to have a career outside of their wealthy family.

And don't get her started with drivers who has connections with retired Formula one Drivers!

At least half of the grid is the son or a friend or a family friend of a retired driver. If you want to talk about the sport with the most nepotism, y/n thinks that Formula One is up there.

Though, her controversy got blown up this big just because she has one thing that separates her from the rest.

She's a girl.

A girl who has no space in the world of motorsport.

Someone who doesn’t have balls hanging between her legs and somehow, it made people think that she’s less than them.

Honestly? Fuck them. 

She knows the world of Motorsport. She knows, if her dad didn’t bought the team, there is no way her dream to become a Formula One driver will come true. No matter how much they preach about equality, women in sport, or even feminism, there is no way any of these teams will even look at her.

How can she get into the sport when no one will give her a chance? When everyone in this goddamn sport will always think that the world of Motorsport is only for men and she has no place Ini it? It’s only fair for her to use her advantage so that she somehow can have an equal ground with everyone else here.

During the start of the 2012 season, y/n is already in a bad mood from the start. 

She fucked her qualifying. So fucking badly. She honestly thinks it's because of the added pressure from the press as well as the pre-race jitters that she had, almost throwing up in the garage due to how fucking nervous she is. All of those added, and yes, the result is a really bad qualifying.

P10 honestly is a really bad position when you have a car like Porsche. After all, her other teammate, Antonio Bacque, managed to snag P3 during the qualifying.

It's an embarrassing result and she really hates it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that y/n was going to be eaten by the media with that kind of result. 

Her first interview ever since the announcement of her position was with some famous sport channel. Y/n knows them, considering the've been blasting a lot of her controversies and 'questionable' behaviors for their viewer to watch.

So she should've expected the question that they had prepared just for her.

"What do you think about your path towards Formula One?" asked the woman, blonde hair and seems to be older than her for a couple of years. "Do you think that you still deserve the seat without the help of your father?"

She had froze, eyes flicking towards he PR manager who also got her eyes widened. It seems, the interviewer had asked her a question that was not previously approved by her team. Illegal? She doesn't know. Nor she cares.

After all, she's really fucking exhausted at this point.

There are too many glances and cameras towards her way. Too many layered questions and fake  empathy from those around her. Too many, judgmental look from those who doesn't even know her personally.

Y/n is tired.

"Yes," she said, staring straight back at the camera. "Yes I deserve it."

"How so?" pressed the reporter once again. Fully knowing that she's a paid driver. Fully knowing that she had just fucked her qualifying up. Fully knowing, that she haven't shown the world her skills.

Yet.

The female stared at the camera, she's aware that her next answer will be the headline of every major sports channels the next day. That this answer can be the one to make or break her career. A brand, that will stuck to her until her retirement.

Should she play the part of a spoiled child? Or should she play the part of a hothead driver with a too big ambition? She could play with the male fantasy and become a docile and demure little girl with too much naiveté in this cruel cruel world of motorsport. To become the doll for this sport to play with without care in this world.

But she's better than that.

She's y/n l/n and knows she's worth more than those fake personas and branding. She knows that she deserves her seat and she will be damned if she didn't prove it to the world.

"Like this," 

And, she gave them the middle finger.

In the end, all of those criticism changed during the Australian Grand Prix.

It's stuffy and unbearably hot inside the car. Her race suit didn't help much. If she's in any other situation, she would've complained to everyone that's willing to listen.

Though, at this moment, she found herself to not care.

Bright eyes stared at the car in front of her. She could see the familiar Mclaren in front of her, passing the checkered flag. She could see the Mclaren team cheering by the fence near him. Y/n could only see Mclaren in front of her.

Only one car out of 22.

"P2, y/n," breathed out her race engineer on the radio as she passed the checkered flag. There's a hint of disbelief and wonder on his tone. "Fucking P2."

She screams, no doubt flooding the team radio with her rather inhumane scream as she let go her steering wheel and hold the top of her helmet. It's a bit unbelievable, a bit hard to belief, and of course, so so fucking wonderful.

"YES!" screamed the woman. "YES YES YES! OH MY GOD!"

Y/n could hear the announcer announcing the result of the race, voice excited at what just happened. After all, today on the 18th of March 2012, a Formula One history was just made. This day would be written as one of the most memorable moments in the history of Formula One.

As she hopped out of her car, her team is already out there, ready to celebrate with her.

Some would have criticized that action as excessive, considering that she didn't won the race. Though, this race was the debut race for Porsche. This is the race where the team can show the world that they're not here to play. They're here to win.

It could be said, that both the team and y/n's goal are aligned.

The girl wants to show the world of motorsport her worth. Want to show everyone, that she deserved her seat in this sport. Want to show, in this men dominated sport, a girl like her too, can thrive.

Her team too, wants to show the world of motorsport their worth. To show everyone that Porsche Royale Formula One team is here to stay and to make history.

Maybe that's why they worked so well. Maybe, that's why both Porsche and y/n became unbelievably loyal to each other. That the team, had became her second home and y/n had become someone that the team can trust fully.

If she looked back towards that day, she can confidently say that it was one of the happiest day in her life. It was her first race in Formula One, it was the start of her historical journey in this sport, and of course, it was the day that she managed to shut every criticism that was directed at her way.

It was satisfying.

2018

Y/n's presence is almost mythical at the grid.

Which is a bit weird, considering she had been a constant presence in the grid for years at this point. Still, it still didn't diminish the almost divine status that she had achieved amongst the fans of motorsport.

After all, there are drivers that's like that. Drivers that can command a room with their simple presence or someone that had reached so many achievements throughout their career that it sounds almost unbelievable. Drivers, that you had ever only heard of and never seen. Drivers, that had inspired the next generations of motorsport enthusiast to follow this adrenaline filled career path.

Y/n is one of those drivers.

Today is the pre-season testing and y/n is ready to retire from the sport.

"I'm going to retire," said Y/n as she groaned, stretching her back inside of Porsche's hospitality. "Like for real." 

Truthfully, the weather today is perfectly warm. Barcelona in February had never been glaringly hot. The sun is shining above them and yet the temperature didn't rise unbelievably high. It should be a good day to do your daily routine and well, for y/n, this should be the perfect weather to do the pre-season testing.

Though, the ache on her joints is saying otherwise.

A hand hit her shoulder playfully. "You're only 23" said her athletic trainer, Luca. "That's like the age where everyone started their career," he said as he slid a strange concoction of healthy smoothie in front of her. "Drink this."

"But I started my career when I was 17," whined the woman as she sniffed the drink. It smells healthy. And weird. She really doesn't like it. "It's almost 6 years, I think it's an appropriate time for retirement, or maybe a promotion. Do you think I'll make a great team principal?"

The mere thought of this woman being Porsche's new team principal sends shiver down Luca's back. "Honestly, don't even joke about that because I seriously think Herman will get a heart attack."

Y/n laughed at that. Just imagining her team principal being shocked to the point of a heart attack just because she's going for a retirement is a bit funny to her. 

It's the start of the 2018 season and she could feel excitement ringing through the air.

Somehow, the grid feels different than usual. People seems more excited, a bit wary, and yet, still excited. Y/n likes to think that it was because how exciting the 2017 season was, considering how intense the battle between her and Lewis for the driver championship title. Though, she knows that it was not the reason.

She glanced towards the cameras that littered around her.

In this season, somehow, there will be a documentary crew film documenting their 2018 season. Which is, weird. Formula One teams are notorious with their secrets and fear of corporate espionage after all. Now they're letting a filming crew to document all of the behind the scene of the season?

It's a new concept. 

Herman had told her that almost all teams in the grid had allowed the filming crew to lingered around the garage. Well, except Mercedes and Ferrari - which shocked her a bit because she really think that this kind of thing is something that Lewis would do. But oh well.

Hopefully, this kind of coverage can boost the ratings of Formula One and make the sport more known to the general public. It will be great if there's a lot of new fans who will start to watch the sport from the documentary.

"Now that there's a film crew following us around," started y/n with a snicker, leaning back on her seat. "I think it will be more dramatic for me to announce my retirement right now, no?"

Luca sighed, "Y/n-"

"I hope you're not serious about that," said a dry voice behind her. 

She doesn't even have to turn around to see who's standing behind her. "Herman!" she greeted, cheerful as always and as if she was not talking about possible retirement just a few seconds ago. "My favorite team principal, how are you?"

"Good," said the German, raising an eyebrow at her. "As long as your retirement plan stays like that. A plan."

The female nudged his shoulder playfully. "You know I love you too much for that."

"Really," muttered the team principal as if he doesn't believe what she's saying. "With how you behave lately, I really doubt that."

That, actually, made her laughed louder. "What do you mean? I've been a perfect worker!" she said, tone full of teasing. "I'll be a more star worker if our car this season is perfect like always." At this, she added a wink towards a team of mechanics that's sitting on the next table, eliciting a round of laugh from them.

"I'm counting on you then," said Herman as he took a seat in front of her. "I'm here to talk about other things."

She blinked. "What other things?"

The pre-season testing had barely started and he's already here to talk some serious stuff towards her? She's allergic to that.

"Someone wants to meet you," continued Herman as he took out his iPad, writing something on it. His thick rimmed glasses glinting. "It's a favor from a friend."

"Oh?" asked y/n. "Like,  I don't know if you're aware, I'm a pretty popular girl," she started and Luca actually has the nerve to roll his eyes at her. "Lots of people want to meet me."

"It's a favor from Fred," continue the man, ignoring her comment. "It seems they found a star driver or something, someone that they really cherish. And apparently that rookie is a huge fan of yours"

Y/n blinked at that. Fred Vasseur is the team principal for Sauber Formula One team, one of the teams in the grid right no. They never really interacted much with Sauber, though she do knows that Herman and Fred are friends. Golf buddy or something. While the Sauber team itself is not one of the top team that will compete for the championship, it's famous for one thing.

Its relation to Ferrari.

While true, it's not like Sauber is Ferrari's b team like what Toro Rosso is to Red Bull, they still have a really close partnership with each other. Like really close. So close to the point that almost every part of Sauber came from Ferrari. For Fred Vasseur himself to ask a favor to Herman for their rookie driver can only mean one thing. This rookie driver is projected to drive for Ferrari.

A competitor then, she thought idly. 

"Well, I'm honored," the woman finally said. "So where's the superstar?"

"They should be here soon-"

Just at that, someone opened the door towards Porsche's hospitality, calling Herman's name. "Herman!" greeted Fred as he entered the building with a perky energy. "And of course, y/n, always lovely to meet you."

"Freddie, Froyo, Fredman, it's been awhile," she greeted back, standing up to give the man a short hug.

Maybe it's because Sauber itself is not a champion winning team that it made them interact easier. After all, she can’t even imagine greeting Christian or Toto like this.

"Yes, yes," laughed the man, not looking the slightest bit uncomfortable at the random nicknames being used. "I told Herman already, but there's someone that want to meet you."

It was at this, that y/n realized that there's someone standing behind Fred.

A man, maybe around y/n age, a bit younger perhaps, could be seen standing a bit awkwardly. He's wearing the white and red Sauber shirt, paired with a ripped skinny jeans. From the get go, it's obvious that he seems uncomfortable at the sudden familiar setting of Porsche's hospitality. At the same time, his eyes looks excited and a bit jittery.

Y/n immediately knows that this is the future superstar. Sauber's apparent cherished rookie driver who is now being projected to be one of Ferrari's future driver.

For a career prospect, not bad. A Ferrari driver certainly is a good option. Though, y/n is sure if this Formula One driver gig doesn't work out, he can be a model or someone in the entertainment industry. Because honestly, the guy is really pretty to look at.

Warm green eyes, messy dark colored hair, and a nice face to look at. If he ever decided to become a model, he could probably be a successful one.

"Y/n," called out Fred, catching her attention. "This is Charles Leclerc, he's a big fan of yours."

He seems a bit embarrassed at that mention, what with how his cheeks started to redden and how he flail his hands around. Which is, cute.

"Really?" she said, smiling as a teasing grin entered her eyes. "Really honored, then."

Charles let out a huge smile at that, looking a bit relieved. "I should be the one saying that," he said and his English is thick with accent. French, she realized. "I've been following you since your debut."

She let out a low whistle. "2012? That's a long time," laughed y/n easily. "You were how old back then?"

"15," he replied.

"Ah, I'm only 2 years older than you then," she said, putting it at the back of her mind. "At long last, it's no fun to be the youngest on the grid for so long."

Herman coughed, eyes staring at her straight in the eyes, "There's Verstappen, he's also two years younger than you."

"But Max is way too serious!" she whined out, remembering Christian’s favorite driver. Ever. "It's no fun to tease him when he gets all broody, which is like 70% of the time."

"It's because you keep annoying him," said Herman dryly. "Anyway, Charles, correct? What do you think of F1 so far?"

Now, all of them are seated at the same table, making conversation with each other. Honestly, y/n is a bit invested at the topic. Moreso on Charles because with him entering his rookie season is like a wake up call for her.

Lately, more and more young driver debuted in F1. It started with Max and Carlos back in 2015. Younger and talented drivers with more vigor and a brand new vision for the sport. Back when she debuted, the grid was way older with more experienced driver filling up the spots. Now, it seems, the teams want to change the way they view the sport a bit.

Younger drivers started to arrive every year. Guys who had karted since they were four or guys who basically just skipped F2 straight into F1. Thinking back, it's a bit sad, because it made her realize that more of the older driver too, will retire soon. That the grid will change soon.

Hm, she thought. It's an added pressure for her.

Maybe it's because she debuted so young and had become a world champion when she was only in her second season, it made her think that she's way older than she actually is. This year is her seventh year in F1 and now she has three driver championships under her belt.

It's a bit jarring thought that she is now one of the most experienced driver in the grid.

Charles talked about his experience so far with so much enthusiasm and starry eyes that it made her want to protect him a bit. Which is normal, because to all of them, Formula One is a dream that they had ever since childhood. When they first entered the sport, it's only normal for them to look at everything with full of reverent and wonder.

The male seems to live and breathe just for racing. A feeling, that y/n can relate to.

"So you liking it so far?" she spoke up, catching everyone attention. "Does it fill up your expectations?"

"Yes," nodded Charles with a huge smile. "I'm really excited for the first race."

"Nice," grinned y/n.

Really, if anyone ever asked her what is one of the defining moment in her life, she would described this moment at one of them.

With Charles smiling in front of her inside the Porsche's hospitality, with the impending knowledge of a new generation of Formula One, and with the fear of destroying all of those Formula One hopeful dreams. It was at this moment that she decided something.

She really really wants this sport to be enjoyable for the young drivers. For them to have someone to talk to and not became a clueless little shit like she was all those years ago.

It was a decision that stayed on her mind as they continue their conversation. Herman seems interested in Charles, not that they can sign him for Porsche considering his love for Ferrari, but still, having an option is still a good one.

They stayed and chatted there until both Charles and Fred presence is needed back in the garage. 

"Hey Charles," she said a few minutes later when both Fred and the younger male was about to leave Porsche's hospitality. The younger had asked her to sign three hats, saying that it's for him and his brothers who is also a big fan of hers. 

Perking up, he motioned for Fred to walked ahead before he jogged back to where she's standing.

Pulling out of her phone, y/n let out a grin towards him, "Give me your number yeah? I think it will be fun to stay in contact."

Charles stared at her.

"Seriously?" he asked, blinking rapidly.

"Yeah."

Almost immediately, he scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket, to the point that he almost dropped it to the ground. It was such a comical sight that it made her laugh, which seems to only embarrassed him further. Maybe when they became a lot closer she can tease him more about this? Certainly a thought for the future.

They exchanged number and Charles thanked her many times, saying things that she's his idol and he really admire her. Y/n merely watched him, amused, at the blabbering, before he seems to realize that he had talked too much and excused himself in such a hurry.

Well, certainly, Formula One will be more interesting in the coming years, right?

Humming, y/n entered the Porsche hospitality once more, only to be called by Herman to discuss something.

"So," started the man, finger idly fiddling with the papers in front of them. "We need to talk about your teammate,"

"Ah," realized y/n. This is going to be a long and painful discussion.

Drive to Survive Season 1 episode 3

It's all about Porsche

Will Buxton appeared on screen, smiling. "The thing about Porsche is," started the man. "It's a team that most drivers doesn't want to be in."

A shot of y/n talking with Herman and the mechanics could be seen. Her face is serious as they discussed details about today's Grand Prix and the car. They seems dedicated in their work, a true showcase of the prowess of one of the top team in Formula One.

Which makes Will's earlier statement a bit bizarre.

"At least, if you're not y/n l/n," continue the man with a small laugh. "It certainly not because they have a bad car-"

Porsche's Formula One car could be seen zooming at top speed, a clear indicator on how fast the vehicle is going.

"-Nor is it because it's a bad team-"

Y/n's car could be seen entering the pit stop, something that the Porsche team handle flawlessly without a hitch.

"It's because of the strict hierarchy there," laughed Will, a wry smile appearing on his face. "A really really strict one."

Herman appeared after that, eyebrow raising at the question that the producer had asked off screen. "I think it's quite obvious who will be the no.1 driver," said the man bluntly. "It's an open secret in Formula One, no? About no.1 and no.2 driver?"

Christian Horner appeared in the dark interview room, wearing a dark cardigan and a light blue cardigan underneath it. The man laughed, almost throwing his head back at that. "No.1 and no.2 driver is common in Formula One, but no one impose it as strict as Porsche," said the man, eyes full of amusement. "The team is basically a y/n cheerleading squad."

Many clips appeared after that, of team orders to let the woman through or the team failures to handle a simple pit stop when it's not y/n on the car. Articles too appeared, of how often Porsche has to change one of their driver and to find someone that is perfectly fine to be the second best in their team.

It's a team that prioritize y/n. It's a team, that undoubtedly will choose y/n l/n as their number one driver and will never budge on that decision. 

The thing is, if Porsche is not a championship winning team, this shouldn't be a problem. Many drivers are grateful to have a seat in Formula One even they ended up not in one of the top team.

But Porsche is a team that fights for championship. Their cars are fast. They're the team that fight for wins and podiums. They don't fight for points, they want wins and glory.

A complete domination. Just like their motto. And when a driver tasted that sweet sweet taste of victory, it's hard to stop.

"Formula One driver needs to think that they're the best," said Will. "It's a mindset that they need to have if they want to survive in this sport," he continued. "Can they really, give up wins for their teammate? when their direct rival is that teammate herself?"

Y/n has too much presence for her to be the number 2 driver.

She is the icon of the sport, someone that is way too talented and way too influential to be the second best driver. The team itself was basically assembled around the woman needs.

The mechanics is someone that she can easily discuss the car with, her race engineer remains unchanged ever since her debut because she's comfortable with him, heck, even Herman position is secured because y/n actually likes him as a team principal.

It's y/n l/n very own personal cheering squad and everyone knows it.

"Fighting y/n on track is already a hard fight to win," continue Will. "A really hard one."

A clip of her racing and passing so many drivers could be seen. Her skilled handling of the car, overtaking those in front of her, and being an all around driver that deserves the title of a world champion.

"Fighting y/n for a spot as Porsche's number one driver? Impossible."

"The drivers need to understand that we're fighting for championship," said Herman as the scene cuts back into him. "We need someone that can support us in that cause."

Christian appeared, laughing. "Well, there's a reason why they need to change their second driver five times since 2012," said the man, looking so fucking amused. 

Porsche after all, is y/n's kingdom.

Taglist!

@mellowarcadefun @glai1023-blog @jjkclub @newlifeforus @jpg3 @sp1cycurry @eternalharry @be-your-coffee-pot @itsjustkhaos

#formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula one fanfic #formula one fanfiction #formula one #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x female reader #fanfiction #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me

dbf!Joel x f!reader

The first TLOU fic I ever read was a dbf!Joel story and it left an indelible mark on my soul. Unfortunately, I never bookmarked it so I have no idea which one it was. It's only natural that I had to try my hand at one at some point. So, here we are.

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 4.1k

Series Warnings: Mature to start, but will ultimately be Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. There will be angst, drama, fluff, humor, romance, smut... basically, the works. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname from her dad, which will be explained at some point.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

If you asked him over a decade ago where he’d be now, Joel Miller would not have placed himself as a single father to a tenacious pre-teen desperately trying to keep things afloat. He spent too many hours in the week working to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. He would be lost without the help of his brother and the few friends he had. He had no social life to speak of and could not for the life of him remember the last time he went on an actual date.

No, back then, Joel thought he’d be living the good life in ten years’ time – traveling, going out with the boys, maybe have a girlfriend or wife. Basically, just getting to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Don’t get him wrong, though. He was still living a good life; it just was a different sort of good than what he hoped for back in the day.

He loved his daughter with every fiber of his being. Sarah was the best damn thing that ever happened to him, his entire world, and he wouldn’t change the past ten years for anything. He bent over backwards doing whatever it took to make his little girl feel cared for, happy, and loved. He just wished there was a little energy left for something for himself at the end of the day.

Joel Miller was drained. Mentally, physically, and emotionally.

He awoke with a groan as the bright sunlight broke through the gap in his curtains. It was Saturday – his birthday – and he hoped to sleep in, at least a little. Between the brightness of the morning and the stifled sounds of clanging pans and voices carrying up the stairs from his kitchen, sleeping in was not happening.

