#biting a senator AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowyolks · 1 year

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YOUR GRACE,

PART ONE OF THE KING AU (Part Two Here)

Pairing: King! König x Female Reader

Prompt: As a loyal soldier to your King, you follow orders without question. So when the King asks you to kneel— you do as told.

Words: 3k

Warnings: The dirtiest thing I’ve ever wrote— voyeurism, public sex, dacryphilia, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, cum eating, p in v sex, creampie, unprotected sex, biting.

A/n: König literally means king in German, so we shall play this to our advantage. I’ll be in the corner where I belong if you need me.

MINORS DNI

It was simply disgusting outside. Mud had caked upon your boots, and the blood of your enemies you viciously killed still painted your armor. You looked every bit as wild on the battlefront as you did after victory.

Your breath frosted in the air, a shiver overtaking. You looked forward to taking a warm bath heated by the fire you had already started back in your tent.

That was before you were interrupted by one of the King’s servants, his face reddened upon glancing at your bare breasts, your armor long stripped. Luckily you hadn’t slid out of your trousers, but it was simple to say you were irritated.

You hastily pulled your furs back over your upper half, grumbling at the feeling of clothing upon your back and not hot water.

You shouldn’t have let frustration get the best of you, yet as you marched towards the other side of camp, everything managed to piss you off. Screaming soldiers fighting for rations, horses nickering too loudly, and men that couldn’t help but stare.

“You got a fucking staring problem?” You snarled at a particularly small soldier, who gulped in alarm when he caught the vicious glare you sent him.

A little chuckle broke out from behind you, and your heart leapt out of your throat when you realized it was your King.

His massive form was always a sight to see, except this time he looked even more terrifying. He seemed taller in his armor of glowing silver. Unlike most Kings, he fought amongst his men, so instead of untouched metal, his breastplate was splattered in red and mud. Even his signature hood he wore in battle was smeared with drying blood.

His arm was flexed upwards, holding up the cloth door of the council’s tent. Several men were already inside, all councilors of the senate, none that fought in the battle. You curled your lip.

“Play nice, Maus…” he purred, ushering you inside. You had to admit that the warmth of a fire felt nice against your face, the small shiver of your back disappearing.

“Right…” Your king sat upon his makeshift throne of forged steel, large enough to fit his massive form and have plenty of room to spread his legs wide before him. You sat next to him, and if it wasn’t for the bluntly obvious General’s cloak you wore, it could almost be assumed you were in a Queen’s throne. You sat close together, as you always did in briefings.

It wasn’t hard to guess the affairs the King had with you. Often times the guards would catch you sneaking out of his quarters, your sloppy gait and wrinkled dress being enough evidence to guess the steaming affair. He found joy in the hunt, something he made very clear when his face was pressed to your weeping cunt as his hand muffled your screams of pleasure.

“Are you listening, Girl?” A senator broke you away from your inner turmoil, your sour mood coming back in full force.

“I apologize, sir, but I think you meant General. Not Girl.” Your bite didn’t go unnoticed by the other senators, they shifted uncomfortably in their seats. König let out a little sigh of amusement.

“At ease… we are just starting. She has not missed anything important.” König diffused the situation, and you fell back into your chair with a huff. You’d rather be anywhere than speaking politics with these slimy pricks. You were a warrior, not a peacemaker.

“What is not important is a woman among our ranks. Let alone one that simply serves purpose to warm your bed.” The senator seethed, and you merely smirked at his comment. König would not tolerate this insolence, it would be fun to watch this play out.

Panicked whispers broke out amongst the senators as König stood. His height was scary in its own, but as he towered in a silent anger, he looked even more menacing. His steps were calculated, stalking towards the conquered sand table right in front of the unruly senator.

“You’re so tense.” König joked as his palms fell upon the little man’s shoulders, like claps of dark thunder. Your eyes twinkled as he clamped down.

“I apologize, sire.” The senator squeaked, although the bitter laugh that escaped the giant’s throat made him even more pale. “I shouldn’t be the one you apologize to, but I doubt whatever you come up with would be sincere.”

“I can apologize to the General…” he squirmed, the situation already making you revel in joy, but when your King bent his knee you grew more satisfied, your mouth watering.

“I won’t hurt you… tell me something, senator?” König’s voice cut across the tent, eerie silence replacing his growl.

“Anything.”

“Have you ever felt a pretty woman’s mouth against your cock?”

It was silent, you felt your own heart rate pick up at the question. The silence was enough of an answer, König laughed, deep and threatening. He crouched lower, his eyes level with the senator, his hood still terribly covered in blood. He reached down, pulling a singular dagger from his boot, before placing it against the base of the quivering man’s throat.

“I’m pretty big, she chokes on it most times, but occasionally…” König tilted the dagger down, against the hollow of the man’s throat. “I’ll open her up just right, and her pretty, tight, throat can take all of me to here.” He tapped the flesh, a wicked glint in his eyes as he stood straight again.

“Everyone out! Except you…” His blade stayed planted against the senator’s throat. His eyes happily watching as the council scrambled out of the tent.

“Don’t go far… I plan to have a meeting after I take care of this issue,” he yelled as they left. He sheathed his dagger, a soft pat was placed on the senator’s shoulders.

König stalked back to his throne, his eyes uncharacteristically soft as they met your own steeling ones.

“Come here, darling.” He purred again, you imagined the plunge in your gut was a lot different than the one the senator had felt. You rose from your chair, casting a quiet glance at the senator before stopping a few inches in front of the King.

You knelt respectfully, a gesture that made König’s eyes flash as he glanced down on you through his hood.

You could practically see his teasing smirk through the dirty canvas.

He reached out, his palm resting upon your cheek, then lower to the warm skin of your neck. His touch was like glowing embers, always the one to set you on fire.

“You see this? So very loyal to the King, something I wish for my councilmen as well.” His eyes burnt holes into the senator, a wicked swirling of pleasure beneath his commanding eyes. His palm rubbed smoothing circles against your skin, keeping you grounded and focused on his massive form. You hummed at his compliment, allowing a chuckle to escape the King’s throat.

“She likes to be praised and she treats me so well. Say something nice about her, senator.” König demanded from his throne, his legs still spilled wide as he pulled you gently between them, slotting your kneeling form against the tight muscles of his inner thighs.

“She fights well.” He squeaked like a timid mouse, König tutted, obviously unhappy with the response.

“No, no. About her appearance, like how sweet her cunt tastes, or how pretty she looks kneeling.” His words made you clench around nothing, but you didn’t dare move from your position, your eyes still locked and wavering at his hood.

“She has pretty eyes…” he mumbled, barely loud enough for König to hear. He laughed slightly, a gruff chirp that shook his wide chest.