He hauled himself out of bed with a groan worthy of a man twenty years his senior and stretched out his limbs to ease the achiness in his bare back and chest from too much manual labor. Throwing on a pair of well-worn sleep pants and a faded tee shirt, Joel slipped from his bedroom and down the stairs. He moved rather quietly for a man of his size, stealing a moment to lean against the entryway into the kitchen and watch as Sarah and Tommy worked together making breakfast.

The counters were a mess of spilled pancake mix, eggshells, and… was that coffee dripping over the edge and onto the floor? It was a toss-up on who made the bigger mess, his ten-year-old daughter, or his grown ass brother. Still, Joel could not stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched them laughing and teasing each other. That, right there, was the reason he worked so hard, why the loneliness was worth it.

When Tommy flipped the stovetop off, Sarah turned to find her dad smiling goofily at them. “Happy Birthday, Dad!” she exclaimed, launching herself at his chest. Her lanky arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Thanks, baby girl,” Joel replied, pressing his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss before he settled her feet on the ground.

“We made you breakfast!” Sarah declared, gesturing toward the disaster zone formerly known as his kitchen.

“I see that,” he chuckled, voice still slightly rough with sleep.

Tommy turned with a smirk, hands grasping two plates filled with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. “Take a seat, brother. Let us take care of you on your birthday.” Placing the food on the small dining table, Tommy roughly patted his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry ‘bout the mess, I’m on cleanup duty after we eat.”

“We expectin’ company? That’s a helluva lot of food,” Joel grumbled. He needed coffee, stat.

“Yeah, JB is comin’ over to see ya before heading to the airport. His daughter finished grad school over the summer and is moving back home.” Tommy set more food and a full mug of dark roast coffee in front of his brother. The scent alone made Joel perk up a little.

The Millers hadn’t met you yet, having only become friends with your dad through work after you’d already left for college on the east coast. Your dad had a good decade on Joel, but he and the Miller brothers got on like a forest fire from what he told you. With visits home always short and rushed, busy catching up with family and your own friends, there was never time for your dad to introduce you all. Now you were coming home for good and would have plentiful opportunities for spending time with your dad and his friends.

“Speak of the devil,” Tommy muttered as the doorbell rang. Sarah bounded to the door to greet your dad with a hug. In many ways, the girl reminded him of you when you were young, and it always brought a smile to his face.

“There he is! The man of the hour. Happy Birthday, buddy!” Your dad, John, or JB as the Millers called him, ruffled Joel’s already mussed hair, leaving a few locks standing straight up in further disarray. Pulling a 12-pack of beer from behind his back, your dad set it on the table in front of Joel, topped with a little red bow. “I gotcha a lil’ something to celebrate.”

“Good man,” Joel replied with a chuckle. “Have a seat and help me eat all this. Tommy just told me your lil’ girl is coming home, finally.”

Your dad’s face lit up even more at the mention of you coming home. “She’s not so little anymore, but I sure am glad she’s moving back here. Said she had enough of the east coast, but I think she just missed her ol’ man.” After wolfing down some food, he added, “Think we could host a small barbecue here this coming weekend to celebrate? Your backyard is way nicer than mine and you got the pool and all.”

“Not to mention that fancy ass grill,” Tommy chimed in.

Swallowing a long sip of his morning go juice, Joel nodded. “Of course. Invite whoever you want. I’m looking forward to finally meeting your daughter.”

“Me too!” Sarah added. She heard a lot about you from your dad and hoped you were as cool in person as he made you out to be.

Joel’s mind started spinning upon hearing his daughter’s excitement. With her school hours being so different from his typical work hours, he was spending a small fortune on after school care for Sarah. She was still too young for him to leave home alone, especially on those days where he’s stuck late at a job. He was barely scraping by as it was and couldn’t really afford the cost of after school programs. Perhaps…

“JB, ya think your daughter would mind watching Sarah during the week while she’s home. Drop off and pick up from school and keeping her company ‘til I get home from work? I could pay her – it wouldn’t be much, but better than nothin’, I imagine.” He watched Sarah’s eyes light up at the suggestion and knew it was a good choice.

“I’m sure she’d love to. She wasn’t planning on finding a real job until after the holidays, so I know she’ll be free during the day,” your dad replied. “I’ll talk to her about it on the ride back from the airport and let you know.”

Three suitcases and a carry-on bag. That’s all you had left from six and a half years of pursuing higher education in North Carolina. You sold or gave away anything that did not fit into your luggage or hold sentimental value of your time away. Now, you were moving back home to save some money before you had to start chipping away at the mountain of student loan debt you accrued.

You loved learning, always have, but you were relieved to be done with school. Equipped with a bachelor’s degree in earth sciences and a master’s in education, you felt like a real adult ready to take the world of middle school by storm… well, starting after the new year, maybe. For now, you needed several months of limited to no responsibility to recoup your mental and physical energy. That last couple years of school really burned you out. Not to mention the last-minute rejection of a teaching position you thought was in the bag…

Anyway, you were better off leaving North Carolina behind and returning to Austin. You missed your dad something fierce and his particular brand of caring for you was exactly what your weary soul needed. It was you and him against the world, just like when you were a kid.

You flight was smooth and uneventful, yet you were relieved to deboard the plane. Something about being stuck in a tin can at the mercy of someone else’s ability to keep the thing from plummeting to the ground really aggravated your anxiety. Flying was something you would never enjoy; it was merely a means to an end when you wanted to travel long distances.

The journey to baggage claim was a slog with the crowd of passengers all heading to the same place. You were wondering how you’d wrangle three large suitcases by yourself when you caught sight of your dad. His broad smile took over his face when he spotted you, rushing over to sweep you up in a big bear hug.

“Hey Spud, how was the flight?” he asked as you waited for the baggage carousel to begin moving. “Looks like it was a full plane.”

“It was, but the flight was good. I’m really glad to be home.”

“Me, too, kid.”

You settled into a comfortable silence, watching various pieces of luggage pass by on the carousel. Your bags were scattered, and you had to wait several cycles to get all of them. Your dad lugged the final suitcase over the carousel with a grunt. “Jesus, what you got in this one? Bricks? A body?”

“That one has my gaming system and half a closet full of clothes,” you replied with a laugh.

Before long, everything was loaded into your dad’s truck, and you were heading back towards town. The radio hummed at a low volume as you both chatted about everything and nothing all at once.

“Hey, so I know you said you weren’t looking for full-time work until after the new year, but I have a proposition for you.” Your dad’s eyes stayed focused on the road, and you merely quirked a brow waiting for him to continue. “My buddy Joel – you know the one I told you about? Well, his daughter is ten and he needs some help with the school run and after school care. Our work hours aren’t exactly the same as elementary school, you know?”

You nodded, remembering all the times your dad spoke to you about Joel, as well as his daughter and brother. Despite never meeting them, you felt like you already knew their whole life story. “So, he’s looking for a nanny or something? I could do that. It would keep me from getting lazy while I navigate getting my Texas teaching certificate.”

Your dad grinned, one hand patting your leg. “I was hoping you’d say that. Joel will pay you, of course, but just… don’t expect much. It ain’t easy for him being a single dad trying to keep everything afloat.”

Again, you nodded, a soft smile creasing your lips. You knew all too well how challenging it could be for single parents, having grown up with just you and your dad. Much like what your dad told you about Joel’s experience with the mother of his child, your mom split when you were barely a toddler. Things weren’t always sunshine and roses, but your dad sure did his best to make sure you had a great life. Honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, that life with your dad. You had a feeling it was much the same for Joel and his daughter.

“I’m happy to help, even if he doesn’t pay me. I’m sure his daughter will enjoy having a female influence in her life if nothing else. What’s her name again? Sarah?”

Your dad’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Yup, that’s it. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, Spud.”

A mist of tears prickled your eyes as you mumbled out a “Thanks, dad.” After a beat, you added, “Must you keep up with that nickname?”

“Of course. You’ll always be my little Spud,” he laughed as you rolled your eyes. “Oh, by the way, we’re going to the Millers on Saturday for your welcome home party.”

“What’s all this?” Joel questioned as Tommy and Sarah placed a heavy, wrapped package on the table before him along with a few smaller presents. The remains of a birthday cake sat nearby, having been delightfully devoured by the Millers while celebrating Joel’s birthday.

“Just a little somethin’ from me and Sarah,” Tommy replied, a boyish grin alighting his handsome features.

Joel gazed between them with curiosity. Not big on celebrating his own aging, he rarely got big gifts. “You wanna help me open this, nugget?” Sarah’s eyes lit up, small hands reaching to tear the wrapping paper into shreds. It only took a few moments for the contents to be revealed, leaving Joel confused at the modern contraption sitting in front of him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You play video games on it, dumbass.” Tommy harumphed as he began a diatribe on the features of the gaming system – he had one just like it at his place and it provided hours of entertainment when he didn’t feel like going out. “I figured it would be a good hobby for you since you never want to join me in going out.”

“Huh,” Joel grunted in return, brows furrowed as he read the instructions on how to setup up the machine. His attention was diverted by Sarah shoving the smaller parcels into his lap.

“Here, dad! These go with it.” Together, they tore into the wrapping paper to find several video games, a few of which were family friendly. The final gift was a spare controller for the gaming system so he and Sarah could play together.

Despite still being unsure that the gift was a good fit for him, Joel was grateful to Tommy for the effort. “This is too much, man. You shouldn’t spend this kind of money on me, Tommy.”

His brother waved him off. “I found a great deal and you never get anything for yourself, brother. You deserve something to indulge in. Believe me, you’ll have fun with this.”

The rest of the evening was spent with Tommy setting up the system and showing the father-daughter duo how to play some of the games he picked out. The living room filled with lots of laughter and teasing, and Joel found himself really getting into the fun of the video games.

After tucking Sarah into bed, Tommy showed Joel a game that was too violent for the little girl but entertaining for the men. The game was set in Washington DC which had been ravaged by a brutal pandemic and the main character was part of a group of agents fighting off nefarious gangs trying to take over the city. Joel caught onto the gameplay quickly and the two men found themselves building the loadout for Joel’s character, taking out bad guys, and chatting well into the night.

At two in the morning, the pair looked at each other with bleary, red-rimmed eyes and finally called it a night. Joel directed Tommy to crash in the spare room as he shuffled off to bed upstairs.

It didn’t take you long to get settled into your dad’s house. It wasn’t the home you grew up in and you only visited a few times after he bought it. After years living away on your own, you thought it would be an adjustment being under his roof again, but it wasn’t. He understood the need for personal space and never hovered unless you were hurt or sick. He gave you the downstairs bedroom – it was the largest in the house, with an ensuite bath and huge walk-in closet.

“Dad, no! Why in the world is this not your room?” you questioned when he placed your bags on the brand-new, king size bed he had delivered the week prior.

“Hell no, Spud. What do I need all this space for? I like the upstairs rooms better – the light is all wrong in this one anyway.”

You looked around, holding in a giggle. The room faced south, giving you just the right amount of natural light all day. That’s what your dad didn’t like. He preferred to live like a bat in a cave with blackout curtains and limited lighting.

“Alright, well, I love it. The natural light is perfect for me. I can actually put some plants on the windowsills. Thank you!” You kissed his cheek as he left you to get settled.

You spent the week rearranging the bedroom how you wanted it, setting up your gaming system, and putting all your clothes into the walk-in closet. Your dad hadn’t done much with the room other than furnish it, so you made a few trips to the store to get a bathroom set, floor lamps, and wall décor to make the room your own.

Before you knew it, Saturday morning dawned bright and warm. The day of your welcome home gathering arrived, and you would finally get to meet the Millers. An excited energy had you moving about your space in a flurry, tidying up and getting ready early. You’d seen some photos of the Millers that your dad sent you – Sarah was adorable with her dark, springy curls, and Joel… Joel was handsome, in a broody, overworked kind of way, with dark, riotous curls and big, warm chocolate eyes. Kind eyes, you called them.

“Hey Spud, you ready?” your dad called from the kitchen as you put the finishing touches on your hair. It was pinned up, leaving the smooth skin of your neck bare. The sundress you picked hugged your curves in just the right way, falling just at your knees in a flow of lightweight material. In early October, Austin was still hot, and you hoped the Millers’ yard was shaded.

“Bring a swimsuit! They have a pool!” he yelled as you grabbed the last of your things. Turning back to your closet, you grabbed a dark green one-piece suitable for family-friendly swimming and tucked it into your bag.

“I’m ready!”

Your dad smiled at the sight of you. “Let’s go then. We’re heading over early so you can officially meet the Millers and we’ll help them setup before everyone else arrives.”

“Sounds good. Who all’s coming anyway?” Your eyes widened as your dad rattled off a list of people he invited, including his work buddies and some of his and Joel’s neighbors. He would have invited some of your old friends from high school, but you all lost touch over the years. The party was turning out bigger than you thought. Your heart swelled with how happy your dad was to have you home for good.

The Millers lived in the same neighborhood, only a few blocks away, so close you could have walked if not for the scorching sun. The drive took only a few minutes before your dad pulled into the driveway of a two-story home similar to your dad’s, with simple landscaping and two wooden rocking chairs on the wide porch. Lovely and quaint, the house made you more curious about the people who lived there.

“Dayum! Get a load a JB’s daughter, Joel,” Tommy called from the living room, leaning over the couch to look out the front window. “She’s smokin’ hot!”

“Dammit, Tommy. Stop spying on ‘em,” Joel growled, sneaking a peek over his brother’s shoulder to do a little hypocritical spying of his own. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of you and he couldn’t break his gaze away, even as JB led you toward the front door.

“What was that about spyin’, brother?” Tommy teased, practically dragging Joel away from the window as a knock sounded against the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

Tommy opened the heavy wooden door revealing the pair of you standing there, matching bright eyes and wide grins greeting him. “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Tommy.” Reaching a hand toward you, Tommy completely ignored JB, who just scowled at him.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” you replied, offering him your hand and name in return. Joel’s scowl matched your dad’s expression as Tommy held your hand for several beats too long.

“Back off, Tommy,” your dad grunted, swatting at the younger Miller brother. “This here is Tommy’s brother, Joel. The one who actually owns this house and the better Miller, if you ask me.”

“Ain’t no one askin’ you, old man,” Tommy’s smart mouth shot back at your dad.

Joel ignored both men, eyes like dark pools as he gazed at you, awed at how small and delicate your hand felt in his. “Howdy, darlin’,” his voice rumbled from his chest. “Come on in. There’s someone else lookin’ forward to meeting you.”

Leading the way through the kitchen into the backyard, Joel felt the heat of your gaze burning his back. Were you checking him out? There was no way. You were beautiful and likely in your early twenties. He felt ancient, though he was only in his early thirties, the hard labor of construction work having taken its toll on him.

“Hi Dad!” a young, sweet voice called from a small swing set where a precious little girl entertained herself. “Who’s this?”

Joel introduced you to his daughter, leaving the two of you to get acquainted as your dad called him away.

“You were away at college?” Sarah questioned, motioning for you to take a seat on the swing next to hers.

“I was,” you replied. “But I’m back for good now.”

“That’s good. What grade did you get to? I’m in fourth grade.”

You thought about it a moment. “I guess it would be 18th grade. But you stop counting grade numbers after 12th and start using different words to describe what year you’re in during college.”

Sarah listened raptly while you explained the different terms, what you studied in school, and what kind of job you were hoping to get.

“You want to be a teacher?” she asked, awed.

“I do! I want to teach middle grade science.”

“I love science! Maybe you could be my teacher when I get to sixth grade!”

Joel returned with your dad and Tommy in tow to find you and Sarah having a blast. The little girl sat in your lap as you kicked your feet out, swinging as high as you could, singing some camp song you remembered from your youth.

“See? Told ya she’d love to spend time with Sarah,” your dad said to Joel. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, staring at the two of you with a glazed look in his dark eyes.

Shaking himself off, Joel turned to your dad. “Guess I better work out some details with her.” He stepped over to the swing set, taking a seat on the empty swing and hoping to the heavens above that it held his weight. He struggled internally on how to start the conversation and was just about to blurt something out when his amazing daughter saved the day.

“Dad! She wants to be a teacher! A science teacher! Isn’t that cool? Did you ask her about watching me yet? I think she’d love to.” Sarah rambled on excitedly, amusing you and Joel. Turning to you before Joel could chime in, Sarah turned to you with baby cow eyes, adding, “You would love to, right?”

How could you ever resist that look? No one could. Both you and Joel were powerless as you nodded, and the offer became official. Cell numbers were exchanged and before you knew it, you had a job starting Monday.

Hours later, slightly drunk on spiked fruit punch and buzzing with energy, you thanked Joel for hosting the barbecue and giving you a job. You kissed his stubbled cheek, forcing thoughts of how attractive he was as far down as they could go. You could not develop a crush on your boss. “I’ll see you Monday morning, bright and early!” you declared before following your dad through the front door.

TBC

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel x female reader #the last of us #tlou #dbf!joel #Fall Into Me #pedro pascal #eventual smut #eventual romance

[phoward89]

Banner by me, dividers by @saradika-graphics

Based on this ask

Love Is A Losing Game

The avox stood against the wall, waiting for you to beckon, while you sat in your sunroom with your longtime best friend, Livia. You were at a small table drinking tea and listening to her complain about her toddler, Plutarch.

“Ugh. I swear, I can't even go to the powder room without him following me.” Reaching for a biscuit, your dirty blonde friend sighed, “I told Hilarious that we need to hire a nanny, but he said no.”

She took a small bite of her biscuit as you sipped on your tea. You didn't know why she was so upset about her toddler wanting to spend time with her. And you told her so too.

“You just don't understand how demanding motherhood is, Y/N. Just you wait and see.” Pointing to your round belly, Livia factually remarked, “In a few more months when you pop out Coriolanus’ little brat you'll be singing a different tune.”

“Don't call Cassian Xandros a little brat.” You snippily ordered your friend, causing her to just roll her eyes at you. Setting down your teacup, you decided to change the subject to something that you needed to get off your chest; something that's been eating away at your mind. “I think Coryo's having an affair.”

“He's only been president for a few months, Y/N. If word got out, well, it'd be scandalous and I'm sure his political career would be dead in the water.” Livia told you while nibbling on her lemon butter biscuit. “Do you know with whom?”

“No, but I know he has to be having an affair, Livia. I mean he comes and goes at all hours and half the time he's not even coming to bed; we haven't slept together in a while too.”

“Oh no, now that is a problem.” The dirty blonde socialite sighed. “I bet it's Clemensia Dovecote that he's cheating with. You don't know, since you were a couple grades below us at the Academy, but they were always walking into the school linked arm in arm. Even though they denied it, they looked like a couple back then.” Livia bluntly informed you, picking up her teacup and sipping it.

“Really? I didn't know that.” You honestly told your friend. Reaching for your own teacup, you revealed the name of the person you thought your husband had a thing for back in his Academy days. “Coryo was always with Sejanus back then; I always got the vibe that they were a little bit more than just friends.”

“Oh I hope not. He was district.” Livia spat out; the thought of the president having a past love affair with a district person making her skin crawl.

If only she knew about what went down between him and Lucy Gray. Oh, she'd shit her pants if she knew about that.

You know, of course, since he told you about it after a year of dating. When you had to all but pull his teeth to get him to reveal why he refused to tell you that he loved you; show you anything other than lust and his OCD tendencies.

It didn't bother you.

Correction, him having Lucy Gray as his ex and his failed first love didn't bother you, but the number that she did on him- now that’s what bothered you.

She fucked his head up pretty bad; took you a long time to unfuck it up too. To get him to be able to confess his love to you.

But somewhere deep inside of your soul, you always feared that Coryo was just telling you what you wanted to hear. That he didn't truly love you; that he could turn to somebody else once he got bored of you.

“Yea…but they were close friends. Like brothers” You reminded Livia. “And his death hit Coriolanus hard.”

That was an understatement. Your husband still had nightmares about his fellow comrade’s death. It happened a decade ago, but he was still haunted some nights by nightmares. Those nights you usually had to ride his cock to calm him down so he’d be able to go back to sleep.

He never talked about the nightmares, other than the one time he told you that it was about Sejanus’ death. You never pried, knowing that the Plinth boy's execution was a taboo topic for Coriolanus.

The socialite rolled her eyes, only to suggest, “If you think he's having an affair then you should wait up for him tonight and confront him.” Giving you a look from over her teacup, she added in, “It's what I would do.”

Coriolanus was exhausted. No, wait, take that back- he was FUCKING exhausted.

Between trying to clean up the fucking mess that older then dirt President Ravenstill left for him and trying to ensure a smooth transition of head gamemaker duties to his successor (a recent University grad that sadly didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground), he was stretched too thin.

Burning the candle at both ends as one might say.

He was barely sleeping; worse he was barely able to spend anytime with you.

You were 6 months pregnant with his first child.

A son.

He felt guilty for being in his office on the opposite side of the presidential palace or at the Citadel, but he didn't have a choice. The games along with trying to keep the country afloat was his top priority.

As much as he wanted to spend his late afternoons and evenings with you, he couldn't. And he wanted nothing more than to fuck you dumb on his dick every night too, but sadly he was just too tired anymore for that either.

When the new Head Gamemaker calls up in the middle of the night frantically asking what to do if an intern falls into a mutt tank…well…yea…that's when Coriolanus knows he has to do two jobs instead of just one.

He's stuck puppeteering the new head gamemaker *cough* telling him step by step how to do is damn job since he fucking fudged his job application and has shit for brains *cough* and running a country that's national bank account’s lower than it should be *cough* looks like President Ravenstill and his cabinet were embezzling funds or something cause the numbers aren't adding up *cough*.

“Yes, well, if you need any more assistance on this matter don't hesitate to call.” Coriolanuse tightly told the Head Gamemaker. The man was grating on his nerves. Before the unqualified idiot could utter a word, the president said goodbye and hung up.

Hung up with a firm, loud, clunk since he was so tired and aggravated.

Unfortunately, the president was always tired anymore. He was even too tired to fuck you these days, which was truly depressing for him since your Coryo felt you were even more beautiful now that your belly's round with his child.

Coriolanus felt that your pregnancy makes you look radiant. Your skin had a glow to it, he felt you look ethereal.

Your tits were full from the milk your body was making in order to feed your son once he was born; he loves your milk heavy boobs. Coriolanus Snow’s a tits and ass man; so your boobs going up by 2 sizes was heaven for him. The president enjoys sucking and massaging them in his large, calloused hands while you ride his cock. Burying his face in them, peppering kisses in your cleavage.

Something his exhaustion has been keeping him from doing.

Also, your ever growing belly (full of the precious life you created during a very passionate and lustful night 6 months prior) made his chest swell with a burning pride. Coriolanus loves kissing your stretch marks and running his hands all over your belly.

He also enjoys whispering to your belly, telling your growing son all kinds of father-son secrets.

But he’s been too tired and tied up with his never ending work to do that ritual.

Half the time he was passing out on the sofa in his office before he could even make it to your room; the other half of the time he was sliding into bed in the wee hours while you were in a deep sleep.

He hated it.

But he has to endure it because he refuses to have the games flop during his first year as President of Panem.

When Coryo dragged his feet into your large, ornate bedroom he wasn't expecting you to be up, waiting for him. He assumed you'd be asleep, like every other night.

“It's nearly 2 in the morning, Y/N. Why aren't you sleeping? You know you need proper sleep in your condition, my darling rose.” Your husband lectured you, tiredly fumbling to untie his tie.

You decided to do what LIvia suggested. Wait for your husband and confront him. So, when he shuffles into your room, a sight for sore eyes, with the nerve to lecture you about being up, you lost it.

Your eyes narrowed at the president as you snipped out, “Coriolanus, I know you're cheating on me. Who is she? Is it Clemensia Dovecote or somebody else?”

Pulling his tie off and tossing it to the side, he looked at you as if you had lobsters crawling out of your head. You’re accusing him of having an affair. Seriously?

“With how I’m spread too thin, darling, where would I ever find the time for an affair?” Coriolanus chuckled.

He thought this was funny, oh how dare he!

“This isn't funny, Coriolanus! You're coming and going at all hours; we never sleep together anymore. Who is she?!” You yelled at the top of your lungs, watching your husband unbutton his waistcoat and take it off.

The platinum blonde’s long fingers numbly unbuttoned his shirt. His tone was flat and tired as he gave you the blunt answer of, “The she that's taking all of my attention off of you, my love, is the shaky finances of Panem and the Hunger Games.”

All of the air was knocked out of your lungs upon hearing your husband's words. All you could do was blink. “What?” you whispered in disbelief.

Coryo's shirt hit the floor, in the pile his red waistcoat and tie was in. Toeing out of his shoes, he sighed, “Being president and passing the baton for the games to an under qualified head gamemaker, unfortunately, has taken up all my time.” Unbuckling his belt and pulling down his deep crimson pants, he offered up a sincere apology of, “I’m sorry, my darling rose, that my neglect made you think, even for a moment, that I’m being unfaithful to you.” His pants pooled around his long, pale legs, and he gracefully stepped out of them. “Y/N, I truly did not mean for you to feel such a way, my love.”

Watching your husband pull off his socks and toss them to the side, you cried tears of joy. “I forgive you; I'm just happy that it's work taking up your attention and not some whore.”

Coriolanus tiredly made his way over to the king-sized bed you shared and climbed into it. Pulling you into his arms, he let out a puzzled scoff of, “Clemmie? Really, of all people to accuse me of having an affair with it's her?”

“I didn't accuse you of cheating with her; that was actually Livia this afternoon when I told her that I suspected you of having an affair.” You informed your husband as he pulled the blankets over the both of you.

“You told that bitch you thought I was cheating on you?!” Coryo exclaimed, his nostrils flaring; baby blues wide in utter horror.

“Don't call Livia a bitch, Coriolanus.” You reprimanded your husband, only to remind him that, “She's my best friend.”

“I don't know how you're best friends with that shrew, darling.” Coriolanus mumbled mostly to himself, even though you heard him. His large, calloused hand rubbed your ever growing baby bump softly. “Telling Livia your ill founded fears was a mistake. She'll just tell that political reject husband of her’s; he'll be calling up Capitol News 6 with a juicy insider story about the unfaithful president.” Coryo’s tongue popped angrily. “My fake affair’s going to be the the main news headliner tomorrow morning, my darling rose.”

“No, it won't, Coryo.” You assured your husband since you had too much faith in your best friend.

Your husband on the other hand didn't have faith in Livia Cardew-Heavensbee, at all. No, he didn't trust her after the temper tantrum she through when her mother informed her that he was courting you, General Prometheus Byzantine’s step-daughter, and had refused to meet with the Cardews regarding a money match.

Coriolanus never told you about that because he didn't want to taint your friendship with the dirty blonde shrew, who only married Hilarious because she couldn't have him: the adoptive heir to the Plinths fortune.

But now maybe it was time to tell you. Maybe it was time to taint and ruin a girlhood friendship of yours.

Only to ensure that you wouldn't trust anyone that didn't carry the Snow name.

Yes, the only people you could trust were him and Tigris. He was even leery about Tigris’ new lover, Aleka. Eh, but that was because his spies haven't been able to dig up enough information on them for the president to decide whether or not they were trustworthy.

But, he's sure that after he tells you the truth about Livia that you'll be rethinking that friendship.

And when (not if) that article hits the news as the big headliner, he'll make sure to invite Hilarious over for drinks.

Drinks that only one of them will enjoy.

Snow lands on top and he'll make sure that anybody who slanders his good name or makes you believe he's an unfaithful man, when he's actually the most devoted and faithful husband in all of Panem, chokes on their own blood.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen , @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya, @mfnqueen1

#answered asks #coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #tbosas fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus snow imagine #coryo snow x reader #coryo x reader #coryo x you #coryo snow fanfiction #suspected cheating #president snow #president!Coriolanus Snow

[yelena-bellova]

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter One

Chapter One: Reunited

Plot: People who once loved each other didn’t end up in a bloodstained hall, guns pointed at one another.

But Joel and Y/n weren’t people.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: tlou ep.1 spoilers, language, canon-typical violence, blood, guns

A/N: For a fandom I had no intention of writing for, I’m writing a lot loo. I’m half considering turning this into a series, depending on what y’all think, so don’t be shy…UPDATE: we’re a series now! See more on my masterlist ☺️

————————

Joel exhaled as he and Tess crept through the guts of the building. The things he was going to do to Robert…screwing them over with the battery and beating on Tess. Joel would make sure the punishment was slow and agonizing.

It was an understatement of gargantuan proportion to say that Joel Miller was a different man than he’d been twenty years ago. He’d always been quiet, reserving his words only for the people he truly cared to have hear them. He was rough around the edges then too, but his edges hadn’t been razor sharp. More like a dull pencil. Prickly, but it couldn’t draw blood.

But his heart? That had been the most severe of the changes. He’d held his heart in his arms and watched it, felt it, die. He had no use for the organ anymore. There was nothing worth feeling, let alone loving, in the world that refused to let him die too.

Joel and Tess moved out of the frame of the building, guns pointed. Joel was the first to spot the dead bodies, but Tess was the one who found the battery. And Robert. There was a part of Joel that was angry he didn’t get to take the fucker out himself.

Pained grunts and groans drew their attention, the pair moved down the hall carefully. Joel went ahead with his gun drawn, his nerves used to fry upon walking into a fight. He might have missed that innocence if he allowed himself to look back.

As he turned the corner of the hall, he connected the voices to the bodies in front of him, one helping the other one up. They were injured, but that didn’t mean they weren’t infected or the attackers themselves. Joel kept his gun raised, slowly approaching until-

A small, but powerful, scream sounded off, a little body charging out of the nearest room and heading straight for Joel. He used her momentum to slam her into the wall, switching the aim of his gun to the girl at his feet.

The two who were injured turned around, pointing their weapons at Joel as soon as they saw the position he’d put the girl in.

“Fuck,” the girl panted.

“Joel?”

Joel focused on the woman’s face, “Marlene?”

Marlene looked to the girl, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she responded, eyes still on the man with the gun pointed at her. She reached for her knife, the one currently under his boot.

“Ellie,” Marlene warned, “Ellie!”

Ellie listened, her mind going to scarier places than what was in front of her. “Where’s Y/n?”

Joel’s eyes flicked to Ellie, a quick shot of adrenaline running through his chest. “What’d you say?”

The words couldn’t have left his lips and had more perfect timing. Down the hall, a female voice called, “Ellie! Ellie!”

And then she was there.

Never before in twenty years had Joel been so easily transported back to the past as he had in that moment. Seeing her face for the first time in two decades took away all the pain in his knees, exchanged his salt and pepper hair for deep chocolate brown, and threw on five pounds of weight given by eating enough food. He was 35 again, staring into the eyes of the woman he had once loved.

Who looked back at him with nothing but hatred.

“Oh, honey,” she bit out, “Thank goodness you’re home.”

Y/n’s eyes looked past the man she’d been spending twenty years trying to erase from her mind and down to where his gun was pointed. She immediately raised hers, aiming it at his head.

“You drop the gun now,” she warned.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Joel asked, dumbfounded for the first time in a long time.

“Sight seeing,” Y/n replied sarcastically, “Drop the fucking gun, or I swear, I’ll do the world a favor.”

“Y/n,” Marlene said with so much force, it made Ellie sit up straighter, “Now is not the time.”

More consumed by her duty to Ellie than her fury with Joel, she lowered her gun and looked to the girl. “Are you okay?”

Ellie nodded, concern all over her face, “You’re hurt.”

Y/n looked down at her exposed arm, the first few layers of skin painted with blood that was beginning to dry. “Just a graze,” she assured her.

Tess finally announced her presence, “So this is who Robert screws us over with? The Che Guevara of Boston? I mean, war must be going pretty shitty to be buying from scumbags like him.”

“Yeah, it kind of has been,” Marlene exhaustedly replied, “The merch was bad and he obviously didn’t take “fuck off” for an answer.”

Joel and Y/n barely heard any of the conversation that was going on around them. Their eyes were locked in a stare that neither one of them could have broken if they’d tried.

“Give me my knife,” Ellie demanded of Joel.

That snapped him back to reality, “What do you need a car battery for?”

As Ellie reached for the knife, Joel pivoted his torso to point the gun right back at her. “Don’t.”

Y/n and Marlene moved just as fast, aiming their weapons at Joel once more. “Not at her,” Marlene warned, “Point it at me.”

Ellie trembled, her hands raised in0 surrender as Joel hesitated to move his position. That infuriated Y/n to the point that she took a step forward, Joel’s instincts took over and he turned the gun on her.

It was the last place either of them had ever thought they’d be.

“And to answer your question,” Marlene continued, having lowered her own gun, “I need it for a better reason than you do. No offense, but Tommy’s just one man.”

Y/n watched Joel’s face change, the worry lines in his face became even more prominent. Had something happened to Tommy?

“It’s our business to know things,” Marlene explained, though it didn’t explain why she hadn’t felt the need to tell Y/n. As if Tommy was just another survivor…

“‘To know things,’” Joel repeated, the venom practically dripping from his lips, “You’re the cause of it. You turned my own brother against me.”

“Okay, Joel…”

“That was a lot of gunfire,” Kim finally spoke up, “FEDRA’s gonna be on the way.”

Marlene sighed, “I know.”

Ellie rubbed at the shoulder that had slammed into the drywall, her eyes darting up to Y/n as if to ask if they were okay. Y/n removed her glare off of Joel for a few seconds to soften and give Ellie a nod. They would both make it out of this moment.

“We were gonna move Ellie out of the zone tonight,” Marlene stated, “But we won’t make it anywhere like this. Not for a while anyway. So now I’m thinkin’…” she paused, “You’re gonna do it.”

“The hell we are!” Joel exclaimed.

“I’m not goin’ with them,” Ellie said at the same time.

Y/n bitterly chuckled, “No way am I letting you make that call.”

Kim volunteered, “Let me take her.”

“Tess,” Joel turned to his partner, “We don’t have time for this.”

“Oh, you don’t have time?” Marlene sarcastically asked.

“Who is she?” Tess asked.

“To you, she’s cargo,” Marlene replied.

“We don’t smuggle people,” Joel firmly stated, his eyes flicking to Y/n, “Sorry.”

“I can do it,” Kim insisted.

“Kim, you don’t have a fucking ear on your fucking head,” Marlene gritted out, “Could you please?”

“I’ll take her,” Y/n raised her voice, “That was the plan anyway.”

“No, the plan was for us to do it,” Marlene replied, “You can’t do it on your own.”

Y/n was losing patience with the Fireflies leader, “And why the fuck not?”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Marlene snapped, “You’re not ready.”

If they’d have been in any other situation, Y/n would have let the comment hurt.

“I’m not leaving without Y/n,” Ellie stated, drawing all the attention of the room to her, “She takes me.”

Joel’s eyes went back to Y/n, his mind flashing to every possibility of why the girl was so attached. Was she her daughter?

Marlene sighed, looking to Y/n, “You go with them.”

Y/n was ready to punch, scream, gnash and kick her way out of the situation. She wanted nothing to do with Joel Miller or anyone who worked with him, hadn’t for twenty years. But her loyalty to Ellie, and Ellie’s earned trust, in turn, could force her to do a lot.

Joel’s head was spinning enough just from being in the same room as her again. Now they were working together? He didn’t want that any more than he suspected she did.

In the uncomfortable silence, it was decided.

“There’s a team of Fireflies waiting for her at the old State House.”

Joel scoffed, Y/n internally grimaced.

“I know what’s out there,” Marlene addressed both of their reactions, “We were going with an entire squadron for that very reason. But now, I don’t have a truck, I don’t have a squadron. FEDRA’s five minutes away. What I do have is you. And I know what you’re both capable of. For better of worse.”

Y/n kept repeating the mantra in her head, Ellie comes first, Ellie comes first…Before anything else. Her purpose in life was to ensure the girl’s safety, and she’d continue fulfilling it until her last breath.

“What are they capable of?” Ellie asked, innocently.

Joel was capable of reaching into someone’s chest, ripping out their soul, their heart, their reason to live, and discarding it like trash in the street. That much, Y/n knew for sure.

“You get her there safely, and they’ll give you what you need,” Marlene sweetened the deal a little, “Not just a battery, the whole thing. Fueled up truck, guns, supplies, all of it. I swear.”

Joel’s face hardened, he either didn’t believe her or didn’t care. It unsettled Y/n and made her keep the pistol aimed directly at his head.

Marlene insisted, “I swear.”

Joel glanced back to Tess, who nodded for him to come have a private discussion. She wasn’t the difficult one to read. He turned back to Y/n, his gun still pointed at her shoulder. He’d once known what the slightest change in her expression meant, now it felt like looking at a blank canvas. He had nothing to go off of from the look in her eye other than the fact that there was one.

Before Joel went to Tess, he slid Ellie’s knife away with him. “Asshole,” she exclaimed. It was the first almost-smile Y/n had cracked all day.

When Joel and Tess began to converse, Marlene came and stood at Y/n’s side.

“Look, I don’t know the details of what happened with you two and quite frankly, I don’t give a shit. But she,” Marlene pointed her gun downwards while she gestured to Ellie, “She needs you. You’re the only one that she’s opened up the slightest bit to. Don’t throw away that girl’s trust just because you two are fucked up.”

Ellie’s eyes were already on Y/n when she looked over. She was concerned, scared, angry, and way too young for any of this. Now wasn’t the time to get sensitive about a broken heart and especially over Joel Miller.

“Y’all talk it through, but please remember,” Marlene said to Joel and Tess impatiently, “That I’m bleeding out.”

Joel looked over Tess’ shoulder at Y/n, the two of them stared each other down. Y/n slowly lowered her gun but her eyes retained their fire. Joel didn’t feel the need to soften his glare either. Shock had passed and reality had sunk in, they were about to reenter each other’s lives.

“Okay,” Tess stepped forward, taking the role of grown-up from both of them, “Here’s the deal. We’ll get her to your crew at the State House. But before we hand her over, they give us everything that we want. If not, we kill here then and there.”

“That’ll be hard to do with my hands wrapped around your throat,” Y/n said, her voice like sweet steel.

“Y/n,” Marlene ground out, “Deal.”

“Really?” Ellie almost laughed, “That fast?”

“You are all that matters,” Marlene’s voice lowered, “My team will not jeopardize that. Remember what I told you? Now, go get your backpack.”

Ellie didn’t move, instead she looked up at Y/n. Agreeing with Marlene, she gestured to the room they’d been keeping her in and Ellie obeyed.

The first steps in anything were always the hardest to take. Fear had to be overcome and bravery needed to take the wheel. Y/n had fought for her survival relentlessly for twenty years, she’d seen the worst humanity had to offer and still found it in her to sleep at night. There was very little she was afraid of. But the idea of walking alongside Joel again sent a cold strand of fear through her spine. He was the scariest thing she could face.

Ellie came out of her room with two backpacks, handing the second one to Y/n. Maybe she was afraid, but faking courage for Ellie made it easier to leave Marlene and Kim’s side. Tess led Ellie off, leaving just Joel and Y/n in the hall. Y/n didn’t hesitate to bump her shoulder against his, pausing upon impact.

“You even think about hurting that girl,” she lowered her voice till it was sharp like a dagger, “I’ll break your legs.”

Joel’s smirk acted as a barrier between him and his true emotions. ”I’d like to see you try,” he rasped.

“Hey,” Marlene interrupted them, “Don’t fuck this up.”

The two ex-lovers looked back to one another, their final glare setting the stage for what was to be a horrendous journey. All was fair in love and war, but there was nothing fair about what had become of them…

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #twenty years later

[lumosandnoxwriting]

look at you || Fred Weasley

Title: Look at you Pairing: Fred x Reader Summary: distance really does make the heart grow fonder. Warnings: NSFW - minors DNI! This contains, vaginal sex, female receiving oral, breeding kink, mentions of cum marking, dirty talk, praise, mentions of sex toys/sexting and pregnant sex.  A/N: hockey!fred could hit me with his car and I would say thank you. Anyway as always this is dedicated to @darthwheezely b/c she always encourages my shenanigans. 

The away games are always the hardest. 

Fred is usually gone for a week, and between traveling, playing multiple games and the time differences they mainly communicate via text and maybe a phone call if they’re lucky. At first the lack of communication bothered Y/N. They moved across the country after Fred got drafted and it felt isolating to have the only person she knew in Washington unavailable most of the time. But now that Fred’s in the fourth year of his contract Y/N is a pro at handling the distance. Her and a bunch of the other WAGS always get together to watch the games at someone’s house, and usually do dinner or brunch on some of the days the guys are gone. And now that she’s working and more involved in the area she’s got plenty of friends and activities to keep her busy while Fred is away. 

She figured this season would be just like the others, that it would suck while Fred is gone but she’d just keep busy until he was back home in their bed. 

Until those two little pink lines stared up at her from the bathroom counter the night before training camp started. She wasn’t totally surprised at the result, considering her and Fred had been together for a decade, married for half of that and regularly relying on the pullout method as their main form of contraception. And of course they’d talked about having kids, but their general consensus had been that they would start trying once the season was underway, hoping to time it just right that their baby would be born at the beginning of the off season, so they could spend the first few months as a complete family unit before hockey took over Fred’s life again. 

But of course life decided to say fuck their plans, and now Y/N is due to give birth just before playoffs begin in April. 

Y/N had thought that having Fred gone during her first trimester would be the worst part of it, having to deal with morning sickness and those first few doctors appointments by herself. But the nausea and vomiting left her feeling so gross she was glad Fred didn’t have to see her like that, and they were able to work with her doctor so that Fred didn’t miss a single appointment. 

It’s now, with Y/N into her second trimester that Fred’s absence seems to be hitting her the hardest. Her bump has finally popped, and she can barely keep her hands from stroking over the smooth skin at all hours of the day. The baby has started to move around too, starting off as gently flutters she assumed was gas that have now grown into distinctive pushes against her belly. Not to mention the nausea and vomiting that plagued her first few months of pregnancy have faded away, and Y/N finally understands what people say when they talk about pregnancy glow. Her skin is the clearest and softest it’s ever been, and her hair and nails look amazing thanks to her prenatal vitamins. 