“Such a pathetic compliment, it’s a wonder why you’ve never got your cock wet, hmm?”

The senator whined, obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation, but you didn’t pay much mind, your stare falling to your King’s open thighs, where his cock lay tight against his pants.

König chuckled again, the sound musical as he petted upon your hair. “Those pretty eyes are staring at my cock like she’ll go hungry. I feed her well, keep her satisfied and by my side.” His hand patted upon the crown of your head repeatedly—a waiting game.

“But you won’t get to look at her pretty eyes.” König reached to his face, pulling upon his battle-worn hood, he dropped it to the ground with a dull thud.

He was ethereal in a way, simply like a God you had bent your knee for. His messy hair a color of the sun when it set— a dull warm orange. His nose was long and crooked, likely from breaking the cartilage in battle. His face was angled and stern, as if he was a spring ready to snap. His pupils were blown, you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or lust.

He fumbled with his belt, pulling upon the leather material until it hung loosely upon his waist. Finally, he leant back against the chair, his eyes finding the senator’s in disgusting pleasure.

“You know what to do, Maus.”

It was all you needed as a sign to reach your nimble fingers beneath his waistband, pulling down upon his trousers until his half-hard cock displayed in front of your face. You felt no shame as you clutched upon his massive shaft, your fingers barely wrapping around the sheer girth of him.

“Don’t look away, senator… I’ll spoon out your eyes if you do.” He rumbled, just as you pumped him once.

König was definitely putting on a show, releasing a deep sigh that came from his stomach. You knew then that he wouldn’t go quietly, your King was going to be loud, and no one would dare stop him.

“She’s good with her fingers, but near euphoric with her tongue.” He glanced down to you, cradling your jaw before lowering you down to his weeping head, a soft bead of precum leaking from him.

“Come now, darling… you’re being shy.”

With a amused huff you parted your lips, running your tongue down the shaft of his cock, nearly smiling as König hissed. That was real, not just a loud and absurd noise of punishment for the senator.

His hips pushed against your mouth, impatiently rutting his cock deeper down your throat, barely giving you enough time to open wide enough that your teeth wouldn’t scrape against his warm skin.

He pressed against the back of your throat, despite his battle worn body, he’d always tasted of bittersweet cherry wine, maybe it was because he drank so much of it. Always a goblet in his hand when you’d be in his quarters, a book slotted in his other hand. He’d often enjoy a glass while you sat on his lap, doing his best to read you the passage as you warmed his cock.

He jerked up again at your dazed expression, the fleshy walls of your throat gagged around his throbbing head, not being able to take the stretch.

“Shhhh… you hear that senator? Hear her struggle on my cock?” His massive paw wrapped around your head, pulling you back slightly, letting you catch your breath.

“Say she’s beautiful. Say she’s the most gorgeous woman in the whole kingdom. I want you to look at her when I cum down her throat, so every time you stroke yourself with that pathetic hand, you’ll think of my cock…” he brought you down upon him again, except this time you were ready.

“Fuck…”

Your nose hit the soft edge of his pelvis, tears welling in your eyes as he stretched your jaw to an extreme he hasn’t ever reached before.

“She’s beautiful…” the senator quietly squirmed as König’s fiery stare glared back at him. “And she’s all mine, the only woman that warms my bed.” With a final thrust, and your ears ringing at the praise, you tightened just enough for him to spill his seed against the back of your throat.

Your King’s soft whine of pleasure the only thing that propelled you to swallow every last drop of him, despite how much it truly was.

“What a good girl, she swallowed all of me. Not like some common whore you’d have to pay for, hmm?” His fingertip traced under your lip, gathering up your sticky saliva and a drop of him you missed. He fed it to you in a satisfied stupor, obviously his orgasm had fatigued him. Yet, his eyes still swirled with lust, you knew this was far from over.

“Leave, senator. If I hear you even breathed a slight word about my General again, I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to the dogs.”

The senator sighed in relief, eyes lowered to the ground as he hastily bowed, leaving the tent in such an embarrassed state you hardly noticed as König hauled you to your feet before settling you against his knee, his eyes playful as he regarded you.

“I think my most prized subject deserves an award, no?”

You pretend to think about it, your mind airy from all of the praise you’ve just received. With a sure hand you reached out, connecting with his jaw. Auburn stubble had begun to sprout amongst his cheeks, showcasing the time spent fighting amongst camp instead of his warm keep.

“There will be others, a lot more distasteful than him.” You warned. König sighed, paws squeezing upon the soft furs bunched on your waist.

“Let them talk. Let them listen…”

His hand wrapped upon the back of your neck, pulling you into his chest until you were tight and straddled against his waist, the cold armrests of his throne digging into your legs.

He wasted no time in kissing your swollen lips, reveling in pleasure as he tasted himself upon your tongue.

He was hot and warm, a summer day in the contrast of the icy battle that had raged earlier. It made you yearn to be under his furs in his bed back home, tucked into his side like some precious jewel. Shivers erupted down your back when he nudged his nose against your chin, allowing him space to sink his teeth lightly in the flesh of your collarbone. You ground down against his bare cock, he grunted at the friction.

You gasped when his hands squeezed underneath the soft parts of your thighs. Effortlessly, your King pulled you up in his arms, never breaking away from your neck as he sucked against the flesh. Still, he knew exactly where he was going, because in a few steps he had you laying flat against the sand table, pieces of wooden carved castles and crests scattering across the surface.

“You looked so pretty sucking my cock, Maus. Never wanted to fuck you more, fill you until you cried,” you gasped, and in one fluid motion König had your trousers down and thrown on the dirty ground. Your bottom half exposed to the nipping cold.

“Never done anything like that with someone looking…” you mumbled, not that you felt self-conscious, but the fact that König would display to the world that you were his.

“Think I’m embarrassed of you?” He teased, before falling to the dirt just as you had previously done. You clenched, watching as the man you served would now serve you.

“Of course not.” You aired out, tilting your chin down to glance at his eyes, rounded in dark sultry glow.

“Good. Because they’re going to hear you, and they’ll know just how good I make you feel,” he growled, before snatching your hips, pulling them against his awaiting lips. He licked a long stripe up your cunt, making you release a humiliating moan from the warmth of him.

He set to work immediately, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, just as he sucked down hard upon your clit. You jerked, slamming your eyes shut while whining unapologetically when he crushed your pelvis back down against the cold table.

“Sit still, Maus…” he pulled away a moment, slick glistening to his lips as he licked them greedily. He hummed, “you taste divine, you want me to continue?”

“Yes, Your Grace…” you mumbled in a drunk euphoria, barely hearing his growl as heaved your legs upon his shoulders and dipped lower, licking and suckling upon you again. Enough that you were seeing stars, vision nearly black as he added a thick digit against your clenching walls.