And just as she passed the five month mark her newest, and most annoying to deal with on her own, pregnancy symptom started. 

She’s unbelievably horny every hour of the day. 

Her newly filed out breasts constantly ache, and some days her nipples are so sensitive just the material of her bra sends a shiver down her spine. Her pussy is almost constantly slick, her clit throbbing and her cunt aching to be filled. Once the seam of her maternity jeans pulled so deliciously against her as she was driving that she nearly crashed the car as she came from that brush alone. 

Everything seems to turn her on these days, no matter how inconvenient the time or place is. 

Like right now, the guys are on the last leg of their longest away game stretch, the final game of a two and a half week trip, and her cunt is dripping as she watches Fred punch the other team’s center in the jaw. Not only is it inconvenient because she’s sitting on Melaine, the goalie’s girlfriend’s couch, but because Fred isn’t due back home until tomorrow afternoon and she passed out last night before she could put her vibrator back on the charger. And her own fingers will never live up to the memories of how worked up Fred gets after a fight, and how the only thing that seems to calm him down is taking Y/N from behind as he growls in her ear. 

She tries to shift subtly as the ref throws Fred in the sin bin, his mouth still moving wildly as he throws insults at the other team, but when Rachel throws her a look Y/N knows she’s been caught. Rachel is the wife of one of the defensemen, and had been heavily pregnant for most of last year’s season, so Y/N figures she knows exactly how she’s feeling right now. 

“Tomorrow afternoon can’t come soon enough,” Rachel teases, voice low enough so only the two of them can hear. 

Y/N snorts in laughter, nodding in agreement. “You have no idea.”

-

Fred throws a middle finger over his shoulder as he rushes towards his truck, causing his teammates to laugh even harder. The bus had barely stopped before he was up out of his seat and making his way to the front, far too eager to get home to Y/N. Because the texts she’s been sending since he got off the ice last night have had him perpetually hard in his pants and the only thing on his mind is getting home to his wife. 

He drives well over the speed limit on his way home, praying to whatever deity that exists out there he won’t get pulled over, since he’s pretty sure his urgent need to fuck his wife is not a good enough excuse to get out of a ticket. The car is barely in park as Fred throws the door open, hockey bag left behind in his haste to get inside. In a matter of a few seconds he’s barreling through the front door, taking the time to lock it behind him before he heads for the stairs. 

“Baby?” he calls as he climbs, ripping his shirt off as he goes. He pauses to kick his shoes off, just letting them tumble back down as he continues up. 

“Hi,” Y/N greets breathlessly when Fred appears in their doorway. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the way his jeans hang open, his cock clearly fighting against the material of his boxers. 

Fred groans as he takes Y/N in, cock throbbing at the way she kneels on their bed in nothing but his jersey. The curve of her bump is visible even in the oversized garment, and Fred almost can’t believe that this is his life. He makes a living playing the sport he loves and every night he gets to come home to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen who’s beauty has only grown as he watches his child grow inside of her. 

“Fucking hell,” he practically growls as he steps into the room, his complete focus on Y/N. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are, wife? That picture of your pretty pink pussy all wet and begging for my cock has been driving me crazy. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were all alone in our bed, desperate for my cock wearing nothing but my jersey.”

Y/N practically pants as Fred stalks toward her, hands clenched in fists at her sides to try and resist the urge to touch herself. She had to give herself a pep talk before taking the photo she sent, so to see Fred’s reaction to it here in the flesh makes her cunt throb with want. Before falling asleep Y/N had managed to work herself up to a few weak orgasms with her fingers, but those are nothing in comparison to what she knows Fred is about to give her. 

“Sexy?” she asks teasingly. Fred has finally made it to the edge of the bed, and she runs her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, resting her palms against the sides of his neck. “Even with my big old bump in the way?” 

“Especially with your big bump in the way,” Fred practically purrs. He finally gives in to his urge to touch his wife, one hand hooking around her thigh while the other fists the front of her jersey, yanking her closer to him. “Just knowing that you’re full of my baby, that I did that to you is enough to make me cum, something I know you’re well aware of.”

And she knows Fred isn’t lying. He’d always been possessive in the bedroom, and it only intensified when she got pregnant. Once her bump popped Fred was like a man possessed, needing to have one hand on it at all times. He’s finished on her bump more times than Y/N can count, rubbing his cum into her skin so he can claim her fully. 

Instead of responding Y/N lets Fred pull her into a kiss, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his skull as he nibbles on her bottom lip. He claims her mouth with his, crawling up on the bed so he can get even closer. The hand he had on her jersey makes its way up to cup her jaw, angling Y/N’s face so he can kiss her deeper, while the one that was on her thigh starts to travel further up.  

“Fuck,” Fred moans into her mouth as his hand brushes her bare hip. “No panties? Dirty girl.” He lets his hand cup the swell of her stomach, thumb slowly brushing back and forth in a sweet gesture that is the total opposite of the way he kisses his wife. 

“Please,” Y/N pants as Fred’s mouth finally leaves her’s, starting to press kisses into her neck. “Need you to touch me, Freddie, only feels good when it’s you.”

“Well how can I deny my wife when she asks so nicely?” 

Fred kisses the juncture of her throat one last time before pulling away just enough so he can pick her up under her thighs. He positions her back on the bed just how he wants, her back flat against the mattress with her legs spread wide, a hand on each thigh to keep them open for him. 

“You’re fucking cunt,” he groans, his eyes drawn to her slick pussy as he bites his lip. He sinks down on the bed so he’s resting between her thighs, thumb and forefinger spreading her pussy apart to put her clit on display. “This pussy is going to be the death of me.”

Y/N gasps as Fred finally puts his mouth on her, hips nearly lifting off the bed as he sucks her clit between his lips. Her toes curl as his tongue flattens against her, thighs already quivering as Fred’s thumb presses against her entrance. “God, please, Fred.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs to fuck into her with his index finger, curling it to press against the front wall of her cunt, right against the spot that has her moaning his name. His cock twitches as Y/N’s hand tangles in his hair, curling his tongue around her clit as she tugs. 

“Such a good girl,” Fred praises as he presses another finger into her slick cunt, letting his thumb rub small circles into her clit. “I love this pretty pussy so much, wife. Gonna eat it every fucking day of the week.”

He takes her clit back between his lips as he fucks her with his fingers, needing her to cum before he can give her what they both desperately need. His cock aches as Y/N grinds down against his face, the feel of her taking control of her pleasure only turning him on more. Fred’s tongue flicks at her clit as his lips suck, and he can tell by the way her cunt grips his fingers that she’s close. 

“Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my hand so I can have you cumming all over my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Y/N babbles as Fred licks her, fingers tugging him even closer into her as she grinds against him. Waves of pleasure are swirling in her core, electric shocks radiating all down her spine as Fred brings her closer and closer to the edge. He makes her feel like she’s on fire, completely erasing the few weak orgasms she had last night from her memory.

Fred wraps his arm around her thigh to keep Y/N in place as her orgasm takes over, his fingers and mouth still working her through the pleasure. Y/N’s toes curl as pleasure consumes her, thighs quivering as a cry of Fred’s name leaves her lips. Aftershocks of pleasure send shivers down her spine, and Y/N has to use her grip on Fred’s hair to separate his mouth from her cunt as she comes down. 

He doesn’t say anything as he crawls back up the bed, letting Y/N catch her breath before he leans down to kiss her softly. Her legs wrap around his hips, the need for Fred to be close overwhelming her need to get off for a brief moment. 

“Need you inside me,” Y/N murmurs against Fred’s mouth, her legs tightening around him. 

“Needy girl,” Fred teases, nipping at her jaw. But with one final kiss to her lips he pulls back, climbing off the bed so he can rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Who is he to deny the needs of his wife, the woman growing his child? 

Y/N makes a move to pull the jersey she’s wearing up over her head, and Fred grabs her wrist, shaking his head. 

“No, the jersey stays on.”

Fred’s pretty sure he hears her mumble something about him being a possessive idiot, but he doesn’t even care. Settling on the bed, back against the headboard with his cock leaking against his stomach, he beckons Y/N closer. “Come sit on my lap and make yourself cum on my cock, baby.”

Under normal circumstances she’d make some joke about how he’s making her do all the work, but her cunt is already aching again and if she doesn’t get Fred’s cock in the next three minutes she may die. Y/N crawls up the bed, shivering at the look in Fred’s eyes. It’s full of nothing but pure desire, and she can feel her heartbeat pulsing in her clit. At one point she feared that pregnancy may change the way Fred looks at her, and now as she straddles his waist Y/N can’t believe what an idiot she had been. 

One of Fred’s hands lands on her hip, the other on her bump and the contact sends a shiver down her spine. It takes a little bit of finesse with her bump in the way, but as soon as Y/N has Fred’s cock pressed against her cunt she’s sinking down. She’s slick enough from Fred’s mouth and her previous orgasm that she presses down until she’s fully seated in his lap, and her eyes flutter shut from the pleasure coursing through her veins. 

Fred is so thick and full inside her, and Y/N just sits there in his lap, eyes closed and her head tilted back as she appreciates the feel of him inside her. Y/N’s cunt pulses around him, and with how desperate she’s been to feel her husband like this, she already feels embarrassingly close to her climax already. 

“Fuck you are perfect,” Fred groans as her hips start to gently rock. He fixes her jersey so the hem rests on the top of her bump, wanting to see it in all of its glory. With one hand squeezing her thigh, Fred places the other on her stomach to help keep her balance. “So fucking full aren’t you, wife? So full of my cock and my baby, hm? Love being full of me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she responds breathily, leaning back to brace herself against Fred’s thighs. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and a sharp gasp falls from her mouth at the sensation. “Always wanna be full like this.”

“With my baby or my cock?” he teases. 

“Both,” Y/N hits back truthfully.

“Fuck,” Fred growls, unable to keep his hips from thrusting. The moan that comes from Y/N spurs him on, and he continues to match her movements with his own. “Whatever my wife wants my wife gets. Gonna keep you nice and full with my cock and my cum and my babies until we’ve got a whole fucking hockey team, baby. And no one will ever doubt who you, who this fucking pussy, belongs too.”

Her cunt clenches even tighter at his words, encouraging Fred to keep talking. 

“Look at you, my pretty little wife, fucking herself on my cock. Bet you thought about this the whole time I was gone, didn’t you, love?”

“Fuck, yes,” Y/N moans. She’s inching closer and closer to her orgasm with each of her movements, thighs quivering from a mixture of the pleasure swirling in her core and the effort it’s taking to fuck herself on Fred’s cock. 

“Fuck you look so good like this, baby,” Fred praises. “Not gonna be able to take you like this much longer, am I? I swear everytime I look at you, your belly is bigger. It’s not long until you’ll be too big to ride me like this, isn’t that right, love? But that’s okay, because you look so fucking good all full of my baby. Seeing you like this, knowing I did this, makes me feel fucking feral, baby. You’re doing such a great job, growing our baby. Gonna be such a good Mama.”

The combination of Fred’s cock stretching Y/N to her limits and the constant stream of praise coming from Fred pushes Y/N over the edge, and her back arches as she comes. Shocks of pleasure jolt out from her cunt, her clit aching and her toes curling as her orgasm washes over her in waves. 

The feel of Y/N’s walls pulsing around Fred’s cock as she moans his name pushes him to his own climax, his hips just barely pushing up into her as he empties himself into her eager cunt. 

“Taking it so well, baby. Fuck.”

He places a hand on her lower back for support as they both come down, the hand he has on her bump rubbing soothing circles into the skin. When having her in his lap starts to get uncomfortable, Fred carefully lifts her off, maneuvering so he can lay Y/N next to him on the bed without jostling her too much. 

Finally feeling satisfied, Y/N watches Fred move around their room through her barely open eyes, too tired to try and stay awake any longer. She lets him move her around too clean up, a soft whine coming from her lips when he pulls the jersey up and off over her head. But she’s immediately placated when Fred helps her into one of his old t-shirts, and she doesn’t even fight him as he pulls sleep shorts up her legs. 

He disappears into their bathroom then, and Y/N is practically asleep by the time he reemerges and gets into bed beside her. But instead of Fred pulling her into his arms like she expected, her eyes open in surprise as Fred pushes up the hem of her shirt just enough to expose her bump.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs, tone laced with humor. 

“What does it look like?” Fred responds as he pours lotion into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up. He cradles her stomach carefully, slowly starting to massage her skin. “I’m taking care of both of my girls.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #fred weasley imagine #fw #golden

[anonymooseforever007]

I Know Him

(Platonic Alfie Solomons x step daughter reader) (Background Finn Shelby x Reader)

Summery: Alfie Solomons is in for a surprise one morning when his soon to be step daughter greets him with a hug. Which wasn't unusual in itself, but he never expected it to happen at Tommy Shelby's house... or while she was wearing Finn Shelby's clothes....

A/N: Hi Y'all! I don't think there are any TW's for this! I just wanted to write a fluffy and funny idea about Alfie realising his sweetheart's daughter is dating a Shelby and she's just absolutely oblivious to their past. Also as with all of my Finn stories both him and the reader are over 18. Enjoy! ❤️

WC- 4.0k

Main Masterlist

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He was dreaming.

Yes, that had to be it. She couldn't really be here could she? It wasn't really her was it? Smiling to him at seven in the morning at his friendliest enemy's house? In..... is that the little one's shirt?

He had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation to it.

At least that's what Alfie Solomons told himself once he saw his sweetheart's daughter waving at him when he walked in the front hall of Tommy Shelby's house that morning. Not only was she waving, but she was practically jumping up and down in excitement when she saw him, eager to see the man who would be her stepfather one day.... 

"ALFIE!! Is that you!!! Hi!!! What are you doing here?! My mum said you had a trip this week!"

Bouncy Excitement? Speaking at sonic speeds? Criminal amounts of energy for this early in the morning? Almost falling face first on the floor in her rush to hug him?..... Yep. This was his Y/N.

Automatically, Alfie returned the hug, something he'd grown more than accustomed to doing with his fiancée's daughter. Especially when it had been a few weeks since he'd seen you. You were born when your parents were fifteen, and now twenty years later, you were in your second year at a university, halfway between London and Birmingham. Your father had tragically died during the war, and it had taken your mother almost a decade to start dating again. And if by a storybook miracle, she'd fallen helplessly for the single, "semi-retired", grumpiest neighbor in Margret, who often walked with a cane and whose only friend seemed to be his dog. Three years ago they'd met one day when Cryil had lost his collar and you had found him sitting pitifully under a tree....not even two gardens down from his home. But you hadn't know then, and believing the dog to have no family, took him back to your house. It wasn't hard either, as soon you held out your hand, Cyril was up, eagerly following his "new master" and it wasn't until the next day Alfie showed up, having heard the familiar barking. He'd been searching for Cyril all night, only to finally hear his yapping not even two doors down. Furious at the idea someone had kidnapped his best friend, Alfie had come over, knocking angrily on the door, with half a mind to take up his "old" profession. But when the door opened, instead of a grisly old bastard, Alfie was met with the closest thing to an angel he'd ever seen. It wasn't just her beauty, but her voice and the kind way she looked at him that captivated the man. And then when he looked inside the house he'd seen another young woman, laughing as Cyril attempted to sit on her lap in the small chair. And he wouldn't realise it until a few months later, but that would be a sight Alfie wanted to see every morning. A year later, he'd officially started going around with your mother, though the secret was well kept from any of his business associates. Alfie also saw the younger woman herself as his own child now too. He'd even taking to calling you "Shiny" after your sunny disposition. He wouldn't admit it, but Alfie definitely teared up, more than once, on the first day the couple dropped you off at your University. He also wouldn't admit how he'd never been more nervous than six months ago when he'd asked you for permission to propose. You had obviously said yes, but not before staring at him silently for six minutes with a gaze that could make any Shelby break into a sweat. Speaking of Shelbys ....

"Y/N why are you hugging Alfred Solomons?"

Alfie looked up at the stairs and saw not one, but at least four (and a half) different Shelby watching him from the stairs. Now he could have chosen to make fun of the mess that was Arthur's hair, but instead he focused on someone else. Because Arthur's hair may have look like a drunken bird's nest, but it was Finn Shelby who'd spoken.... And it was Finn Shelby wearing the matching pants to your shirt. So it was Finn Shelby who was currently in a lot more danger than he was five minutes ago. Truthfully, Alfie had only talked to the young man twice and hadn't been bothered by the quiet Shelby too much. In fact, he might even go as far to say the he favoured Finn the most because he'd talked to him the least. And the more the Shelbys talked to Alfie, the less he began to like them. But the sight before Alfie was enough to send Finn Shelby right to the top of the "excruciatingly painful death" hit list he promised your mother he'd "lost" long ago.

"FINN! Look! It's Alfie! I've told you about him haven't I?"

Finn himself was still half asleep, but he'd heard your surprised shout from the bedroom when you went to the bathroom and wanted to make sure you were alright. Only he thought he was still dreaming when he saw you embracing the man who had caused his family so much trouble before. Evidently, your excitement had been brought to more than one Shelby's attention and now he was standing with Arthur, Linda, Lizzie (holding Ruby), and John at the top of the stairs. All half awake and just as confused. Most of them were wondering if this was going to be another Grace situation.... But you hadn't noticed any of that yet. Hurrying up the stairs, you'd grabbed Finn's hand and brought the still tried younger man down to "meet" Alfie. Once the two men were situated in front of each other, you spoke the words that shocked both of them wide awake.

"Finn meet Alfie, my step dad. And Alfie meet Finn, my Boyfriend."

"STEP DAD?"

"BOYFRIEND!!!"

"Ahhh yes!! Isn't it great!! You two get to meet for the first time!! Ohh you'll love each other so much!!"

Oblivious to the shock of your companions, you bounced on the balls of your feet, eager for your favourite two men to finally meet. From the top of the stairs, John had rushed off to wake up Esme and Ada, while Linda was coaching Arthur through breathing again. Lizzie just sipped her tea silently as baby Ruby clapped at the drama. Finn stared at the floor, trying to process what he'd just heard. In the end, it was Alfie whose shock was broken first.

"No."

The bouncing stopped and it was your turn to look at Alfie confused.

"What do you mean no?"

"You're not dating him Shiny."

"Yes, I am." 

"No, you're not."

"Yes, Alfie I am." You said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"You're dating him?"

"Yes!"

"Did they kidnap you? Are they forcing you to say this?"

"No?"

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure I'm not kidnapped?"

"He asked you out and you agreed?"

"He took me for dinner and a movie!"

"You agreed to be with him?"

"Eagerly!"

"You and him?"

"Him and I!"

"Him?"

"Yes! Isn't he brilliant!"

Eagerly, you looked towards your boyfriend who looked offend by the fact Alfie didn't seem to believe you could ever have any interest in him. Sure, Finn occasionally questioned it himself multiple times a day, but still. Though you payed no attention to his annoyance and wrapped your arms around your love, happily hugging him to yourself. Then you turned around facing your soon to be step father again, with Finn's arms still wrapped comfortably around your waist as they had been when you'd woken up that morning.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why Ally? He's brilliant! He's nice and strong and respectful. He takes me on fun dates and he listens to me. He lets me hug and kiss him whenever I want and he's not afraid to tell me how he feels, though it did take a bit to get to that part! He lets me hold his hand and steal his shirts and he doesn't mind it when I ramble a lot. And there's a whole bunch more too but that's just the tip. I ran into him at a race with my friends one day and we just clicked. Isn't it great! He treats me exactly how you treat my mom and I think that's brilliant! Finn's brilliant!"

Alfie froze for a second thinking about his options. On one hand you obviously knew nothing about what the Shelby really did for work and must not have realised what you were getting yourself into. On the other hand, you were one of the smartest people Alfie knew, and if Finn really did treat you like Alfie treated your mother, you'd know about his past by the second date... And you'd chosen to accept that. Alfie didn't know which idea scared him more. But right now he could see something else. You were happy....Very happy. Genuinely happy, in the fact you looked at Finn the same way your mother looked at Alfie... Shit you were in love with him. You loved Finn Shelby. And despite the sleep deprived confusion over the boy's face, Alfie had noticed the little spark in Finn's eye that lit up then he'd seen you. Alfie had seen the way Finn had pulled you slightly closer when you'd spun in his arms. You loved Finn Shelby and it seemed he loved you too. Shit. So despite his general distaste for Shelbys, Alfie did the last thing he wanted to do....But he did it for you. Because just like did your mother he'd do anything to see you smile.

"Well then gingersnap. If you treat my girl that nicely... then I guess it's alright to meet you isn't it?"

Somewhat begrudgingly, Alfie stuck his arm out toward the younger man. Finn stared at the arm, hesitantly, as if the moment he touched it, Alfie would pull him on to a knife. And truth be told, if he'd known it wouldn't make you mad, Alfie may have done that. But seeing your beaming grin, made shaking hands worth it. The hidden wince on Finn's face as Alfie increased his grip also seemed to get the unspoken message threat across. One tear from you and every peace deal between the families would be off. And all types of retribution would be fair game.... if your mother didn't get rid of Finn first that was.

 And finally it seemed Finn had processed your earlier words. He had also noticed your eager face and wanted to proceed with caution, careful of crushing your spirits. Obviously you'd mistaken Alfie for your real stepdad? The man you told Finn about so much couldn't possibly be the one who'd thrown his oldest brother in jail and betrayed Tommy every other weekend? Ada and Esme had joined the "observation deck"(second floor balcony) now, and John had gotten his gun incase things went south. Tommy was still no where to be seen.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah Finny?"

"You said this is your step dad?"

"Yes.... well technically not for a few more months, but the wedding is soon and he's basically already it!" 

"Right...but Y/N? You said your step dad was a nice older man who lived by the sea? He's a bit grumpy, but really sweet and likes to make model boats?"

"Yeah he does! This is him! You'll get along great!"

It was Alfie's turn to look slightly offended now. He wasn't that old, and it also occurred to him that while he told your mother about his "past" job, Alfie had never actually explained it to you. You genuinely thought Alfie was a retired baker. Sure, every now and then he'd tell you he was heading to London to consult another friend who was still in business, but that was it. And since you weren't raised in the big city, you really had no knowledge about Alfie's old job. Suddenly, he was dreading the imminent conversation more than ever before. 

"This is him? Are you sure?"

"Yep! I think I know what the guy banging my mum looks like Finny. Not that I ever see it...ew... but you know, Cyril doesn't get locked out of the master bedroom for anything!"

It was a good thing Alfie still had his beard because it helped hide the slight reddening of his cheeks and ears then. It wasn't that he was embarrassed about repeatedly making love to such a magnificent women, it was one of his proudest achievements actually...... but there was something about the fact her daughter knew that made him want to hide... just a little bit. Finn's face also turned red at the mention of Alfie's physical love life.

"Alright love, I believe ya. Just no more about his bedside manner alright? I don't wanna picture that."

"And I don't think I want you picturing it witchy."

"Finally!!," you cheered, clapping your hands quietly, happy both men finally seemed to understand what was going on. But then it brought you to your next question.

"Alfie?.... Why are you here though?.... oh please don't tell me my mum sent you to pick me up?"

"What no, your mum wouldn't do that...wait she knows you're here? What's she got to say about the lanky carrot top here? And how long has this been going on?" Alfie used his fingers to point between your shirt and Finn's pants, indicating what specifically the last sentence meant. Slightly tired of all the questioning you sighed. 

"I called her last night to tell her. It was too late to go back to my apartment and Finn said I could stay here. His brothers were fine with it too....ohh have you met them? I think you'd like Arthur! He likes boxing too, ya know!....but she knows. Also don't call him the lanky carrot top, that's mean. And it's been going on for almost a year now. Not the sleepovers, but the dating bit. We met right before summer break and you know....kept meeting up."

"A fucking year! Hell Shiny, when were you gonna tell us?" Alfie was shocked once again. You'd been dating Finn a whole year and hadn't mentioned it? A small part of him was hurt too, that you hadn't told him yet. He vividly remembered only a couple years ago, when you'd barge into his house looking for Cyril and just start telling him all about your day. Finn stood by just watching the observation, rubbing his red hair self consciously. It wasn't even that red, was it?

"ALMOST a year, and to be fair we hadn't make it official until a few months ago. I just didn't mention it because I wasn't sure if he was really into me or not....But he was, which is great! And I actually told my mom last month and she said I could bring Finn over next weekend maybe to meet him. She was suppose to tell you.... OHH WAIT! I have an idea!"

You were bouncing again, pleased with your new plan. Your mum said you could invite Finn to the house next week, and even though from your calls she seemed to like him, you knew she wasn't just gonna let him slide right into your bed....figuratively speaking. You were her only child and knew she wanted to make sure you were being treated right, so you figured she'd be a bit hard on him at first. When speaking on the phone last week, you'd also overheard her asking Alfie if he'd mind coming over early that day. You knew she wanted him around for a bit more intimidation. The big, dark, grisly figure standing in the shadows, while she interrogated Finn about his intentions. But maybe this unexpected meeting could work in your favour.

"This is great!! Since you and Finn have just met, and you seem to get along great, you can help me show him off to my mum next week! You can vouch that's he's as good as he looks!"

Alfie just stared at you.

There wasn't a single world in which he wanted to positively vouch for any Shelby. Especially one who apparently thought it was acceptable to get within ten feet of you..... without a shirt too. But then again, you had this slightly infuriating way of looking at Alfie. One smile and he was suddenly letting you paint fucking flowers on his fence to brighten the front yard or blowing up who knows what in his backyard. He really did give you too much power sometimes...

"You want me to vouch for him!"

"Yes, I mean you don't have anything against him do you?"

"Fucking actually..."

"What the hell is going on?"

Finally, Tommy showed up, his boots slightly dirty from the barn outside. He'd woken up early to check on the pregnant mare. Only he came back inside to find almost his entire family staying in the front hall, in their pyjamas, along with Y/N and Alfie. The latter of whom he didn't realise was up. If he'd known Alfie was awake, Tommy would have skipped the horse today. If only to insure Alfie didn't go rummaging around. On top of that, Alfie was shooting Finn a glare, hard enough to make Tommy shiver, not that he showed it. What his youngest brother had done to deserve that baffled him, but Tommy had some idea it had to do with the young woman grinning ear to ear.

"Well?"

"Oh! Morning Tommy! Have you met Alfie? He's my stepdad!"

Tommy's nose wrinkled slightly and his lips drew into a thin line. But his eyes went wide and his brows furrowed in confusion. That was probably the last thing he'd expected to hear that morning.

"What?"

This time it was John who spoke up from the top of the stairs, eager to see more drama.

"Yep Tom! This one here is the spawn of Alfie's soon to be missus! Isn't that something?"

Tommy looked at you, and then Alfie, and then you again, then Finn, and finally back to you. Not because he didn't like you, but because he remembered the past, Tommy glared at you lightly.

"Are you a fucking spy? Because I won't have you going around with Finn if you're going to be sharing everything to Alfie here. And you better tell the fucking truth."

Surprised and slightly scared by his change in tone, you took a step back. Despite his reputation, Tommy had always been nice to you, if not a bit reserved like he was with most people. So hearing his "boss" voice was a bit jarring. Annoyed by his tone towards you, Finn and Alfie both stepped forward, glaring at the man who had spoken. You stared in confusion at Tommy for a second, before shrugging and laughing like he'd told a joke.

"Spy? I'm not a spy. What are you talking about Tommy? That's a funny joke though. Y/N the spy.... na I'm a terrible liar. Can't keep a straight face for the life of me. But why would I spy on you for Alfie? He's got nothing to do with the races or any shipping company like you run. It wouldn't make sense for me to share all your plans with him."

Behind you, both Alfie and Finn were drawing lines across their necks with a hand. The universal symbol for "don't say a fucking thing, change the subject", but it may have already been too late. You had glanced behind yourself to see if Finn had liked your joke and noticed the cutting motions of the two men. Suddenly your eyes widened, and you started looking between Alfie and Tommy, and then Alfie and the rest of the Shelbys. It was like a light flipped in your head and internally, Alfie winced at what might occur. But once again you surprised all of them.

"Wait! Are y'all working together!!.... Oh y'all do know each other! Alfie why didn't you just stay that in the first place? I wouldn't have made you shake Finn's hand again. That's why you're here isn't it? Y'all have business together? Are ya partners?"

Alfie cleared his throat and prepared to tell you the inevitable. Sure, he knew he should tell you he was a semi retired gangster, but he was slightly worried when you learned, you wouldn't look at him the same way anymore. He was afraid you'd be a bit scared of him, and for all intents and purposes, Alfie didn't want his kid to be scared of him.

"Well, Shiny... yes we are working together. You see..."

"OHH I KNEW IT! Are you gonna start selling bread at the races? I think that would be a great idea!! Like alcohol is great, but it would be so nice to have a muffin or something too.... OH OH OH ... I know! Alfie you should sell your sugar rolls! Finn you have to try them they're so good....Alfie has this special apron he wears when making them."

Alfie groaned at the mention of the pink apron your mother had gotten him last holiday. You really were just revealing all his secrets weren't you? And he couldn't even wack you over the head like he'd do with anyone else.... Finn process your words and then stared grinning as big as you were. He loved it when you started to go off on a tangent. After all it was a brilliant idea too. Finn always got hungry during the races. He was always hungry in general, but the anticipation of what horse would win made him hungrier than usual.

"That is a good idea! I get hungry at those and they never have any snacks. Why don't we do that Tom?"

Tommy just furrowed his brows again, completely lost to what was going on. That was one thing he realised when he first met you. See Finn, when given the chance to speak, could jump from topic to topic within minutes and never seemed to go on a straight path. You did the exact same thing....but much much more. And while it was amusing to watch at times, it could get dizzying when you and your boyfriend went round and round in circles. And if they didn't stop it quick, this would be one of those times.... It was too early in the morning for that. So Tommy interrupted. 

"Yes! That's exactly what we're doing. That's why he's here. To make plans to sell bread at the races."

It was a lie of course, but even Tommy could respect Alfie's wish to tell you on his own time. Besides, it wasn't actually a bad idea. Alfie nodded his head in agreement like they hadn't planned on robbing a train last night. 

"Yep Shiny, you got us. I remembered you mentioning it once, and thought why not see if I could pitch the idea. Didn't know you'd be here though. Kinda ruins the surprise so just promise to act like you didn't know. Be as sightful as my half blind eye yeah?"

Laughing, your rolled your eyes at your stepfather's joke, before yawning into Finn's chest. The early morning hour was starting to get to you again. You really had only come to use the bathroom before noticing Alfie. Now you just wanted to get back in the warm bed for a bit longer.

"Deal, alright. I can keep my lips shut. But only if you also add the knot shaped chocolate pastries to the menu too! Those are my favourite."

Finn's stomach interrupted the conversation causing the both of you to laugh. Even the mention of food was enough to bring his appetite back. Turning to your boyfriend you hugged him again, revelling in the warmth you loved to burrow into. Standing on your toes, you reached up to whisper in his ear and he smiled softly before nodding back. You turned to the rest of the room and addressed Tommy.

"Welp this was nice, but can we go raid your pantry please? It's been at least seven hours since this one's eaten, so soon he'll start to shrivel up."

Good-naturedly, Tommy rolled his eyes, he knew it was Finn sneaking around the kitchen only three hours ago. He was the only one who closed up the bags of food he stole from by placing another bag over the messily folded edges when he couldn't get a knot tied in the dark again. Finn was also the only one who made peanut butter and pickle sandwiches, leaving the dirty knife and plate in the sink for the next morning.

"That's fine, you two can go off, Alfie and I here have to finish a few details for the deal."

Giving Alfie another quick hug, you and Finn headed off leaving the rest of the company in the main hall. His arm was around your shoulder and they could see you laughing at something Finn whispered in your ear. Alfie watched for a moment. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad. At least you hadn't stated dating Sabini's nephew.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the top of the stairs Arthur leaned over to John.

"Does this mean we can't slash his tires anymore?"

".....Eh probably."

"Fuck, was looking forward to that."

#Finn Shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #finn shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #finn shelby #alfie Solomons imagine #alfie solomons #Alfie Solomons x reader

[lucyrose191]

12 YEARS LATER, PART 2| S.O BLACK

Pairing; POA!Sirius Black x wife!reader

Summary; It’s been 12 years since Y/N last saw her husband, now it was time to see him for the first time, what could she say to him?

Warnings; Angst? Fluff, Sirius probably looks like death

HP/Marauders Master List

Sirius felt happiness and immense relief to see that the home you shared all of those years ago hadn’t changed at all, the garden was still well kept and from what he could see through the windows of the living room, it was still decorated the same way.

It was like a breath of fresh air being back in the place that held so many memories and loving moments; moments that had gotten him through the past twelve years of hell.

Knowing he was innocent had protected his sanity against the dementors but remembering those soft touches and electric kisses had kept him half happy.

He frequently dreamt of those slow mornings you spent together, that feeling of pure happiness he felt back then to wake up next to you, being able to see you first thing in the morning was the greatest gift he could have ever asked for.

He hadn’t really known how lucky he was back then to have those small moments; he had only realised when it had been taken away from him.

Sirius had thought about you every single day. He wondered how you looked, if you had moved on and created a family, if you hated him…

And now, his heart was pounding in his chest as he scratched at the door with his paw, knowing that you and Harry were merely on the other side.

He could hear your voice and whilst it was more matured and had lost that young playfulness he once knew, it was still you.

He waited. Waited. Waited.

As each minute passed by, his heart beat more erratic in his chest.

Eventually, the door opened.

It wasn’t you, it was Harry stood there with a massive smile on his face at the sight of his godfather.

Even though he knew there was no one around for miles, Sirius cautiously looked around before he transformed back into himself. "It’s good to see you again, Harry," his voice was hoarse and gruff from its lack of use but still held its friendly tone.

Harry launched himself into Sirius’ arms, catching the latter off guard and almost sending him tumbling off the sheer force of the impact but he welcomed the embrace with a chuffed laugh. "I’m glad you’re staying here, Padfoot."

Sirius mindfully patted Harry’s back as he pulled away, smiling slightly but Harry could tell that Sirius wasn’t really paying much attention, he could see the distraction in the way his godfather was looking over his shoulder into the house, as though hoping to catch sight of something, or someone. "Where’s your godmother?" He asked in a dreaded whisper.

Harry shuffled awkwardly as he looked back into the house before looking back to Sirius. "Uhm, she’s in the kitchen preparing dinner."

Sirius swallowed but nodded, releasing a nervous sigh as he looked to the ground then back up, not really knowing what to do.

Harry pursed his lips, feeling uncomfortable, knowing that you weren’t really impressed with the last minute bomb he dropped on you when you weren’t ready and that Sirius was at a loss to what he could say to you after over a decade of being without you. Harry had put the three of you in this situation and felt the responsibility to guide you through it.

"Why don’t you go to my room and you can get cleaned up and I can find you some clothes to wear then you can join us and have something proper to eat?" He suggested, sighing in relief when Sirius nodded, seeming to like that idea.

Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest that it was beginning to ache, the pain almost becoming unbearable as you heard footsteps behind you.

"It’s just me," Harry spoke, calming you instantly, causing you to turn around.

"Where is he?" You whispered, looking around wearing, you felt uneasy in your own house knowing that he was nearby.

"I took him upstairs to my room so he could shower, do you know if we have any clothes he could change into?" Harry asked.

You paused for a moment before speaking. "I do, actually." Thinking back to the boxes hidden away at the back of your wardrobe, you didn’t know if they’d still fit him but they were his.

"Could you grab them for me and I’ll take them to him?" You nodded and made your way out of the kitchen, leaving Harry to keep an eye on the food.

You could hear the sound of running water that came from Harry’s en-suite; he was so close yet so far and you had no idea how to feel about it.

You grabbed him clean socks, underwear, joggers and a t-shirt, even going as far as pulling out some of his old hair care products that used to crowd the bathroom counter knowing that Azkaban probably hadn’t been great for his hair and that would have broken your Sirius’ heart.

Sirius couldn’t fight his smile at the sight of the clothes and products that had been left on Harry’s bed for him, they were his, you had kept them all of these years, that had to mean something, didn’t it?

He had purposely taken his time getting dressed whether he was aware of it or not, he was trying to prolong the time it would take to see you, hoping he’d think of something he could say to you, he hadn’t thought of anything by the time he had finished so he just bit the bullet and slowly made his way downstairs.

The entire house was the way he had left it that Halloween night in 1981, only with the addition of photos of you and Harry from throughout the years, it made him smile to see that you had both had a nice life, the only thing that made him sad was that it had been just the two of you and he hadn’t been there with you.

The sound of your’s and Harry’s voices floating from the kitchen filled his heart, he could tell the bond between the pair of you was strong.

As soon as he hit the threshold of the kitchen, the chatter immediately stopped, the pair of you were already sat as the table with your plates in front of you; a large plate of food was sat in front of an empty chair opposite you, waiting for him.

The two of you made eye contact and every thought in his mind disappeared, all those words he wanted to say to you no longer mattered because everything that needed to be said was spoken just from looking into your eyes.

You were beautiful, just as you had been back then and you still had the same effect on him. The air was sucked from his lungs and he was punched in the face with the most overwhelming feeling of love he had ever experienced, the ring that had remained on his finger since you were nineteen was suddenly weighed down by his feelings for you that hadn’t disappeared in the slightest, even after so long apart.

His eyes shot to your left hand and his chest grew heavy at the lack of jewellery on your finger, he had to remind himself that he had betrayed you though, by leaving you that night with no telling of what he was doing, he had simply left and not returned.

"Padfoot," Harry’s voice cut through the tension between the two of you. "You should eat something," he pointed towards the plate that was piled with food.

Sirius pursed his lips and nodded weakly, carefully making his way to the table and sitting down, it was as though he thought any movement that was too fast would break something between you that hadn’t yet been fixed.

The three of you sat in the most intense silence; Sirius and Harry ate but you had quickly lost your appetite, the sight of him had just about torn you in two.

He was all skin and bone, every movement he made showed just how weak he was, the shaking of his hands a sign of his lack of nutrition.

Even though you hadn’t seen him before his shower you know it must have done him well because his skin was clean and he looked fresh, his facial hair was neatly groomed and his hair, though longer than you remember, was in its typical ringlets, a sharp contrast to the way he looked in the wanted posters you had seen.

Sirius was thankful to eat something that wasn’t wild animals he had hunted; food that was actually filling and would give him the energy he lacked.

He could feel the glances you kept sending him but kept his head down and his attention focused on his meal, he was afraid of what you would say to him.

Would you tell him you had moved on a long time ago and you were simply doing this for Harry?

The sound of you clearing your throat caused him to look up, Harry had disappeared without him noticing, it was just the two of you, your eyes looking into his with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify.

"I’m glad you’re okay," you spoke, voice ever so gentle.

Sirius dropped his fork and leaned back in his seat, focusing all of his attention on you. "I’m glad you and Harry are okay, it was all I ever thought about," he replied.

The roughness of his voice took you by surprise but you suppose it shouldn’t have considering the lack of people he had to speak to whilst he was imprisoned.

"A part of me was worried, knowing you were out there all alone," you confessed.

Your words made his heart swell but he knew better than to get his hopes up. "And the other? Worried that I wanted to hurt him?" He couldn’t mask the bitterness in his voice, the thought of you thinking he could do such a thing would break him.

"Worried that you didn’t want to actually, I was worried that everything the public knew about you was wrong and that you were out there all alone in the cold and wanting to do something good. Because it meant you had been locked up all those years for nothing and well, that worry was a reality."

Your words comforted him but there was one thing they had been on his mind since he had spoken to Harry for the first time. "You only told him about me at the beginning of the year when I escaped, why?"

You looked down at the table, tears in your eyes. "It was just me and Harry for years, I had all these photographs for him and all of these stories about James and Lily. There was a constant in the photos that he was curious about, the man with the cheeky smile and the long, curly hair. I just told him you were an old friend because I couldn’t tell the little boy he was back then that the entire Wizarding world thought you were the reason they were dead and I didn’t want to tell him my thoughts either because I wanted him to decide what he wanted to think when he was old enough and he did."

"And what were your thoughts?" He asked the dreaded question.

You smiled painfully and shook your head. "That you are the most irrational and dare I say irresponsible man that I have ever met in my life and you were overwhelmed with grief that night, so much so that you didn’t at all think straight about the outcome of your actions. You were just filled with betrayal and heartbreak that the only thing you cared about was getting revenge and I never blamed you for that, I only ever blamed you for losing the life you deserved to live, losing the life we could have shared."

Sirius’ eyes welled up at your words, both from relief that you never thought he did what he was accused of and guilt for the way he had acted that night, knowing that he had caused you a hell of a lot of loss, loss of the life you had wanted to build with him.

He was suddenly wracked with the emotion of the reality of what had actually happened and what he had missed out on, what you both had missed out on. "Did you-" he wanted to ask but you were already shaking your head.

"Absolutely not, there was never anyone else, it was only ever you and I never had to question it." There was such confidence in your words and it shot right into his chest, it was as though those words had broken the dam that had hidden his emotions because the flood gates had opened and Sirius buried his head in his hands as sobs wracked through his body.

You jumped up from your seat and made your way around the table, taking Harry’s vacant seat and pulling it right up beside Sirius’, wrapping your arms around him.

Sirius leaned into your body, allowing himself to be fully wrapped up in your arms.

It wasn’t long before his sobs stopped but he made no effort to move from your embrace, instead he relished in the familiar comfort that he had longed for and allowed himself to smile as he smelled the scent of the perfume you still wore and had worn since you were a teenager.

You pressed a kiss into his hair before resting your head against his. "I missed you so much." You assured him.

"I missed you, you and Harry were all I ever thought about, you got me through it, you’ve always been my strength." He muttered into your shoulder.

You closed your eyes at his words, not wanting to cry but it was hard, you had him in your arms again and it filled you with so many overwhelming emotions.

"You’re still so beautiful," you laughed at his muffled compliment, squeezing him tighter in response.

"I’m glad you’re here, Sirius. I’m so happy you’re back." You told him.

"Me too," he sighed, then waited for a moment before asking. "Where are your rings?"

You silently and reluctantly pulled away from him but remained close. You reached up and pulled out the chain that was hanging from your neck, hanging from the chain were two rings; one was a simple, thin, silver band and the other was a diamond encrusted band with a large, rectangle shaped, white sapphire in the centre.