It squelched against the tightening flesh, causing a deep moan to flex from your throat, and a hum of approval to fall from König’s lips, the vibration sending you over your edge. He added another finger, wallowing in pleasure as he stretched you.

He sucked in a deep breath of air, “that’s it darling, cum around my fingers, I want to taste it.” You tightened around him, seeing black as you felt yourself unravel, pure bliss falling from your lips as he lapped up everything you gave. He kissed the inside of your thighs, the touch like fire, burning and burning until you were nothing left but ashes.

He slipped his fingers away, the loss of contact making you whine pathetically. Oh, how easy it was to fall into the spell of him.

He laughed, a joyous sound, if it wasn’t for your quivering form. You needed more than just his fingers, and judging by the twinkle in his stormy eyes, he knew it too. He stood tall, his shadow falling over you like a blanket.

“What’s wrong, Maus?” He quipped, sharp canines glowing against the roaring fire in the distance. He knew exactly just how much this was getting to you. How his own fingers were shaking with primal desire, how he needed to plant into you and seek delicate shelter.

Your legs instinctively spread wider, allowing his hips to slot between them. With a slow hiss he stroked himself, your own eyes growing wide at the sheer girth of him, fully hard and wanting. He was always one to split you in two, a precious stretch just for him.

He taunted, gliding back and forth against your slick, up and down, again…again. Just as you were about to tearfully beg he breached your hole, a grunt leaving his lips before his head fell back in desperation.

“Fuck darling… so tight.” He pushed in slightly, half of him clamped and yielding to you. The burn was delicious, just as his hands were when they found purchase of your clothed breasts. He kneaded, just as he pulled out slightly again.

A sharp cry echoed the tent as he pushed back in— a wicked snap of his hips that made you moan. He rutted deep, one hand pressing into the table near your head, his eyes locked on your furrowed features.

“Eyes open, Maus.” He commanded, and you did as you were told, eager to please the King. Your teary eyes flooded with a jerky thrust, the tip of his head hitting your womb. It was pure instinct to wrap your legs around him, allowing him a deeper angle to ravage.

He was every bit a King. His size, his intelligence, his cock. It all dulled in comparison to any other man or woman. A true man of unwavering power.

“You hear her crying on my cock?” He yelled out into the tent, releasing a growl of his own as his cock began to twitch your gummy walls.

Whispers erupted from outside of the tent, some of the senators even commenting on how they did hear, just to please the King’s ego. It only made you moan louder, as his hips snapped even faster at their whispers.

Your hands found purchase around his cloak of woven velvet, roughly pulling at the material until you reached the warm skin of his shoulder blades, the high nearly reaching you as you rose upwards, your nails tearing into his flesh.

The only wound he’d received from his conquest.

“That’s it. Cum on your King’s cock,” he growled, losing himself just seconds after you began to clench, seeing stars in the most delightful way.

You were never one to disobey his orders.

He was never one to deny you pleasure.

With a cry, your walls closed around him, just as he pulled you tight against him, his thrusts sloppy as he rode you off your orgasm. Only seconds later did he pull you into a bruising kiss, your own mouth swallowing his moan as he spilled warm seed inside you, coating your walls in a way of pure unadulterated bliss.

He kissed you, long and slow, not daring to break your connection until he wiped your tears built from shared pleasure.

He was simple nirvana in the form of a man.

You silently whined when he pulled back, his little hiss of relief only making your eyes grow wider in admiration. He knelt again, his stare falling between your legs to your battered cunt, completely and utterly full of him.

He chuckled, reveling in ecstasy at your spent state, and all you could do was stare. With a curious finger, he pushed his seed back into your womb, a glint in his eyes as you moaned out to him at the breach.

“Love to see you full, darling. Maybe the seed will take, hmm?” His words jarred you, so crude yet delicious at the same time. Just as he was.

“They’d be bastards.” You couldn’t help but slur, eyes finding your ripped trousers in the mud.

König’s eyes twinkled as he did up his belt again, an amused look on his face as he tossed you his cloak. It would be enough to get you back to your warm bath. Forget the fuckin’ council.

The giant’s swollen lips quirked upwards, his steps sure as he reached against the table, pulling a long piece of parchment from a draw. With an outstretched hand, he gave it out to you.

You read it over, again and again. Eyes widening more each time you reread. In shock you stood, attempting to ignore the shake in your legs from excitement and from earlier pleasures.

A declaration.

“Marriages are sacred in Royalty. You know that. But being a King also makes you a conquerer, conquering means new land. Land means area to rule. I can make whoever I want royalty on said land,” He rumbled, his chest pressed to your back, just as he pushed back your hair, placing a searing kiss upon your neck.

“How would it feel to be a Queen? My Queen.”

Tags: @mykneeshurt @soapyghost @fante-di-denari

#fuck I don’t know how to end smut #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #König #konig #könig x reader #könig smut #konig x reader

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worksby-d · 7 months

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Can't Wait That Long

Pairing: senator!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Request: “I love your senator Steve drabbles.😍 Could you do one where Steve realizes he wants kids so he wants to start breeding you, like IMMEDIATELY.”

Warnings: AU, kind of public sex, unprotected sex, 18+

Word count: ~1,000

a/n: I didn't realize how much I missed Steve until that lil prompt request the other week 😩 So I dug through the absolute depths of my inbox and found this request from almost two years ago 💀🙏

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Steve can’t stop his gaze from constantly drifting toward you as you play with some of his team’s kids on the other side of the glass panel dividing the meeting room. You quickly—too quickly—volunteered yourself to keep them entertained, much more interested in sitting on the floor with a group of kids than listening to any more campaign talk from your husband.

As the afternoon winds down, he’s able to slip away while everyone is finishing up and sticking around to eat lunch.

He walks into you helping the kids build a block tower and knows he better not startle anyone, standing in the doorway until you notice him out of the corner of your eye. He waves, a gesture definitely meant for you, but the kids have spotted him now and wave back, shouting at him to look at their tower.

“That’s taller than you guys!” He marvels and they laugh at him. “Can I steal Y/N for a little while?”

He asks kindly, but they don’t want you to go, moving closer to you to trap you in place.

“I promise you can have her back later.”

He holds his hand out for you to help you off the floor and you repeat his promise, telling them the block tower isn’t done so you can’t possibly leave for good yet. They believe you more than him, so they reluctantly let you get up.

He barely gives you the chance to fix your skirt once you’re standing up before he’s making a beeline with you for the farthest away office in the building.

Locking the door behind you, he’s on you instantly, pushing you against the wall gently, but hard enough to elicit an oof out of you.

His kiss is passionate and deep, and it takes your breath away.

When his lips move to your jaw and to your neck, you’re able to catch your breath and let out a laugh. “What’s gotten into you?”

You’re no stranger to sneaking off with him, but admittedly, it has been awhile.

He lets up for just a moment, pressing a much softer kiss to your lips as he composes himself the best he can.

“I can’t stop watching you out there with those kids. I don’t want to wait any longer…”

You narrow your eyes on his, pretty sure you know what he’s getting at. “You mean…”

“I wanna have a baby with you,” he blurts out. “I know we discussed waiting until the election is over in the fall, but I can’t– I can’t wait that long.”

He waits until he sees your smile to let himself break into one. You hold his face in your hands, pulling him back in for a kiss. Your quiet moan into his mouth as it becomes more heated has him snapping back into control.

“Turn around,” he instructs, stern voice sending a shiver down your back.

His hold on your waist loosens so you can obey, turning to face the wall, placing your hands in front of you as you arch your back. You know the drill.

“Good girl,” he coos, leaning closer again to kiss your neck. “Can you be quiet for me?”

“Yes,” you nod, gasping softly, feeling his hard cock against your ass.

His hands are on your hips keeping you in place, but he slips one around to your stomach. “You’re gonna look so pretty pregnant.”

You moan as his hand drops lower, pulling your skirt up around your waist so his fingers can slip under the waistband of your panties.

“Steve,” you whimper. He brushes a finger along your slit, applying pressure to your clit. “Stevie–”

“You told me you could be quiet,” he chides teasingly.

“Sorry.” Your quiet laugh turns into biting your lip to keep your moan silent as he moves his hand to pull your panties aside and you hear him unzip his pants.

He’s become an expert at quickies, thrusting his cock into you before you have a chance to become a desperate, begging mess, knowing that would risk you getting caught for sure. He saves the teasing for when you’re at home.

“Fuck,” you curse, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Feels so good.”

“I know, baby.” His steady pace becomes quicker, knowing the whines you’re letting out mean you want more.

You drop a hand from the wall to hold onto his on your waist, linking your fingers together.

“Wanna make you a daddy, Stevie,” you whisper.

He can barely hold himself back, letting out a groan as he leans into you, fucking you deeper and whispering against your neck.

“Need you to cum for me, sweetheart.” He has you right on the edge. “Come on.”

He knows you well enough to know he has to bring a hand up to cover your mouth, just in time to stifle your moan as you cum. Your knees go weak and you’re thankful for his hands on you keeping you up.

“That’s my girl,” he grunts. He’s no better than you, having to hide his face against your neck to muffle his own moans as he works you through your high, coming undone at the same time.

His hold on you becomes softer as you both work to catch your breath. You instantly miss him when he carefully pulls out and steps away to grab a box of tissues for you.

You’d make fun of him for how unromantic the gesture is if you weren’t still numb with pleasure.

Once you’re both cleaned up, he pulls you back into his arms and you happily rest against him, head on his chest.

“I was serious,” he says quietly, rubbing your back. “That wasn’t just a spur of the moment thing. I don’t wanna wait if you don’t.”

“I don’t either.” A sense of relief washes over him hearing you say it. “But I do kinda want to wait at least until we’re home next time,” you chuckle, lifting your head to wink at him. “This isn’t at the top of my list of places I want to conceive our child at.”

He laughs, looking around at the dark, cold office he drew you into. “Agreed.”

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#if you saw me writing this at work no you didn't #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #steve rogers fanfic #requested

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cranberrymoons · 4 months

Text

have a happy holiday

prompt: modern au (@steddieholidaydrabbles) word count: 577 rated: t

welcome to Day 16 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

The airport’s a complete mess.

He knew it would be. It’s three days before Christmas; obviously it’s going to be a mess, but still, he’d hoped that if they beat traffic getting here, then they’d have time to actually get to their gate without running and then he wouldn’t be so wound up and stressed out before even stepping on the plane and –

Anyway.

“It’s going to be fine,” Eddie says easily, smoothing a hand over Steve’s back as they shuffle forward six inches in the security line before coming to a stop. Again. For the tenth time. “We have plenty of time.”

“I know,” Steve says, even though he doesn’t know, because they don’t. He glances down at his phone to watch the minutes turn over. “It’s just – my dad…”

“Is an asshole,” Eddie says. He smiles. “You’ve mentioned. A dozen times.”

Steve looks at him out of the corner of his eye, then shoves his phone back in his pocket. He sighs.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just – if we miss our flight, it’s going to become my fault somehow, and I just really don’t want to deal with that at Christmas? I just want – us.” Eddie wraps a hand around his wrist and tugs him closer, and Steve lets out a sigh, shoulders coming away from his ears. “I just want it to be us.”

“You know, we don’t have to go,” Eddie says as the line shuffles forward again. “Really, if you want, we can just… head home. Do Christmas ourselves.”

Steve studies his face for a moment, a buzz starting up in his chest. Then he shakes his head, shutting the feeling down before it can get too loud.

“We have tickets. We can’t just –” He lets out a sigh, tugging on the strap of his bag. “We paid for them.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He widens his eyes. “We already paid for them. That doesn’t mean we have to actually use them.” He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not like they can double charge us for not getting on the plane. We didn’t even check any bags.”

Steve feels a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. “But my dad –”

“Is an asshole,” Eddie says again. “So who cares what he thinks? We’ll just say we caught COVID or something.” He makes an exaggeratedly sad face. “So sorry to cancel on such short notice, but what can you do? It’s responsible for us to stay home, really.”

Steve laughs, pulling his bag higher up on his shoulder. “What would we do instead?”

“It’s Christmas in New York. We can do whatever we want,” Eddie says. “Coffee in pajamas, walk in the park. I’ll buy you one of those big ridiculous hot chocolate milkshakes. Whatever you want.”

“Better than the alternative,” Steve says. He narrows his eyes. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Serious about the fact that I’d rather spend Christmas fucking my boyfriend on the couch than at a dinner party with the Republican Senator from Indiana? Obviously.”

Steve’s heart does a somersault, and his smile widens. He takes a breath and glances at the line divider to their right, blocking them off from the rest of the airport. They could duck out of line right now and just –

“Okay,” Steve says before he can second-guess himself.

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Okay?”

Steve nods, letting out a giddy little laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

[also on ao3]

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #my fic

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padawansuggest · 3 months

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I kind of want to do an ‘integration’ AU. I’m not using that in quotes because I dislike the idea, but everyone knows I adore Mando/Jedi relations okay. I think they go together like yin and Yang. I think they need to be all up in each other’s business at all times like codependent idiots.