"I knew Harry would ask questions because he’s so nosey but I wants to keep them on me," you explained.

Sirius nodded with a smile, happy you still kept them and wore them, his smile widened as he watched you remove the chain from your neck and remove the rings before placing them on your left hand where they belonged.

He moved forward and rested his forehead against yours, not necessarily ready to let go just yet.

Harry stood in the doorway of the kitchen, you were right, he was nosey but he didn’t really care. He was way too amazed at the sight in front of him, he could quite literally see the connection that was shared between his godparents and was beyond happy that the two of you were able to be reunited and hopefully make your way back to each other.

You would make your way back to each other, Sirius was your family and he was your home. The connection between the two of you hadn’t been lost in the time apart and it only made you more confident in the fact that Sirius Black was your soulmate, he was the other half of your heart and there’s no one else you would wait so long for or want to spend your life with.

You loved him more than anything and well aware that he felt the same way about you.

Tag list; those who asked to be tagged in part 2. @bullets-from-another-dimension @babyclea @mel-vaz @crowleythesexydemon @mspotterh

#sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x reader #marauders x reader #hp marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #padfoot x reader #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #sirius black #harry potter #hp #hp fanfic

[mrsnancywheeler]

the lakes (6) // finnick odair x f. reader

merry christmas to all who celebrate, my gift to you 🎄

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous chapter / next chapter

midnight rain

5k words

warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT MDNI (y'all better eat it up while it's here bc this might be one of like twice or three times so merry christmas lmao), orgasm denial, teasing, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), slightly mean finnick but also softdom, mentions and allusions to trafficking and sexual trauma, self-hate, manipulation of someone's feelings, allusions to death/violence, pnv, usage of weapons, terms of endearment, no use of y/n, unedited, cumming inside, mental health issues, self doubt, hypocritical reader, savior complex finnick

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Cold air hit your skin as the doors to the training center opened, instantly you could feel the onslaught of goosebumps on your arms. “Remember brush up on skills, knives, spears and number one objective-”

"Katniss.” You finished for him. "You go get your hands back on that trident, and hopefully my instincts will remember what it takes to throw a knife or a spear.”

"If not, work on some survival skills, but I think the instincts will kick in.” You tilted your head to the side, uncertain but humoring the idea. He kissed you softly, “See you soon."

"I'm only going to be a few hundred feet away, Finnick.” You smiled and he did too.

“Well that's a few hundred feet too far.”

"Good thing you can come find me anytime you want.” Squeezing his hand as you reluctantly took a few steps back.

“You don't want to come and admire me back in my element?" He joked, his grin bearing his shining teeth.

“In your dreams, Odair."

“Absolutely!" Finnick's eyebrows quirked up before you finally pulled yourself out of his magnetic field to focus on the more viral thing, survival.

It had been so long since you'd thrown a knife with purpose, over half a decade which had been what you felt most confident in. Of course there had been a couple times, admittedly more than a couple, when your nerves spiked up and a moment where you were simply making dinner, chopping something up, to being spooked by a noise that led to a knife wedged in a wall or cupboard. So Finnick cooked and cut, he wasn't as easily startled or on edge.

This year they had clearly made more of an investment into the training, a little pad verifying it was you when you stood on the elevated block. You took a second before lifting the tiny weapons from where they lay, the weight was instantly familiar in a way that made your chest heave. It felt like you were that same young girl again, trying to see what could help her survive, help her overcome others. Finnick has been right, how to throw a knife, how to throw it to kill, all came back like child's play.

The instant the first hologram appeared it was like your brain went on autopilot, they weren't real but your brain was screaming, survive, survive, survive. Each knife flew from your hand with lethal aim, your arms instinctively knew what to do, how to throw precisely as fast as possible. So you trusted your body when suddenly the simulation was over, you felt your head coming back to reality. It was terrifying, you'd felt like you were in a dizzy high and suddenly you were that same young girl terrified in the arena. Full of guilt and regret for the lives you'd taken.

“I thought your weapon of choice was a spear." A voice cut through your thoughts, bringing your thoughts back to the person you were now. Peeta, ever outgoing and charismatic just as he'd been depicted, with an untrusting looking Katniss not far behind.

“No, that's what was convenient at the end, but the spear was never mine, it was-"

“Conway’s." Katniss finished the name you hated saying, hated remembering for you. “You killed in the Bloodbath with knives and then the girl from District 2." She must have been rewatching everyone's games, learning their tactics.

“Ironic, weren't they the District 2 girl from last year's weapon of choice as well?" You asked, stepping off the platform.

“Yes." She was tense, stiff it radiated off of her, stagnating the air.

“When there's such limited options, it's hard to get much differentiation. You certainly helped mix the bag last year.” Not just with her little bow and arrow, you hoped she knew what you were really saying, but couldn't with the people watching from above. She probably didn't, she was like a guard dog who didn't know whether or not one could be warmed up too, but would always assume the worst.

“I'm glad that was entertaining." Her voice was bitter as if she had no idea that everyone here has gone through the exact same trauma and felt the same way.

“It certainly was for them." You glanced upwards, towards the head game maker and his cronies observing you all like lab rats. “Most of us were." The Morphlings certainly had to be the most boring show of all, to those who couldn't realize it was such a smart tactic to stay alive, even if it didn't make great daytime television.

“You should teach us how to throw sometime." Peeta inserted himself back into the conversation. "If you want, we could teach each other things. I could go over camouflage.” He offered with a smile.

“Yeah of course!" You smiled back. “When you blended into the rocks by that stream, it was truthfully unfathomable in talent to be able to do that."

“And Katniss can shoot, I'm sure you've seen, but she never misses." Katniss shot him a glare, "Just following Haymitch's orders.” Peeta shrugged before his eye was caught by Johanna finishing up with her ax training. “I should get a formal introduction." He was walking away when Katniss spoke again.

“Why'd you volunteer for that girl?" She asked, and you turned your head towards her.

“For Annie?" You felt like it was obvious, but Katniss just nodded. “I wasn't going to put her through this again, that wouldn't have been fair of me. I couldn't let any of them, I couldn't have lived with myself if I had, so I might as well die on that hill now." Your candor seemed to make her less stiff. “You know, she was the first tribute I mentored. Years after my games, I did everything I could to help her win, to prepare her, but I couldn't prepare her for what happened after. Seeing her after that it was like I failed." Annie would forever be known as the one who went "a little crazy.” Maybe that was a blessing though, maybe it saved her from a much worse fate. Katniss' eyes finally looked more soft, not off guard, but not blocked off from your words.

“Even though you know this time only one of you can come out?" Her eyes briefly flickered towards Finnick before landing back on you.

“I'm not expecting to be the one who makes it out and she wouldn't have either. It's worth it to save her, he'll be fine without me." The words were too raw, too much like being stripped naked, but you knew you needed her to trust you and being honest would probably be the most effective route. Of course she couldn't completely trust you if she'd watched your games, you didn't blame her for that, but you just needed a little of it. “It's not different from what you did for your sister, sometimes you just know when that person needs to be protected no matter what that means for you."

Katniss began walking over to where the spears were located, “Like Peeta said, if you show me how to use the spear and the knives, I can show you how to shoot the bow and what plants and berries you can trust." This was her way of some form of acceptance you realized and internally congratulated yourself.

“Sounds like a deal to me." You picked one of the heavy spears up, it was also just as you remembered. It brought back flashes of the boy who taught you how to use it, the boy you'd killed with it. You could tell what she was thinking as you held it, how you used Conway, used his emotions and then his own weapon. “You know, the funny thing is people act like he didn't know, but that’s really what made it so brilliant.” Katniss looked confused as you stepped into the platform, which confirmed it was you. "Looking back you realize how early on he had me figured out and was playing me right back, I really think that's what endeared us to each other in the first place. He was trying to beat me at my own game almost from the beginning and I didn't even realize.” You launched the spear into the first hologram before quickly grabbing the other as Katniss watched on, absorbing the seemingly impromptu rant. “I can't blame him, I don't blame him even if I'm the one who gets it all placed on my head, which I probably deserve." Another spear knocking the hologram figure apart. The final one ready to fly. “You just have to remember who the real enemy is."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"You two already have an advantage being from District 4, plenty of opportunities to practice with what you would be good at using in lessons. So stick with whatever you were good at then to impress, but don't forget to learn other skills that could be life saving in the long run.” Finnick was breaking down the plan for the two of you as the walk for the first training session with the other tributes was about to ensue. Although it went unspoken you'd also been blessed with extra practice even from back when you were dating Finnick in the district, he was so anxious that he needed to ensure you knew how to protect yourself. That you polished your skills, which he was sure you could do.

"Show off your strengths, but don't forget you're not just impressing the gamemakers, but the approval of other tributes can be vital. Alliances are important.” Ondine added.

Finnick nodded in agreement, “Another advantage from District 4, is the availability of the Career pack of tributes. All of the best trained and prepared tributes, especially if you show off enough to impress Districts 1 & 2 you're both a shoe-in. I'd encourage that as the strongest choice."

“I don't think we should do that." Conway’s voice of disagreement made you stop in your tracks. What was wrong with him? What could possibly be going on in his head that possessed him to argue with your mentor, someone who'd won before? Finnick raised an eyebrow, in a look you could only describe as patronizing. “I'm just saying that also means they're the best prepared to stab us in the back when it comes down to it. If we ally with tributes from a less prominent district it could make it easier when it comes down to it, make it less vicious.” He was delusional, it would be vicious no matter what when there were just a few people left.

You looked at Ondine who’s eyes were closed as she shook her head, Finnick's arms were crossed as he looked at the two of you, and Conway looked expectantly right at you. Then it hit you, this was a test. In order to maintain his trust in the fantasy you'd been carefully creating you'd have to take his side, prove you weren't loyal to every thing Finnick muttered. Even if it was hypocritical it angered you, it felt hellishly unfair that he would put you in a predicament like that. Who cared about the relationship between you and Finnick when he was the mentor offering advice to save both of your lives?

Conway pointed at you, urging you for a response. “I mean, what do you think? I'm just babbling aloud, I'll drop it if you think it's stupid." Maybe you were just paranoid, no, this was definitely a loyalty test. To him your love would mean support, it would mean unwavering devotion. So you painfully forced a caring, understanding look in your eyes, for your muscles to relax, and a loving smile on your face.

“Of course we should keep our options open, I mean we're not even there yet, the Careers this year might not even be the best options. You're right, Conway, we should consider every path to help us." Of course the Careers would be prepared, he was going to get you killed if he kept pulling this. Reasoning that at least your actions were well calculated not blindly emotional scrutinization. It made you slightly resent him, but the answer seemed to satisfy him as he grinned at the other two before beginning to walk again.

The slight spring in his step was obvious to anyone paying close enough attention, it upset you. When you hoped Conway wasn't watching, you shot a look towards Finnick. It was quick, but you grimaced and hoped your eyes could express your annoyance. Although the bob of his head was equally quick you could see he understood and was feeling just as enraged as you felt if not more. How could Conway claim to care about you when he could threaten a potentially life saving alliance to try and prove a point about how much you felt for him over Finnick? Although Finnick still wore a charming smile you could feel him seething and it comforted you somehow to know that he would never, that he would always pick safety, your safety and that he wouldn't stand for Conway’s games either. Even if rationally it did make sense, you were messing with him which both you and Finnick knew, but there wasn't time to think on that when it was life and death.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“You're brilliant, even if it pains me to admit that you beat me to it." Finnick shook his head, smiling wildly. Haymitch had informed you that so far Katniss would have liked you as an ally if it weren't for the package deal that included Finnick. A feat considering all the tributes that wanted to ally with her after her impressive show in the archery station. It had truly been amazing, how smoothly she used the weapon, and how accurate she was.

“Well, you're welcome." You pecked him on the lips, smiling. Sitting down on the bed and smoothing out your robe, Finnick soon followed.

“I love you so much." He mumbled as he crashed down onto the mattress.

“I love you too, Finnick." Your head lay down by his, quietly counting the freckles scattered across his face.

“Staring is rude." His eyes shone with his internal brightness that he couldn't hide from you.

“Isn't that a perk I should get being your wife and all?" He scooted closer, nose brushing against yours.

“I suppose. Don't know why you'd need to, there's no need to memorize when you're stuck with me forever now."

“Good." There was nothing you wanted more than to see his handsome face every day, from when you woke to when you slept and every moment in between.

His hot hands embraced your cold face, making you shiver and he smirked. It was so patronizing, how he knew that his skin to yours was like fire on ice so you had no choice but to melt, but you couldn't stop yourself from softening anyways. Before you could even try and conjure up words to try and call him out, his lips were on yours.

He wasn't aggressive, never, but his gentleness didn't take away from his control. Your lips chased him and suddenly you were beneath him, swept up in his plush lips. Hands searched for him before he pulled his face away. You couldn't stop yourself before you whined at the removal of his lips from yours, pouting at him.

He scoffed, looking down at you slightly condescending, “Really, angel?" You could feel your face heating up as his eyes gazed at you, his hand delicately tracing the hem of your robe. “We don't have to do this, if you don't want to, sweet girl. You have to communicate with me, I don't want to push you, if you even don't feel comfortable you need to tell me." It felt like too much in the moment when it seemed so blatantly obvious that you wanted him, craved him. But it also made you love him so much more.

For so long it had been difficult to even be touched. The Capitol had come in and dug their talons into you, your own intimacy didn't even belong to you. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. You'd tried to push it down, he'd dealt with it for so much longer, since he was so much younger. Pushing it down didn't stop the roots of trauma from taking root deep within your soul though.

You felt guilty for not being able to give yourself in so many ways to Finnick who was unbelievably patient, of course he was, he understood, he cared. When you'd finally grazed your hand against his and let him grab it, the pureness of the touch was enough to make you burst into tears. That made it more difficult too though, your tears. A tactic that had once seemed wise in winning over the Capitol as a sweet, innocent girl had come back to bite you. Echoes of how pretty you were when you cried.

When you'd finally given that part of yourself to Finnick, of your own accord, the will that has usually been taken from you. He'd made sure you wouldn't regret it, he brought back the positives of intimacy which you'd forgotten about. You were so used to calling upon the tears as you zoned out, floated away. But not with Finnick, never with him. Where you both belonged to each other and were truly connected as one.

“Are you comfortable?" You asked softly. It felt selfish that he was so worried about you with what he'd been through as well, like it was too much about you.

Finnick sighed, “Don't do that." You looked at him quizzically, “Averting the question, you shouldn't be doing it to please me, I'll be okay. I wouldn't have gotten this far if I wasn't.” His hand stroked the side of your face which chased each movement. "Are you certain you want this? I'm not going to be upset if you say no, angel.” The way he loved you so deeply to be going step by step wasn't even grating anymore it just made your heart buzz even more.

"I do want this Finnick, I know what to say if it is too much.” The thumb grazing your neck was enough to make your eyes roll back, your entire body sensitive with the waiting.

Finnick nodded, slowly. Making sure you weren't just trying to appease him, "Color?”

You sighed dramatically, "Green.” He tugged your hair lightly, "Ow!”

"So impatient, trying to take good care of my girl and she's too desperate to appreciate it.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

You pouted, “I'm sorry, Finnick. I'm just-" You gasped as his hand slipped in your rope, warm hand grazing the cold, hardness of your nipple. Legs rubbing together, his other hand, instantly sitting between them to hold them still.

“Speak up, angel. Just what?" That's what you appreciated so much, he was dominant, took care of you without the casual cruelty others often used. Of course he could be cruel in the best way, a type that still cared and knew what the line was and respected it.

“Need you, please. So, so bad." Your hands grabbed his shoulders, then the sides of his neck desperately trying to feel more of his warmth.

He hummed condescendingly, “You do?" His hand left your breast to the toe of the robe which he slowly unknotted. You nodded, brows furrowed as you tried to buck your hips. The hand prevented your legs from getting closer together, hitting your inner thigh but not in a forceful manner. “Come on sweet girl, can't you behave for me, won't you be my good girl?" His ocean eyes had you nodding along mindlessly. “Words."

“Yes, please, I just, please I need more."

“So needy." The knot on your robe untied, falling open to reveal you to the crisp air. His hand trailing down to where you needed him most, the feeling already sending shocks through your body. You wanted desperately to buck your hips up once again but resisted. He chucked, “Is this all for me? I haven't even really touched you yet." You nodded desperately, the teasing made you want to cry in desperation. Which was fine, but thinking about it scared you, the way they'd taken away two things that were so natural, so personal would distract you.

“Finnick." You said shakily and the time instantly made his face get serious.

“Are you okay? Do we need to stop?" You shook your head vigorously.

"No, just-” Your fingers fiddled with the blanket, embarrassed, "Can you just take some deep breaths with me?”

"Of course, my love.” He grabbed the hand nervously moving around the blankets to hold it to his heart. “You're okay, in and out with me, angel." You closed your eyes, breathing with him, his heart reverberating through you. “Let me know when you want to keep going or stop." He whispered.

“Finnick, I just want to cry, not in a bad way just it's been so, so ruined for me." Weaponized, sexualized.

He nodded, “You can cry if you want, I'll wipe them away from you." The idea made you want to cry at his sweetness alone.

“Okay." Your voice was shaky, “We can keep going, please." His fingers began moving again, right over your core. Palm slightly running against you and it took all of you to not rub with him. Fingers delicately circling your sensitive nub and you moaned out. The first tears falling which he diligently wiped away with his time and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Is that good?" You nodded blissfully and he swatted at your bareness causing a yelp.

“Yes, thank you Finnick, so good."

“Good girl, such a fast learner." You whimpered, toes curling. “What do you need?"

“In me, please."

“What, my fingers?" He held one hand up, moving them in front of your face. The man was mocking you, he knew what you meant and he kept rubbing your clit, making it nearly impossible to keep verbalizing.

“No!" You stammered out desperately. He smirked and removed his fingers from your bundle of nerves, causing you to hit his arm in frustration before he was grinding his clothed member on you and your hands wrapped around his shoulder tightly. You nodded intently, “Yes please. Want you to be inside of me, want to be one Finnick, yours." It hit you that this was the consummation of your marriage which made your heart swell as well as your need.

“Can't deny you anything, sweet girl." He was such a liar, but right now he followed through. Your hands began pulling down the pants he wore, desperate to free him so he could be buried in your walls. He groaned as your hand grazed his tip, precum dotting it. You licked your lips and he smirked cockily, “Another time, angel."

"How do you want me?” You asked, you'd take him anyway he wanted just to be clenched around him.

"Just the way you are is perfect, wanna see you, beautiful.” He lined himself up with your soaked entrance, "Are you sure, you're ready? Don't need more preparation.” You shook your head vigorously, pushing yourself forward to feel the tip and he grunted.

“Don't need it, so wet, I can take you, promise."

"Only if you're sure.” You nodded again, pouting.

"Please!” You whined and with that he didn't hold back, pushing his full length in and you nearly screamed. Clenching your walls around him, fingernails digging into him.

“That feel good?"

“So, so, so good." You began sliding your hand down, but he caught it tutting in disapproval.

"I've got you, angel, just lay there like a good girl. Let me take care of you too, you're making me feel so good.” His expert fingers went straight back to your clit as he began pounding in and out of you.

“Oh God, Finnick!" Your eyebrows pulled together and eyes snapped shut as he filled you. It was like you were a perfect fit for each other.

“So perfect angel, just looking at you made me think I wasn't even gonna make it into you." Finnick groaned, he knew exactly what you liked, what pace to go. You'd been so used to faking it or them not caring at all, but with him he could get you there so fast, so hard, and could do it over and over so perfectly. His fingers rubbing into your bundle of nerves that had you biting into your bottom lip to stop you from waking the whole floor. Both actions made you want to scream in ecstacy. “Are you close already, angel? Do I really make you feel like that, so fast?” You nodded, dumbly making mindless noises as his hips thrusted in and out. “Me too. I don't know how you do it to me. Where do you want me, stomach, mouth, inside?" His groaning was making his own speech shaky.

“Inside please, need to feel it, Finnick."

“You sure?" He asked, biting down on his bottom lip as your moans from his skilled fingers working their magic as he kept moving inside of you made him even closer.

“Yes, yes, yes, need to be one, just you and me. Need it inside." He pinched the bundle of nerves lightly as he hit the spot inside of you that had you kicking your feet on sheets. “I'm gonna, oh I'm gonna-"

“I know, just wait a little bit longer, angel, I'm almost there. So close, be my good, good girl." You whined, nodding.

“Wanna be so good for you."

He nodded, the words bringing him even closer to the edge as he roughly thrusted into you. “You are, so good, just gotta hold back a little longer." You were sobbing, lost in the high as he wiped away the tears streaming down.

“Feels so good, Finnick, I can't please let me, need to."

“Wait." He said sternly, at this point he felt like he was denying himself too just to watch you squirm and listen to his every word. Grabbing your face softly so your eyes were trained on him, hand still rubbing fast circles on your clit. “Been such a good girl, don't ruin it." His hips started stuttering inside of you.

You shook your head, “I won't, I'm sorry. Wanna be good." He let go of your face with his free hand and pinched your nipple. “Finnick, please, I can't. Please don't be mean, I need you.”