So an AU where the Senate is very much more blatantly abusive towards the Jedi than in canon, so the Mandalorians, who had previously been TRYING to build and repair relationships with the Jedi, are suddenly cut off from the Jedi entirely and the senate refuses to let the Jedi in Mando space as well as kicking all the Mandos out of republic space, and Mandos (probably starting a couple hundred years before this fic) decide to restart their old integration program from when they still forcibly adopted other cultures.

Basically, whenever they find a force sensitive or Jedi republic citizen; they integrate them, or even their whole family to keep them safe. I just think this is a great idea.

But mostly I want 20yo Jango dragging back a feral hissing 14yo Obi-Wan (who was on Melida|Daan when Jango found him and Does Not believe Jango that the integration program is to help Jedi because he was too young to know the real story before he left the order) and Jaster is so amused by it he’s all ‘congrats on your first adoption, Jan’ika, I’m so happy to be a ba’buir’ and Jango is all 😳😳😳 and Obi is all 👀👀👀 and it’s all about to get very confusing.

So, join Obi as he goes through Jedi Training Pt 2 and has to restart all the way from a Mandalorian-Jetii creche with his new guardian, the prince of Mandalore, and is very baffled about this all. He’s annoyed and feral and wants to bite someone and he’s confused and he keeps meeting Jedi who have gone through this and he’s so little and scared. It’s okay, we are all scared when we are born. Jango can help with the power of positive affirmations and forehead kisses.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #jango fett

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carrinth · 1 year

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I sometimes have Foxiyo ideas I haven't had time to get around to writing/drawing. Here is one:

In some AU where Palps bites the dust early, Fox becomes one of the most well-adjusted of all the commanders. He also starts dating.

Except, no one believes him.

Cody and gang arrive on Coruscant for shore leave after weeks of fighting and Fox is happy to show them around. But he can't tomorrow night because he's got a hot date with a senate coworker.

Yeah right Fox.

Whatever you say.

Months go by, the war drags on. Fox's command batch arrives again and they go for drinks but Fox has to split early because he promised his girlfriend he'd sleep more regular hours.

'Girlfriend'? Pfft. Someone is having delusion of grandeur.

Leave him alone guys, he's probably so bored being stuck out here he's having hallucinations.

Fox now officially hates his brothers. They are totally paying for their own drinks.

The war has ended! Clones are granted citizenship. Everyone gathers again for drinks and to discuss their future. Fox (hesitantly) declares he's going to ask his girlfriend to marry him.

Are you still on about that Fox?

He's really committed to this bit.

That's it. None of you bottleheads are invited to the wedding. >:(

A year goes by. During the anniversary reunion dinner, Fox is spotted carrying a smol blue baby.

Whose kid is that Fox?

Mine.

Seriously vod, you can't just go around kidnapping people's children.

It's MINE.

I think that's Senator Chuchi's kid.

Aww, you sweet on a senator, Fox?

Bite me and die, Bly.

Do you want us to ask if she's single?

NO.

Some time later, Fox is doing dishes with Riyo who glances at him with a sly look. Fox is SUSPICIOUS.

Your brother Bly just asked me if I was single. He said he was asking for a friend.

I do not see.

I told him no. He seemed quite devastated. 😏

Riyo...

Cody also told me that a certain former Commander of the Corrie Guard had an... admiration for me.

...

You have an 'admiration' for me, Fox? 😘

... Riyo we're married.

Still! ❤

Eventually, Fox encounters his brothers while he's out with Riyo. They are aghast.

You know she's a married woman right, Fox?

Fox... don't do this to yourself...

Fox ignores them. They grow more desperate. Riyo resolves everything by telling everyone they are married. People are mollified. But later...

Did you hear that Fox got involved with a married woman?

Yeah! And but then she dumped her husband to marry Fox!

No one understands why Thorn, upon hearing all this, bursts out laughing so hard he almost chokes himself. The former Corrie Guards all swear by this story and tell everyone that they are very happy Senator Chuchi made a honest man out of Fox and he'll be a good dad to her children.

What's this rubbish about stepfather? I'm their actual father!

Yeah! That's the spirit! You're their father, Fox!

Fox screams.

#foxiyo #long post #carrinth rambles about one shot ideas lmao #i like idea of fox dating riyo and no one believes him

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phoenixyfriend · 1 year

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Star Wars Omegaverse Recs

Here's a couple solid omegaverse fics. This list is shorter than most of the ones I write but Meh.

Stars are for my favorites.

⭐ The Rain Fell Already by @loosingmoreletters: variation on Jedi Indentured AU containing omegaverse. Xanatos is omega Qui-Gon's bio kid but nothing changes, depressing but poignant

House Call by @elthadriel: two idiots knot while on medication that requires no knotting because it can get stuck for literal hours. Kix has to help and he is very annoyed about it

Status Quo by @captainkirkk: (G-rated) Anakin responds to Obi-Wan in a "you are my dad" way and the clones are surprised pikachu about it

⭐ Temporary Like Achilles by @intermundia: standard-ish fuck-or-die scenario where both sides are like "I can't take advantage of you/I just took advantage of you" because of course they are. (This author has a lot of solid Obikin, but they have me blocked (no I don't know why) so I can't tag them.)

⭐ He Said Yes by @threebea: (G-rated) B!Quinlan and O!Obi-Wan get mated for Obi-Wan's safety, the nature of their relationship is unclear to basically everyone (romantic? qp? other? unclear)

venus flytrap by IntoThineHands: Sith!Obi, role reversal of trope standard (omega deliberately takes advantage of an alpha)

Bite of Caramel by @thewriterowl: A!Jango needs a date to the family reunion, asks O!Obi-Wan to accompany him

⭐ good things in threes by @galateagalvanized: Codywan accidental pregnancy after O!Obi-Wan's implant gets nullified by an overpowered EMP (along with Cody's brain chip)

all my roads lead back to you by @tennessoui: idiots to lovers comedy (modern au, Obi-Wan got pregnant in a one-night stand across the country with a bartender who kind of looked like Anakin, because he's in love with his roommate but can't come clean and so hooks up with guys who look like him, and Anakin is in love with Obi-Wan enough that he's decided to be the Dad Who Stepped Up to this kid because anything Obi-Wan makes is part of Obi-Wan and obviously deserving of adoration)

The Theory of Letting Go by @ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing: never a Jedi!Anakin, Padme dead of uterine rupture, Obi-Wan hormonally addled and insistent on taking care of the twins like they're his own

The Swan Serenade by @shatouto: heavily AU, Mando!Anakin and Jedi-but-more-like-real-world-monks!Obi. (Has the most adorable art in the end of chapter notes, btw)

For Safekeeping by @glimmerglanger: Sith O!Obi-Wan feels safe because of the army of clones, which is the first time he's felt safe enough to have a heat, ends up fucked by his army of betas

when the snow falls we will wrap ourselves in furs by @hornet394: the fic I reread that had me going "I want Rex with O!Anakin but being in character" because this is one of the few omegaverse Rexwalkers that hits that button for me (though it's technically Anakin/501st poly stuff)

⭐ Find a little stranger by @obimanletkenobi: Villain!Obidala, both alphas, find Anakin at an omega auction, decide to ask him to play surrogate for their child since they can't do it themselves (with the offer to drop him off on a random planet with a wiped memory and enough cash to start a new life as a free man if he doesn't want to get pregnant), followed by smut

Belonging by IronCannon: this is the OTHER solid omegaverse Rexwalker

⭐ Conceal Me by @himboskywalker: longfic that is VERY good imo and builds the tension incredibly. Anakin is an omega pretending to be an alpha (literally the only people alive that know he's omega are his mother and the midwife). Senator Obi-Wan is an alpha pretending to be a beta (for weird reasons relating to his parents being kind of insane). They get married for politics, suggested by Palpatine because he found out about Obi-Wan being an alpha but not about Anakin, and decided a forced alpha/alpha marriage was going to self-destruct and help destabilize the Republic further.

Both by @obimanletkenobi: Anakin is the omegaverse equivalent of intersex and this explores the ways he's fetishized and discriminated against by the culture around him.

Peachy the Series by @the-writing-mill: IDK what to say, if you want 15k of O!Obi-Wan getting absolutely railed by two alphas, this is the fic for you

⭐ Packed Together Like Test Tubes also by @the-writing-mill: Jangobi, forced on both sides. Neither of them wants to mate, but the Kaminoans are forcing the issue with synthetic pheromones. It takes several weeks to get to that point and they are both fighting it with every ounce of willpower they have.

⭐ [Only] Think of Me by @inferior-fairy: Empress Amidala and Emperor Kenobi need Anakin to not go off the rails again, but they need a reason for him to want to stay because they love him too much to force the issue (and make him hate them) with chains or the like. So they give him Babies.

⭐ unfortunately it seems I have written more by @gaily-daily: Look at me. LOOK at me. This is fucked up and ugly and horrible and awful and messy and triggering and so incredibly well written as a dawning horror situation. Dead Dove at its finest. It is incredibly good as a story, but it is also really bad, and you need to go in accepting that. Without details, it's messy/triggering in the GoT sense.

⭐ terribly inconvenient and incredibly terrific by @tennessoui: A classic "Anakin wants to do something he is in no way qualified for and then suffers the consequences for his idiocy" plot, very fun.

I can fill those places in your heart no else can by @pontah: modern au post-breakup revenge sex I guess???

Ba’jurir by @mockingjay34: Rex/Fives, explores the intersection of anti-clone bigotry and anti-omega sexism.

Out in the Corner of the Dark with You by kazmir: a 5+1 fic about Anakin giving Obi-Wan a bunch of soft things as courting gifts

instincts by amidnightlove: just some fun and funky 'cycles make people go a little feral' stuff

EDIT: I missed a bunch so there's a Part Two!

#star wars #phoenix recs #the clone wars #obikin #rexwalker #codywan #obianidala #IDK the fives/rex ship name #codex #quinobi #jangobi #obidala #anidala #omegaverse #shipping #dubcon mention #fuck or die

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princesssmars · 5 days

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i'd love just about anyone, so why was it you?

a victoria neuman x reader

your talent for singing is finally starting to take you places in the city of lights. so why did it have to introduce you to a woman who might ruin it all?

wc : 10.248

contains : fxf relationship. readers hair and skin aren't described. fluff. angst.nsfw including sex and language. the french. barely proof-read.

a/n : i cant believe there are no fics for this fine ass woman yet but i am nothing but a pioneer idk. in my daydreams this was like mafia au victoria but i literally never write or dream of those so i opted out lmao. go watch gen v. everyone always talks about how good the cover is but nonante-cinq by angele is a beautiful album so i recommend listening to that for french vibes. enjoy <3

it was the most stereotypical and overplayed song ever, but damn did you love la vie en rose.

just the concept of the song was romantic to you. to live every day like it would be magnificent, like you could know a day would be your last and look back at it and not regret a single thing. it meant looking at the world with a positivity that these days was mostly faked or artificial.

after the life you've lived, the things you've seen firsthand, you need that positive light in your life more than anything else. especially right now, as your manager is hounding you over the phone about your next gig.

now you loved your manager, nancy, you really did. she took you in and was honest when no one else would be, stood by you when no one else wanted to give you a real chance. but sometimes it felt like she didn't really believe in you. obviously, she believed you had talent, or else she would have 'left you in the dust for the rats to pick apart,' in her own words. it was almost like she couldn't fathom that what you had was real, like you didn't truly deserve all the things that were coming to you.

but as long as you were paying her, she didn't bother to speak up on it.

you were listening to her drone on and on into the speaker from your phone, holding the object up to your ear with one hand as you hold a menu to order something from the cafe waitress who's waiting beside you.

"ill have an uhhhh... le marie antoinette, and a coffee with sugar and cream please," you hand the menu to the waitress after she writes down your order, heading back into the cafe with a smile. this cafe was one of your favorites, nestled below an apartment building in one of the inner city arrondissements so you could sit outside beneath an umbrella and admire the city before you. "nancy, i don't see why i can't just...politely turn it down? it sounds like it's a glorified pin-up girl gig, le bellevilloise is offering for me to sing there exclusively for three months-"

"no, that's what im trying to tell you if you'd let me finish." you can hear nancy's telltale sigh through the phone. she had a short temper when she was stressed, something you sadly had in common, and you could hear her clicking a pen through the receiver. "this is an international gala slash fundraiser, attended by the one percent of the one percent. billionaires, senators, diplomats, everything. the event organizer asked for you specifically, so turning it down is a bad look. aka, you're doing it. go out and get a pretty dress. ill send you more details later."

the phone shut off and you let out a huff of air, crossing your right leg over your left beneath the table. once you have your meal and bite into your pastry you can't help but close your eyes at how good it tastes; the combination of the crunch of the macarons, the near-overwhelming sweetness of the cream, and the savory juice that leaks from the raspberries never gets old.

you don't know how you feel about this whole gala thing. sure its a great way to make connections and earn a fat stack of cash that will probably last you few weeks, but you've learned before that the people that you most admire, celebrities, politicians, even superheroes, can't be trusted. and being in a room full of them to perform wasn't at the top of your christmas wish list.

but like everyone else in the world, you were finding money hard to pass up on. just by the lowball nancy told you, you'd be able to comfortably pay the next month's rent and fix up your electric scooter, maybe even enough to save up for that beautiful flat you saw online with the grand windows and nice floor plan.