"Making me feel so good, my love. Clenching around me, trying to hold back, you're such a good listener." He pinched your clit again, he was being mean, he couldn't deny it but the way you cried out and started trying to push away from him was bringing him straight to the edge. “Color?"

“Green." You choked out, “Please, Finnick, I can't." Your hands pushed against his chest.

"Then you know what to say, angel." He raised an eyebrow, “So you can." It would feel so much better, be so much harder for both of you the longer he kept this up. His lips attached to your breast and you tugged his hair, he moaned onto you and the vibrations had you desperately trying to fend off the orgasm approaching.

“Please, I need to. I know you are too." He thrust into that special spot in you again and your hands hit the sheets in frustration as your eyes fluttered.

“Be patient, don't be a brat." He pulled away from your breast to look at you. He pressed down on your clit and thrust into you again, “Oh god, gonna let go inside of you now, angel. Be all over your walls, gonna feel so good. Been such a good girl, you ready to let go of me."

“Yes, please!"

“You can let go, sweet girl." His lips pressed to yours to quiet both of you moans as you finally both let yourself go. You could've sworn the way his split inside you made your shaking even harder. It was so good, so worth it.

You were nearly breathless when you pulled away, “That was new."

“Are you okay?" He asked, eyes full of concern.

“Yeah, of course. I just, you're always incredible, I'm great.” You laughed breathlessly.

"Oh, good.” He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

“Thank you."

“You don't have to thank me, angel."

“Yes I do, they've taken so much of both of us and you just bring so much of it back to just being so real, so it doesn't feel like they own it anymore."

“That's just being a decent human, I just want to take care of you. Through all the ups and downs." He was so kind, it made you ecstatic that for as long as either of you were alive you'd always be one with each other, bonded through everything you loved. “Come on, we have another long day tomorrow, let's get cleaned up."

“What if we just didn't go, just laid here together, until it passed."

“I'd love to." His eyes were earnest and like pools you could drown in, “Nothing I want more than being with you forever. But they'd drag us out and we have things to do, my love.” He helped lift you up from where you lay comfortably. Your nose scrunched up." What?”

You pulled apart your thighs, "So sticky.”

He laughed before he could stop himself, "Well I'm not the one who asked for it.” That smug, loveable ass.

"Shut up, you loved it.” Softly shoving his arms as you went to stand.

He raised his arms in defense, "Guilty as charged."

He was so perfect, the way he was so effortlessly funny, so compassionate for all your needs even if you didn't verbalize them, how patient he was yet so stern and guiding. Much too good for what you could give him, you'd go to hell and back to do half as much as he did for you. Of course he always assured you of all you did to help him, but it felt so miniscule compared to what he did for you. The things you would sacrifice to help him, to be by his side were unmatched.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you so much for reading!! I haven't written smut in so long and this really isn't a smut heavy series but I felt like exploring how what snow did to the victors who were deemed to be desirable would effect their intimacy and sometimes a little spice is needed to deal with all the angst I write. if you enjoyed it feedback is always appreciated, likes, comments, reblogs, anything and my ask box is already open if you have any questions or ideas! thank you all so much for reading 💋

taglist: @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @avoxrising @artsyaquarium @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore @darlingsoulbeautfulthoughts @thatonegayloser616 @kybermp3 @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @ravensinthedaylight @innercreationflower @uhnanix @aesthetic0cherryblossom @yourdailymemedelivery

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair angst #thg #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fanfic #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader smut

[lovelyhan]

— starcrossed losers (a teaser) ⟢

at age fifteen, you’re betrothed to a prince named jeonghan. at age twenty-five, you’re set to marry him. so, when your father gives you a chance to find love all on your own, you immediately take it. now if only jeonghan would stop fucking sabotaging every relationship you’re trying to get into.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 1k words

★ TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, emotional romantic and sexual tension all in one lmao, angst, smut (in the future scenes, this teaser is sfw!)

★ NOTES; so my blog won't die in my absence nd slight inactivity from writing, i decided to leave you guys a snippet of the third n last part of my royalty series <3 as always, content in my teasers are not final and can be subject to change so heads up on that!

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

It’s several hours past midnight when you hear three gentle but firm knocks on the door to your bedchambers. 

Annoyed, you stare at the collection of unopened gifts stacked high on your vanity. From delicacies from the neighboring kingdoms to the most expensive collection of cosmetics in Ancarra, your guests certainly knew how to curry your favor. But not even their lavish presents can dispel the pure vexation that’s been making your blood boil the entire evening. 

Not bothering to answer the door, you whisk yourself into the plush seat tucked underneath the dresser. There’s only one halfwit currently residing in the castle brave enough to disturb you in the dead of night, and with how terribly tonight’s festivities went, you’re in no mood to extend your hospitality to anyone—much less Seraphia’s exasperating, insufferable, scheming—

“Isn’t it a little too late to be testing out swatches, Your Grace?”

You try to ignore him. The way his silken dress shirt dangles half untucked from his trousers. The self-satisfied look on his face when he notices you fumbling with the cherry red rouge you’re applying to your lips. 

But try as you may, you cannot ignore Jeonghan when he reaches a hand in front of you, nimble fingers wiping off the excess color that you accidentally tinted just a few millimeters from your lip line. 

Not when his smoldering stare holds yours captive in the image reflected in your gilded mirror. Not when you can’t even find it in yourself to resist when he gently grabs your chin and forces your gaze to marvel at the man himself.

“Sulking again, Princess?” Jeonghan sneers and you want to hate him for it, but you can’t. “I saved you from a man charged with treason three times in a single decade. Why are you pouting at me like I took away the love of your life?”

“Because you’ve made it your life’s purpose to make mine miserable,” you snarl, putting as much venom into the words as you can. “Minghao isn’t a traitor. If he was, he wouldn’t be sitting on top of the Rènxìng empire. He wouldn’t even be daring enough to show his face here for the sole purpose of courting me.”

He sighs as if meaning to be sympathetic, but you’ve long seen past the ruse. “Poor little thing, still being played like a fool all because you abhor the idea of one day becoming my wife. Tell me, didn’t you find it odd, how persistent he was in pursuing a woman who’s already spoken for?”

“I am not spoken for,” you interject, trying not to crumble from how his thumb lightly dabs at your lower lip. “Not by you. Not by anyone. Father gave me a choice—”

“Yes, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Ancarran Princess who’s chained to a troublesome foreigner. So troublesome that she had to beg on her knees just to get the king to reconsider,” Jeonghan coos, face inching ever-so close to yours.  

“But as it turns out, all the other men you’re trying your damnedest to replace me with are even worse fiends than I.” 

Your lungs burn as if they’ve been set aflame and Jeonghan is merely adding more fuel to the blaze. “You’re despicable.”

“And you, Your Grace, are much too gullible,” he chuckles, each breath fanning hotly against your skin. “I’d say just give it up and surrender, but you’ve been fighting against me since we were children. Putting an end to our very interesting relationship in such a boring way wouldn’t make good for the history books, no?”

All of a sudden, you remember something that Soonyoung told you in passing. How Jeonghan is someone who cherishes his loved ones deeper than one would otherwise expect. He loves his homeland. He loves his family. Above all, he loves his people.

With how he keeps reeling you back from all your attempts to escape your engagement, any other person would assume that he loves you just as much.

But how are you supposed to believe that someone like him is capable of love when all he does is thrive off your misery?

“This new rouge you’re testing out,” he murmurs, as if it’s remotely acceptable to just shift the conversation after what he just told you. “It’s the kind that takes days to remove once it dries, no?”

“In what way does it concern you?” you grit. 

The despicable prince simply hums. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I’m quite curious about its actual longevity.” 

You can practically hear your heart stutter to a stop when he closes the distance even more—only a hair’s breadth separating your mouth from his. You’re clueless as to how it happened, but you suddenly find your fingers coiled around the front of his shirt. Looking for purchase. For solid ground.

But you should know better than to anchor yourself to someone as unpredictable as Jeonghan.

“If someone were to ruin it in the next ten seconds, would you even be more furious than you are now?” he whispers and you can feel the ghost of a smirk against your lips. “Or would it garner the opposite effect? Would you finally melt into their arms? Would you let them tear all your defenses asunder?”

Your pulse is roaring in your ears and all of a sudden, you can’t remember how to breathe. His intense stare is pinning you in place no matter how badly you want to escape. The scent of expensive champagne lingers on his lips and you find yourself craving for a taste. 

But you can’t. You can’t want that. You can’t want him. 

This is the man who’s made your life a living hell for as long as you can remember. The man you’ll be cursed to sit beside in a throne room forever if you don’t do anything about it fast. 

You know these facts perfectly well, and yet…

Your eyes flutter closed as you hook your wrists across the back of his neck, letting your arch-nemesis fall deep into you.

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

want to be added to the taglist? leave a reply <3

#seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan smut #jeonghan fanfic #svthub #jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #lovelyhan

[girl8890]

JK | Virgin Sacrifice

⭐️ Currently #1 Post On My AC ⭐️

word count: 7.7k

Summary: Since the day you were born, your parents prepared you for your sacrifice. The whole village knew, and with that everyone stayed away from you. Thinking even just looking at you would make the demon in waiting mad. The demon that has been praying on you since birth, but not for what you expected. 

Paring: Demon!Jungkook x Virgin!Reader.

Genre: demon!au, virgin sacrifice, smut, angst

Rating: 18+

Warnings: neglectful parents, grooming, minor character death, jealousy, loss of virginity, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, big dick!jk, marking, biting, rough sex, one-sided love, stalking, murder, blood

A/N: In the spirit of Halloween coming up, I’ve written this story. By that I mean the scenario has been in my head for months and I finally decided to write it out. It’s different than what I usually write, but I really like the scenario of demon JK being in love with the person he’s meant to eat. I know I’m weird, but I guess it’s better than being normal and boring. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic. Comment below if you want or message me through the request/ask button. I love to stay connected with you guys, and I’m sorry I haven’t been heavily active a lot lately. i’ve just been really busy with work, school, as well as an internship. I’m trying to be more active. Okay… I’ll stop talking now… Enjoy the fic! 😊

。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。

You always dreaded turning eighteen. You always dreaded turning the age that meant your death.

It was on the day of your birth that you were chosen. Chosen to be your village's sacrifice to the demon that stalked your town for decades before you were born. He came in a puff of smoke and chose you. Saying you were the next human he would take so your village would stay unharmed for another hundred years. You never saw the demon, and even if you did at the time, you were only an hour old, so how would you remember it if you did? But the whole village saw him. Heard him cast you as the next sacrifice for their prosperity. 

You've been told since day one what you need to do and how you could ready yourself for him. Not understanding half of the measures, but also never getting answers. Your parents always treated you neutrally in the family since they knew what would happen to you one day and not really caring what you did with your life because of it. 

Well... they did care about one thing. 

You had to stay a virgin.

This was a request from the demon himself, but it was never asked from him before. You were the first. 

The sacrifices were always female and cast when the girl was born, but making sure you were a virgin was a first. And this first was also promised by the demon to be his last casting.

You will be the last sacrifice ever taken from your village if you stayed a virgin until the day of your reaping. And you did stay a virgin, although no one in your town gave you a choice on the matter. 

Everyone knew who you were because of the demons declaring, so no one pursued you. You were close to defying the rule one day when some travelers came into the village. They didn't know who you were or who you were meant to be. One traveler took your first kiss. You would have let him take more because you were always angry at age sixteen. Always mad at knowing you will one day die, and you'll never be able to enjoy the act of lovemaking. 

So, you were going to let him do whatever he wanted to you out of spite, but the second his touches became more intimate. Just when his hands caressed the sides of your breasts. His eyes, once as blue as the sky, turned as black as night, and he ripped himself away from you like you were on fire and left you there bewildered. 

He died the next day. Suicide they say. Jumping off a cliff into the pile of jagged rocks, they say. Killed by getting stabbed by a sharp rock into the stomach at the bottom of a trench. 

You didn't see the massacre, but you didn't need to. You could smell the blood from a mile, and that's how you knew his body was not just simply stabbed, and there was no way it was suicide. You saw it in his eyes that night. He was murdered.

Since then, you knew you were being watched. Not just by the people in the village, or your parents, but by the demon himself. You weren't sure why he cared so much that you stayed a virgin, or why he looked after you the way he did, but it angered you for a long time. It angered you until your seventeenth birthday. One year before your death.

You would think at least your parents would cry at the fact that you were dying soon, but just like yourself they groomed themselves to accept your fate. The fate that you will die by the hands of a demon in one years time.

And that years time... was today. 

The exact date you were born, on the exact time you were born, they prepared you. Prepared you to look your best for your death. Garnishing you with flowers in your hair with braids, and making you wear white to signify you're still standing purity. It was a simple white wrapping of fabric, but there was nothing underneath. Making everything easy for the demon to access for when he decides to eat every last bit of you.

You didn’t cry. You cried too much over the years to not have to on the actual day. Even while the priest prayed over you, rubbing holy water on your forehead, telling you to have safe travels to heaven after your death, you still didn't cry. Even when two men in all black strapped your arms and legs to a stone alter, making you all spread out and be in the position of an ‘X,’ not a single pass of tears crossed your eyes. 

You were completely done with it all, and were opening your arms to death. At least your village would be safe for eternity now, you told yourself. At least another girl wouldn't need to go through this in the future, you told yourself. Anything to ensure that this will all end up okay.... for everyone else but you.

-

It wasn't until a whole hour had passed, that you knew the demon was in the same room as you. There was no one left in the alter room besides you, and the only light you had was from a few candles left on the floor surrounding the alter. You only knew he was there by the smell.

It was a smell you have never smelt before. You couldn't even describe it if you were asked, but it was almost other worldly. Like a smell that was only made in his dimension, and no mortal would ever be able to copy it. But, in a way, it was comforting. Everything reminded you of death in this room, so the one outlying thing gave you this comfort. You grasped onto that comfort, and continued to stare up at the ceiling. Not caring enough to look for the demon who's about to devour you whole.

Your suspicions of him being there were confirmed, when he spoke. 

“What a lovely set up. You mortals really outdone yourselves this year.” The demon then chuckled at his own comment, and you felt your heart stutter. You’ve never heard such an enchanting voice in all your life, and it almost had you turning your head in search to find out who owned that enchanting voice, but you stayed still. Only twitching when the bindings around your arms began to itch. 

“It’s all for you, mighty demon,” You said simply. You were couched early on how to act, and what was okay to say to the demon. Saying anything course to him would just invoke a painful death, so you followed the instructions from the town folk that you thought knew the most information about this ritual. 

The demon laughed this time. You raised an eyebrow, confused on what you could have said that made him laugh this time, but finding your ears perk at the sound too. Everything about this demon so far was pulling at your senses, but your eyes stayed trained on the ceiling. 

“All mighty demon, you say? Funny thing to call me especially since you believe I'm here to eat you up.”

His last three words made you shiver, and you tighten your arms on your retrains, holding onto the tattered rope. You can tell he’s getting closer to you by the distance of his voice echoing around the room, and you're not sure what to do with that information. 

“But that is what you are, and what you will do. I - I have accepted that, and I'm happy to be your sacrifice.”

All of sudden, a gust of wind was felt. Making your stray hairs not in the braids move, and your skin crawl with goosebumps. 

“Lies,” The demon hisses close to your ears.

This time, you can’t help it. Your defense mechanisms come in, and your bindings hurt as you pull at them, but once you turn to face the demon - you freeze.

Your not sure what you were expecting. Never seeing a demon before has rendered you speechless because out of all the things you expected him to look like, you weren’t expecting that. You weren’t expecting him to look like the most handsome man you’ve ever set your eyes on.

His once static expression turns into a smirk, like he can read your thoughts, and knows that you’re thinking about him right now. You feel a soft hand caress your cheek, and twitch at the cold contact. Not expecting his skin to be soft either.

“My dear, you can’t still think after all this time that I’m here to eat you, do you?”

Your eyes go wide at this. Not understanding what else he could possibly want from you besides eating you. You’ve been prepared for it. You’ve finally accepted - although still not completely - that your death was going to be by this demon. What else could he possible want besides-

Your thoughts are cut short when you watch his eyes cast down your body. He bites his bottom lip and suddenly the cold hand on your cheek turns warm. It slowly moves down your cheek, across your jaw, and settling on your collarbone. Mapping out your features.

No… fricken… way.

“Yes, way.”

“What?” You blink up at him. Not only has all your worries been flipped upside down, making everything you’ve learned being completely unless, but he just read your-

“Yes, I can read your mind. How do you think I knew you didn’t accept this whole ordeal?” He waves his hand around like the prospect of eating or… making love to you, was such an easy one. “Did you really think I just wanted you to stay a virgin for the fun of it?”

You blink a few times, take a moment to process his words, then shout out, “Yes!”

The demon starts to cackle like a hyena. Like you thinking anything other then his cruelty was a joke. But he is cruel.

“Such a cruel devil,” You say without thinking, and instantly regret it. His laughter ceases altogether, and his smile completely falls. The eyes that once made you think the world was full of became black as night. His hand traveled up your trembling skin until it wrapped around your neck, applying slight pressure to your throat.

“First off, sweetheart. Names Jungkook. Not demon, not devil, Jung-fucking-kook.” His breathe fans your face as he talks. The demon now known as Jungkook is so close to you that he can probably see your hairs standing on end. “Secondly, your lucky I choose you instead of some other cunt with a death wish.”

Your once fearful state turns back into confusion. Jungkook backs away from your face, hand still wrapped around your throat, staring down at your defenseless form and making your squirm.

“W-what do you mean lucky?”

It’s a understandable question. In which way did any of this render you lucky? Your whole life you thought you were going to killed by a demon, and never able to enjoy any part of life including intimacy with others. Now, you were told you’re going to lose your virginity to a fucking demon that’s probably eaten girls like you for breakfast.

Yeah… no luck here.

Jungkook bites the corner of his lip, thinking over your question, but he decides to ignore it altogether. “Enough talking.”

Well, fuck me!

“I will soon,” Jungkook says, reading your mind, with a smirk. You gasp, surprised by his vulgar words.

His eyes linger running down your body again. Him licking his lips like your the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. He lifts his hand, going to touch you, and you struggle in your retrains.

“D-don’t touch me!” You say, but your words fall on deaf ears. All Jungkook does is squint at you, and continue to smirk. He slowly places his hand on your stomach over the white cloth you’ve been dressed in. The cloth you originally - and was planned - to be so he could eat you with no barer, but now there’s no barer for other things.

His hand slowly travels up your stomach to the valley of your breasts. You feel your face heat up when he brushes the sides of one of your breasts. He glances at your eyes one more time before gliding his singular finger around your breasts like he’s mapping out an infinity symbol. Teasing at what he’s going to do.

“P-please… don’t.” Even as you say those words, you don’t believe your own plead. This whole day has been about the complete opposite of what you want. The complete opposite of what you’ve wanted out of your life.

In all honestly, your done with trying for anything. He’s also a very beautiful being. Would it be the worse thing to just… let him? Maybe he’ll even let you live after. Even if, you would have let the traveler do anything he wanted to you. Why not let the person you’ve been preparing for to do the same?

His hand pauses on your sternum, his eye’s flash even darker than before, and his smirk becomes sharper. “Thinking about your last conquest, are you? How you almost let some vile man fuck you out of spite?”

Your eyes widen, and you feel his other hand travel up your leg. You start to struggle again, but not as much as before. Only moving because the feel of his hand on your knee surprised you.

Then it dawns on you that you were right. He knew about the man you gave your first kiss to. A guy that you barely even remember, but was significant enough in your life to remember what happened to him.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

Jungkook doesn’t need clarification on what you mean. Of course, he was there. You knew he was, but you just wanted to hear the demon say it himself.

“If you only heard his thoughts about you that day, you would be thanking me instead of giving me that death look. You should actually be thanking me.”

In no way were you going to thank him. Instead, you set your jaw tight and once again yell, with more urgency this time, “Don’t touch me!” Not wanting to feel the hands of a murder on your skin.

Instead of doing what you ask, his hand travels further up your leg until it reaches the inside of your thigh. Making your core clench when his hand touches a part of you that no one, but you had ever touched before. You swallow, hating your bodies reaction to the new feeling.

“Enough talking about him,” Jungkook hisses at you. “Enough talk altogether. I’ve waited far to long for you, and I’m not waiting any longer.”

Before you could figure out what that meant, you gasp when his fingers touch your mounds for the first time. You don’t even realize how wet you were until he does. Maybe it was something he did to you. He can read minds, after all, but you have to bite your lip super hard to stop yourself from moaning when his fingers start to work you over.

You keep wanting to tell him to stop touching you, to stay away from you, but all that comes out is whimpers. His, clearly experienced, fingers working your neglected pussy over without even entering you yet. Flicking at your clit, rubbing at your entrance, and applying pressure in all the right places.

You feel a tear fall down your face, and you look away from him. Shutting your eyes, and trying to think that you’re anywhere else but here. His hand that was placed on your sternum then suddenly lands on your face. Gripping your chin and turning your face back to him. Jungkook’s face is once again inches from yours, and the heat of his breathe makes your eyes go wide open.

“None of that,” He says. And then his fingers are entering you roughly. Making you see stars and arch your back up into him. Your chests hitting, and you don’t even register that his lips are on yours until a minute has passed.