it'd only be a few hours of singing and kissing up to a bunch of snobs and you'd be done. easy peasy.

finding a dress wasn't to hard. your modeling connections from before you started to focus on singing gave you access to a few, good quality clearance pieces for your picking. you figure that the people you were performing for would prefer something classy and elegant, so you picked out a sleeveless black dress with black opera gloves, accessorized by a diamond necklace and earrings. one of your stylist friends, alex, who you asked to help do up your hair told you 'you're definitely gonna shag a rich man looking like this, just ask them if they have any friends for me!' and after a quick 'please don't wish that upon me' and a spritz of perfume you were ready.

the hours before you got on stage were nothing short of both nerve-racking but exhilarating. you rode in a standard taxi, your slight jitters noticed by the slightly balding man in the front. he eyes you pretty oddly when you got in the car before using you if you were a model, telling you that his daughter would like an autograph if you were. you felt slightly flustered when you had to tell him you weren't, but gave him some tips to tell his daughter if she wanted to pursue it. after around twenty minutes of driving through the city the car stops and you're escorted by a crew member into a grand building, those types you pass by and dream of getting the chance just to step into.

after that its a rush of meeting the event planner who gives you another run down of the evening and then meeting with the band members, a nice group of jazz players who you had heard about on the news for their blends of old and new methods of performing music. they played you a piece on their instruments in their dressing room, and it felt like hanging out with old friends listening to tunes as one twirled you around and the others laughed and the air felt warm and fuzzy.

later its time for your set, where you'll sing as the guests come in and take occasional breaks to save your breath and let whoever is hosting this talk. so you get up on your mini stage, make sure you look alright and you're in tune with the band, and then you do what you do best.

you've never felt better than how you do while you sing. every time you do so you tell a story, tales of success and tragedy and love and heartache. while you sing your favorite thing to do is to admire the crowd. when you were younger it gave you horrible stage fright, but as you grew up and saw just how much people loved your voice it made you confident, if not the tiniest bit narcissistic.

as you look out at the guests of tonight you see what's expected. important and powerful men donned in suits, their wives standing on their arms in glamourous gowns, you swear that you even see some fairly famous celebs in the mix, and they were all listening intently to you and your voice.

and that's when you saw her. near the back of the room with a glass of red wine in her hand, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, and darker eyes trained on you. in this profession you get used to people staring at you for hours on end, but something about this woman unnerves you slightly.

a short while later your set is over and after a round of applause the organizer tells you to enjoy yourselves, and that you're free to indulge in whatever food is left. after a brief touch-up in the dressing room and making sure you look presentable, you head out to get yourself something to eat. you keep getting stopped by people telling you how beautiful your performance was, how they'd love to get in contact with your agent to book you for future events, and your regular dose of creepy old guys hitting on you. but besides that things were going pretty well.

some servers were waking around with trays of champagne, but you figured since everything was complimentary you would treat yourself to something stronger. you head to the bar and order yourself a strong cocktail, and as soon as you finish your order a figure sits on the stool next to yours.

"get me a scotch on the rocks, thanks."

you glance at them from the corner of your eye and feel your heart beat faster when you see

it's the woman from before. from this close distance, you can admire her entirely, and god is she gorgeous. she looks so put together, not a hair out of place, and wearing a perfectly tailored suit that makes you guess she's some kind of wealthy businesswoman.

after not so secretly checking her out, she turns her body towards you and looks at you with a smile.

"im sure you already know, but you have an enchanting voice."

you look down bashfully, thinking the same about her. she speaks like she's so sure of what she's saying like there's no room for debate or argument.

"thank you. no matter if i know or not, it doesn't take much to make me a little nervous every time i perform."

the bartender brings over both of your drinks and she tilts hers to you.

"trust me, theres no need. you're nothing but a natural, one of the best singers i've ever heard."

"ah, now you're exaggerating. is there a reason you're complimenting me like you're being paid to do so?"

she shakes her head, setting down her glass of liquor with a clink. "not anything nefarious, if that's what you're thinking. just glad i get to talk to a beautifully talented woman."

jeez, she was laying it on thick. normally this was coming from some fifty-year-old man with greasy skin and weird teeth, but it felt nice coming from her. she was obviously gorgeous, leaving her body language open in case you wanted to decline and she would walk away in a moment's notice.

"im glad i get to talk to you too, miss?"

"victoria. its a pleasure to talk to you, miss y/n."

for around an hour or two the both of you sat at that bar, blocking out the fake laughs of investors and boisterous noises of people who got a little too friendly with the free champagne. she was so attentive to you. asking about what got you into singing and what brought you to paris by your non-native accent. you normally kept the finer details of your past a close-guarded secret, but you figured there couldn't come any harm from telling this attractive stranger a few things about yourself before never seeing her again.

"you're telling me at only sixteen years old, you flew to paris by yourself and made a living for yourself? you've got balls on you, sister."

"yeah yeah, but im nothing special. i just got tired of all the bullshit in the u.s., y'know? the greed, the cynicism, the-"

"superhero bullshit?"

you giggled while she smirked, observing your smile and how it made your eyes squinch.

"well i wouldn't put it like that but...superheros? really? its just, they make it so american, in a really really annoying way. i just couldn't deal with that being a reality. and where better than paris? it seems like voughts all but forgotten about it recently, thank god.”

"i understand. and i know we just met, but it does suit you. 'beautiful runaway finds passion, life, and love in the city of lights'. best cliche there is."

"and what a damn good cliche it is to be. although i haven't been that lucky on the love front."

her eyebrow raises and her nail traces around the rim of her glass.

"im sorry but i simply cant believe that. someone like you would have people lining up for a chance to talk to you, let alone date you."

you dryly chuckle before taking another long swig of your glass of champagne, dancing just on the edge of being intoxicated. you understood why everyone else was drinking this, it was sweet but strong.

"people have tried, of course. but sadly most of my escapades end in tragedy. very melodramatically. but enough about me, I'm guessing this isn't gonna go my way and you have someone waiting for you at home?"

"im offended you still think so low of me. but no, there was someone but it didn't work out. now its just me and my daughter."

god, she was a milf. if there was a god you prayed he would let you get lucky tonight.

"well, im sorry to hear it didnt work out."

"are you really?"

she looks at you with a smirk on her face.