Soft lips colliding with yours roughly and impatiently. Like he wants to consume your entire being with one kiss. You moan into his mouth when his once singular finger turns into two, and this reminds you of all the times you were to afraid to do just that. Now looking back at all the times you pleasured yourself at night, maybe your body knew this would come.

That you would need to stay clean even from your own touches for the demon above you. Stealing your breathe away with kisses, and plunging his fingers inside you on repeat. It’s all so overwhelming. The smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. It has you tipping over the edge faster than you ever thought possible, to the point you almost shout out his name as you orgasm. Luckily, you had some composure to hold yourself back from doing so. Not wanting to give him complete satisfaction that his name was what you wanted to scream in euphoria.

Jungkook could tell, though. That you held yourself back. Even though watching you come undone was quite literally the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, it’s clear by the way his eyes twitched that he wanted to hear you say his name. That he’s been waiting for you to scream out his name as you cum.

Suddenly, and with no warning, he rips the cloth covering your entire body right off of you. Making you completely bare, and your nipples perk up when a gust of cool air that came from his action hits your body. Your checks were flush before from your orgasm, but you’re completely red in the face now. No one has ever seen you this bare before, especially the way Jungkook is now.

Jungkook drinks up your naked body with his eyes, and wets his lips. He’s been waiting for the chance to see you bare up close, and have the ability to touch any part of you. Fingering you was his appetizer, but the rest of you is his dinner.

He climbs on top of you, straddling your stomach, and smooths his two hands up your arms. You watch in embarrassment as he continues to gawk at you to the point you whimper. His eyes shot back to yours when he hears that sound. Smirk returning.

“By the end of tonight, beautiful. I’ll make sure the only name you’ll ever be able to think about is my own.”

“Why wou-“

Before you could finish your question, Jungkook resumes kissing you. Not as rough as before, but it once again steals your breathe away. Any words you were going to say in return, were sucked right out of you. Dizzying you further when you feel his tongue attack your own.

A moan is heard echoed in the room, but it’s not from you. Your eyes shoot open at the sound from the demon above you, and you're surprised with yourself when you want to hear it again.

His lips then detach from yours and travel south. With each kiss to your skin you quiver, and moan at the contact. Surrendering yourself to him, and giving up the victim act. You can’t deny that you want this. It’s always been a tease on your life, and always been a want of yours to feel like this. Wanted and praised by a man.

Maybe that’s why he wanted you as a virgin. To tease you from the very start and make this experience a hundred times better, and you a hundred times wetter on top of that. He smiles against the top of your chest, and you revel at the feel of his teeth against your skin.

Jungkook licks a stripe from the top of your chest back to your neck, and you receive a singular kiss there. Your feeling ten times lighter then before, and you think it’s because his lips alone have cast a spell upon you. Making every movement from him above you feel like electric coursing through your bones.

One second your feeling amazing, the next second a earthshaking painful bite gets driven into your neck. You open your mouth to let out a silent scream, and you look to see Jungkook is biting into your neck. His eyes rolling back when blood starts to pool in his mouth.

For a millisecond you think he’s going to eat you. That all his words of not wanting to kill you were lies, but then he’s detaching his lips from your skin and licking at the bumpy surface.

“Mmm - I knew you would taste sooo good.” He blinks up at you, rubbing his nose across your own. “Your everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You force out your question before, not wanting to be distracted again when he suddenly moves south on your body again. “Why did it matter that I was a virgin?”

His movements south stop at your words. His face right above your breasts, but his eyes on you. Widening for a second before he can compose himself. He cocks his head to the side, and smiles the most innocent smile that shouldn’t be on such a devilish face.

“Because I’m the only one that can have you.”

You get about five seconds to process his answer until his lips attach themselves to your left nipple. The sucking along with his tongue has your back arching up into him. His other hand finds purchase on your other breast, and you roll your head back. How is it that his hands feel so much better than your own?

It’s then, before you can stop yourself, that you let out his name him in a whimper. Unable to control the full extent of ecstasy you're feeling from his mouth and hands, and you think you’ve somehow lost a battle. But then he’s moaning against your breasts, and rutting himself against you... then your suddenly realizing your position.

He’s very hard, and very big. And that very hard and very big thing is going to enter you soon. Your nervousness doubles, but you moan again at the thought of him being inside of you. You feel crazy by just enjoying that thought, but don’t bring yourself to care.

Especially when he lifts himself off of you and strips himself of his shirt. Leaving himself bare from the waist up, and you feel your face redden again by the sight. Of course, he’s got fucking muscles. Of course, he’s cut like a god instead of a demon. He’s already handsome in the face, so why wouldn’t the rest of him make you wetter then a fucking fountain?

You bite your lip, trying and failing to look away from him and drinking your fill of this beautiful man in front of you. He smirks, the devilish way he has been all night, and looks you straight in the eyes in silence for a moment. You wonder what he's thinking, and wished you had his ability to read others thoughts. That way you could smile and smirk the way he's doing right now. As you think up all he ways he looks good. Boosting his ego by accident. 

“If I knew all I needed to do was take my shirt off to make you want me, I would have did that from the very start.” You roll your eyes at him stroking his own ego, which makes Jungkook chuckle at the fact that you just rolled your eyes at a demon, and him taking it as it was - funny. 

Jungkook bends forward, putting both of his hands on either side of your head, staring down at you. He slowly inches his face back down to you until both of your lips reattach into a gentle kiss. Each kiss has been so different.

Rough. Smooth. Gentle.

Almost like Jungkook can’t decide how to treat you. How to behave with you. You’re not sure how you feel about that, but then again you weren’t sure how to feel about all of this. Your head still spinning from it all. 

More caresses are given, and each time you get into the kissing enough, you move your hands to touch him or bend your knee to get comfortable, and then remember what you are to him. Just a virgin sacrifice. A virgin sacrifice that is now getting frustrated at the lack of action. It feels like it’s been an hour since you orgasmed last. You still feel the coating of your cum dripping down your leg, but besides Jungkook’s hands roaming your entire body he hasn’t even went down there since.

It gets to the point where even the kissing is making you ache. Is this how teasing is done? Is this how it feels when someone prolongs the inevitable? You guess so, since you’ve never been in a situation even close to this one before.

“J-Jungkook,” you say his name and it feels like your tongue is fat in your mouth. Jungkook just got done ravishing your neck and breasts to the point they are purple and red all over. The bite mark on your neck being only one of many now littered down your body.

“Yes, sweetheart,” He says with a drip of dark lust coming across his words.

Your eyes feel heavy, and your chest is heaving with air. You try your best to say what you want without completely embarrassing yourself. “When are you going to - you know?”

Jungkook bites his lip, trying to contain his laughter. He sobers quickly and fakes innocence as he cocks his head at you. “Do I know? I think you need to be a little more clear.”

You blow hot air out of your mouth in frustration, and wiggle in your restrains. “Come on, stop teasing.”

Jungkook raises a pointed eyebrow at you. “Teasing? I would never.”

Now who’s the lier.

He smiles.

“Fuck you too then.” He laughs at that. When his laughter ceases all of a sudden the aura in the room has changed. Like what was once a room full of sex and heat has turned infertile and cold.

You stare up at the demon and see something pass through his eyes. An emotion you can’t quite understand. Jungkook leans down to be close to your face again, but doesn’t touch your nose or lips this time. He pushes your sweaty hair out of your face, and pets the top of your head. Staring at you now like it’s the first time, and he's using new eyes to see.

Your stomach swirls as he does this. Like he’s looking at a lover that he’s been missing for years, and not someone he just met and is using for his own needs. Nonetheless, you drink up the loving look he’s giving you. Never being able to have that look aimed at you before, especially by someone as enchanting as him.

“I finally have you,” Jungkook whispers in between the two of you. Placing another gentle kiss on your now swollen lips. You don’t know what he meant by “finally.” You know it was always planned for him to take you, but it almost seemed deeper for him. Like he’s been waiting decades instead of eighteen years. You’re not so sure what he’s feeling, and your mind goes blank on the matter when you feel him start to rut against your core. Drawing out a long moan by you that is being swallowed by him.

Everything moves fast after that. He removes his boots, then goes right back to kissing you. He removes his pants, and you gasp when you feel the appendage that’s had your nerves spiking since the first time it rubbed against you through his clothes touch your thigh. Without even looking, you know he’s huge. Bigger then what’s considered average, and the thought has your core clenching once again at knowing someone as experienced and lucky wants you. Has wanted and waiting for you for eighteen years.

He says, “Breathe,” against your lips. And you do. You breathe through the pain that accumulates through you when he starts to enter you. Your body stretching to new heights it’s never expected to stretch to. By the time he’s bottomed out, his eyes still looking down at you with the same look as before, lips inches from touching yours, you’re feeling so full. So elated. So womanly. A feeling you never expected to be allowed to have.

Your breathing is harsh, and it takes you a moment to get adjusted to him. By the time you have, you realize he’s waiting for you. That you didn’t expect at all. Although he’s given you more reasons to like him then hate him this past hour, you can’t help but admit you thought this was always going to be a painful experience, but it isn’t. It wasn’t. Nothing even close once you’re fully accustomed to him.

Without words, you tell him, I’m ready. His eyes widen ever so slightly when he reads your mind, and once that second passes he starts thrusting into you at a slow pace. Making sure your body doesn’t feel any pain from his movements. You’re greatful for it but still confused. Innocence are like a demons favorite snack. Yet he treats you like fragile glass in this moment.

By the time you’re feeling so good, him hitting a spot inside of you that you could never reach before, you’re saying his name like a prayer, and that’s all Jungkook needs to be allowed to do what he’s been waiting for. What you’ve been expecting from the very start.

He fucking ravishes you.

Holding the end of the alter in one hand and your hip in the other, to steady himself, he piston fucks you into oblivion. You didn’t even know hips could move that fast, but then again, you’re not fucking a human… you’re fucking a demon… and you’re loving every second of it.

You wail, scream, and moan out so many profanities as Jungkook’s cock fucks into you with earnest. Your mouth not closing as each thrust pounds the life out of you. All the while his face is in your neck and only some grunts can be heard.

“Fuck- Jungkook - Shit! God!”

Your last plead somehow has Jungkook smiling against your neck.

“Trust me, love. There’s no god here.”

Maybe it’s him calling you love, or the way he explains how there’s no god in this situation. Only you and a demon. But it has your second orgasm of the night rippling through you. Your restrains tearing at your wrists, you want to hold him so badly, especially when he’s not letting up on you whatsoever. Thrusting into you like your not currently close to blacking out from how good your first orgasm since losing your virginity feels.

Losing your virginity. You’re no longer a virgin. That thought alone has you moaning to the heavens. Or maybe even hell. Your not sure since the only thing right in this world to you right now is the being on top of you.

Jungkook moves his hands so there on top of your hands still in your restrains. He only slows down to adjust himself to the new angle, then he’s back to fucking into you - faster then before. Your screaming from the overstimulation, but there’s no pain coming from your screams. All pleasure. All want, and need, and lust, and fuck!

“Fuck your so sexy, Y/n.” Your realize then that he just said your name for the first time tonight, and that has your mind coming out of the fuzz for just a moment. If he said anything else before that, your mind wouldn’t have been able to register a single word, but just your name alone has you focusing on the man above you even more.

Every sharp line on his torso. How his hips flex when he thrusts into you. The way his arm muscles jut out as he holds himself above you. Everything about his body is so erotic, not to mention his face is like the word sex was reincarnated into a being.

Jungkook’s licks his teeth, chuckling as he looks down at you. “Am I better then him?” Your heart stops. “Am I better then you imagined him to be?” You wiggle in your spot, barely moving besides when his hips thrust into you so hard they move you upwards. “I wish I could kill him again. Knowing he touched you first. Knowing kissed you first. But he never got this.” Jungkook thrusts into you extra hard to make sure you know the extent of his words. “He never got to feel how good you feel.”

Suddenly, your wrists are free. You don’t get a chance to feel relived on the matter, though, because then Jungkook is picking you up into the air and thrusting up into you twice as deep as before. Your arms are wrapped around his neck tightly, and your screaming into his shoulder as each earth quacking thrust gets driven up into you. Even his name from your lips is coming out as jumble because of the way he’s fucking you.

You scratch at his back as your third orgasm rips through you. As good as it feels, going though the roller coaster of emotions this man - demon - is putting you though, you realize he hasn’t even cum once, but you’re to much of a sweaty mess to contemplate that until another moment of rough fucking has passed.

Jungkook’s hands are full of your ass cheeks and he’s squeezing onto them so tightly that only that little bit of pain makes you come out of your dizzying post orgasm state. You take your face out of his shoulder, look at the demon that’s been making you see stars, and see something you haven’t expected or seen before.

You thought just the small grunts we’re what he does when he feels good, but his face is an entirely different story when it comes to pleasure. He must have been hiding it before, but the way his eyes are screwed shut, and his jaw is slack you can tell Jungkook is feeling just as good as you have been.

That’s why, for the first time, you kiss him first. You kiss his open mouth and hold onto his face as best as you can while still moving with each of Jungkook’s thrusts. He moans into your mouth, and it’s music to your ears now. You feel him grown even bigger - which is somehow possible - inside of you. All of this indicating that your demon is close to spilling his seed inside of you. Officially claiming in all senses.

First the orgasm by just his fingers. Then the multiple bites. And now he will claim you by pouring his cum as deep as possible inside of you.

You whisper against his cheek, wanting to drive him as crazy as he has you the entire time, “Fill me up, Jungkook. Make me yours like I was born to be.”

Jungkook hears you, widening his eyes, and then he’s slamming you back onto the alter, arms wrapped around your middle and head so you don’t get hurt by the impact, and thrusts into you so deep it's like he’s trying to split you in two. Then you feel it. The overwhelming heat inside of you as he spills every last drop into you. You start to tear up, it feels so good. Overly stretching you as each spurt goes inside of you.

Jungkook is praying it sounds like near your ear. In a different language you have never heard before. The only thing you’re able to decipher is your name being prayed along with whatever else he’s saying. By the time he’s completely emptied himself inside of you, your eyes have dried out too. Both of you breathing into each other’s necks, and looking like a mess of limbs. Your arms still wrapped around his neck, as his only get tighter around your waist.

It takes both of you a moment to look at each other, but when Jungkook makes the first move to exit your neck and look down at you again, you could cry all over again. That same look of pure love is clear as water now on his face. A look you’ll gladly see every day.

A bunch of thoughts cross Jungkook eyes that he wants to say. So many things you think he should say. But out of all the things he’s planned to say in this moment, only three words seem right. 

“You’re finally mine.”

-

-

-

Jungkook has looked over this small village since the beginning of human existence. Even before God was a known being to the mortals, Jungkook was always there. Feasting off of their prayers, until someone like God was born in their lives. That’s when Jungkook had to get creative when it came to getting praise from the mortals.

He cursed the village with his presence. Destroying it with fire until it was nearly gone, and eating up all the villagers that stood to fight against him. Each person tasting even more vile than the last. Eating humans was never a necessary thing, but it was entertaining to watch them beg for mercy before he bit a huge chunk out of their bodies. The ones that were meant to die young we're the only ones that tasted appetizing enough to have Jungkook’s gums itch for more. 

That’s how the ritual started. Every hundred years, Jungkook would search for a soul that was meant to die young, and let them live up until their eighteenth birthday. Stopping them from drying young since their paths would be changed. Each time he came to claim a victim, it was scary for the living to the point they would make their sacrifice have a terrible life, ignoring their existence, but that’s not what Jungkook wanted. He wanted to save them for awhile, but still get his praise and delicious feeding out of it.

It wasn’t until you were born, that he even considered stopping. Every hundred years he would view every mortal women that gave birth, and wait for the one that’s soul was meant to die before they turned eighteen. You had the worst way of dying. Dying by losing your virginity to the man, in fact. Him fucking you then murdering you at the age of sixteen. Some sick fuck you gave your purity too, indeed. 

But that’s not what changed his mind about the ritual, wanting to finally stop his torment on the village. Your soul was. He watched your entire life play out in a flash. Every time you laughed, cried, smiled, he watched it all.

By the time he blinked your world away, Jungkook was in love.

An emotion the demon never knew was possible for him, was suddenly fully opened up when he looked into your life. He wanted to hold you through every sorrow, laugh along with you to every joke, and hurt every person who hurt you. He wanted you to watch the world burn and then be reborn again with him. Things he never expected to want with another person, he wanted them all with you. 

To wake up next to you at daybreak, and fall asleep next to you at night fall. To watch the wars go through the motions, and be there when a new religion was created. He wanted you as his partner, his lover, his everything. 

That’s why, instead of his usual “she’s the sacrifice, see you in eighteen years” bullshit speech he’s always given, he added something new. That you were to stay a virgin until you were sacrificed to him on your eighteenth birthday, and that would be the last sacrifice the village would ever need to give.

You’re all he needed, after that. Although making sure you stayed a virgin has some selfish reasoning to it, since Jungkook didn’t want you to get any physical affections - especially like that - from anyone but him, but also, the fact that the person that was meant to kill you was also the person that would take that gift away from you.

He watched your entire life play out in front of him, and he watched every second of it in real time too. From your first steps, to your first successful grade, even your first skinned knee. Times he saw you cry were always the hardest for him. Even if you were a child, all he wanted to do was reveal himself and hold you close. Keep you safe, and promise you protection forever. To at least tell you everything was going to be okay. He did sometimes. Revel himself to you, but each time he sobered you he would have to make you forget him. That made Jungkook’s own heart hurt. Knowing as soon as he had you out of his arm, you would forget his face and that he existed. 

You knew there was a demon coming for you one day, and the thought of him like that only served to radiate hate from you. Something he never wanted you to feel against him. 

But nothing, and I mean nothing, was more painful to Jungkook than to watch you be with another man. The man that stool your first kiss was a traveler from another village. He had brown hair and tanned skin. He was handsome. So handsome that no one would expect him to secretly be a ripper of the night. He would have sex with desperate women, and then kill them right after with any object he could get his hands on.

Any other person, Jungkook wouldn’t even bat an eye at him for what he did, but because he set his eyes on you, Jungkook had no problem using his powers to kill the man in the most gruesome way possible. At first, Jungkook let you play out your little spiteful game with the man. Clenching his jaw so tight his teeth almost broke as he watched and heard you feel so good by someone else besides him. 

Unlike all the times he watched you pleasure yourself, Jungkook was not smiling. He was not wishing for the day to join you. He was not happy to hear you moan or whimper as the man kissed you. And when the man went to touch your breasts, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He consumed the man’s mind with his darkness, and had the man peeled himself away from you. The look of shock soon fell from your face when you saw his eyes. It upset Jungkook a little that you were angry. That you knew it was he who stopped you from going further with this man, but you didn’t know what Jungkook knew. You didn’t know that this man would have killed you as soon as he was done with you.

Although you only knew the barest of details about this man’s death, Jungkook ripped him to shreds. Throwing his body away in a deep trench, and making it look like a suicide. It was clear by the mass of blood that it wasn’t a suicide, but your village wasn’t as advanced yet to think anything else but suicide.

Jungkook continued to watch you closely after that. Even closer then before. He was surprised you didn’t feel him somehow. Since his love for you was so strong. But you never knew he was there, at least not a hundred percent. You had your suspicions after the man you wanted to give your everything to died.

But you still didn’t know a hundred percent until your eighteenth birthday. It angered Jungkook that the village people continued to make your life feel so lonely like they did all the other sacrifices, but he also knew you weren’t going to die today. After today, you were going to be treated like a queen in his kingdom. Both of you descending back into hell together after he claimed you as his.

Claimed you as his.

That thought alone had Jungkook stretching your wait for him. Usually the second the other mortals left the room, the one you were currently in, he would devour the girl on the alter. Instead, knowing what was actually going to go down, what Jungkook actually had plan for you, had the demon feeling nervous.

Nervous that you wouldn’t let him do anything. He could force you, but as someone who was actually in love with you he could never. He would never. He would butter you up and make you see and feel his love. The challenge was… well, that. Jungkook has never needed to seduce someone before. Women would always just flock to him when he reveled himself. But you’re also not just any other women crossing his path. You’re the one who stole his heart, and locked it away as forever yours.

He knew you hated him right now. Hated, but somewhat accepted your fate with him. A fate that was never going to come. You were never going to die tonight. You were never going to feel lonely ever again.

That’s why, after pining and waiting all this time, Jungkook says the first thing that comes to mind when he enters the room you’re in.

“What a lovely set up. You mortals really outdone yourselves this year.”

Because what else would a nervous, madly in love, reputation of being god awful, demon say for the first time when seeing the love of his life? It wasn’t until you spoke to him next, that Jungkook really breathed in the situation. 

“It’s all for you, mighty demon.”

And although you meant the room, Jungkook’s cock jumped in his jeans for what he took your words as.

You — being all for him.

And by the end of the night, you were exactly that.

-

-

-

The End.

#jungkook #jk #bts #bts jk #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x fem!reader #demon!jungkook #demon!au #demon!jungkook x reader #virgin sacrifice #pining jk #virgin!reader #demon!jungkook x virgin!reader #jungkook x virgin!reader #Halloween #this fic took me so long to write lol #jungkook smut