"no, im not."

that was all she needed to ask you to come back with her to her hotel.

and not just any hotel, she was rich enough to be spending two weeks in the damn ritz. asking again what she did for a living didn't get you very far, the only hint you got being that it helped her change the world. ominous but whatever. it had to be legitimate if she was invited to that gala.

the cautious and common sense side of you is snuffed out for the night the moment she set her hand over the covered skin of your thigh in the car, the feeling of her hand on your lower back leading you through the pristine lobby of the hotel, that same hand helping you take off your dress and take you apart slowly over the rest of the night.

when you wake up the sun is peeking through the curtains, the softness of the sheets your laying on calling you back to sleep before you get up and look around.

you only got a few seconds to admire the room last night before victoria was on you, and now in the light of day you could truly take everything in. you find a note left by the woman, letting you know she had to leave temporarily for an important job thing and that she'd be back my lunch, inviting you to call up room service and enjoy the room intil then.

you were expecting for her to tell you to pack your shit up and go, so despite the oddness this was a nice surprise. besides, there was no way you were gonna pass up on ordering a five-star breakfast you didnt have to pay for.

after indulging in a meal brought by room service and finding ways to pass the time, you text your manager after she happily lets you know that your night was a success and that your payment should be cleared shortly. while you're in the middle of wondering if you should answer her query about the host wondering where you wandered off to last night, the sound of a door opening makes your head jerk towards the small entry area, victoria coming in through the doorway dressed in a tan suit and carrying a large black briefcase on her arm.

"ah, youre still here!,” she sets her bag on a glass table near the door and strides into the room, eyes connected with yours the whole time. you weren’t feeling nervous before, but under her gaze you wonder if maybe you should have taken that free meal along with some tiny soaps from the bathroom and headed back home.

“yeah, figured i’d stick around for whatever. besides, i had to stay and blame you for my manager thinking i got kidnapped.”

“i’ll make sure to apologize and send her an edible arrangement. besides, i hope to take up more of your time in the future.”

your eyes bulge so hard you’re sure you look like a moron. you cover it up by getting up to get yourself another cup of coffe from the tray the food came in on.

“well i should’ve guessed this was more than a one night stand when you allowed me to order up breakfast. but now i have to admit i’m slightly scared you’re actually plotting to traffick me.”

"trust me, that wouldn't be good for business. id just like to see you some more, if that would be alright with you.

was that an actual question? after the night you had and the way she’s been treating you, you didn’t see much of a choice except to say yes.

she tells you that a few hours later she has a flight back to america, but that she wouldn't mind spending the day with you if you're free. you agree to get a little bite to eat and it turns into a whirlwind day of showing her around the city you call your home. she has to wear giant sunglasses the whole time and have a mysterious security detail not too far behind, but you wouldn't change anything about it.

at the end of it all, she bids you goodbye in front of your taxi, admiring the cute outfit she bought for you so you wouldn't have to go home in your dress from the night prior, promising that she'll keep in touch with you once she gets settled in back a new york, jokingly telling you she'll send you a postcard. as you sit in the back of the taxi, your heart inflates a little as you take in the events of the last day. you never liked to mix business with pleasure in this way, partly because most of those business people were gross perverts and also that it could damage your career beyond repair, but with victoria you can't help but think that it was worth it.

eventually, a few days pass by, and the only calls you've gotten are from friends congratulating on what they heard was another great performance. and as nice as all the praise and the new gigs you started to get felt, the longer you heard no word back from victoria, it started to eat away at you inside.

back at your favorite cafe you sit with two of your oldest friends, jamie and chloe, as they ramble about the details of their changing lives and jobs. you don't know when you zoned out but eventually, chloe's manicured finger lightly pokes at your cheek, giggling when you make a playful motion to bite it.

"where'd you go just now? take me with you before jamie keeps talking about his new lover."

"hey!" jamie pouts, "you're just jealous because i've been regularly having passionate sex allll night long while you're still vying over your boss." you hear a shocked gasp behind him and you all turn to see an elderly couple looking at jamie like he's said the most blasphemous thing they've ever heard.

"really classy, james." you snort.

"what the hell! you're supposed to be on my side! everyone has noticed how you've been in a better mood since that gala. alex told us how they checked up on you afterwise and you showed up a day later with a new outfit and a hickey on your neck."

"that is- god, that’s so intrusive and so like them,” you rolled your eyes. you knew as soon as alex saw you that morning that they’d be gossiping to everyone about the state they saw you in. “and i don’t kiss and tell like that. at least not in public like this.”

“ok, so we’ll stop by your place tonight with some wine and talk all about it tonight. agree?”

“what? no-”

“agree!” chloe beams and shakes hands with jamie across the table, blowing you kisses before leaving her share of the bill on the table and leaving with some excuse of having to be somewhere. you glare at jamie as a warning before he gives you a kiss on the cheek and does the same. you grumble before biting into your muffin.

a few hours later you’re sitting on your soft sofa with jamie’s head in your lap and chloe on the other side, talking and laughing about old stories from your jobs. you take a sip of merlot right before jamie brings up what you were hoping they’d forgotten about by now.

“ok ok, enough chatter. seriously, chlo, you cackle like a seagull. y/n, when are you going to tell us about this mystery lover of yours? do you need another glass of wine to start talking?”

“don’t even think about pouring me another glass. look, there’s not much to say, ok? i was singing, she was staring at me from across the bar, we flirted a little, that was it!”

they stared.

“you want more?”

“how could we not? we haven’t seen you like this with anyone! not since we took you on that tourist tour on the seine!”

that…that took you for a spin. you remembered it clear as day, them tugging you along when they’d heard since you came to paris you’d been focusing on building up your image and working. it was more a joke, but the lights of the boat, the sky and the lights made you feel like you were in the most perfect moment of your life. hearing them compare that to how you looked now had a nervous feeling building in your gut.

“we spent the night together. and it was…good. really good. she let me stay while she went out, bought me a new outfit then said she’d be in touch.”

your friends are silent. way too silent. you’re afraid they’re about to laugh and judge you before they’re squealing and tackling you, pulling back when you groan after you almost spill your wine on your clothes.

"god, why are you always the lucky one? this isn't fair! at all!" chloe groans while dramatically resting her head on your shoulder, jamie still giggling as the wine clearly starts to take an effect on him. "please, please tell us what happens next before i scream."

"no thats- i mean, thats it. so far. for now." you stutter along your words as your friends' faces go blank yet again, except this time without a hint of a chuckle or smile.

"what the hell do you mean 'that's it.'? she ghosted you?" jamie gasps.

"no, she didnt ghost me-"

"sweetheart, im sorry to say this but you have been ghosted. in a really dickhead way."

"its not like that! she's a busy person with a serious job and a kid and responsibilities!"

you briefly hear chloe snicker "milf?" before you roll your eyes.

"she's gonna contact me. and even if she doesn't, maybe it was just a nice one-time thing! everyone knows I'm great at those."

jamie snickers before chloe smacks his shoulder in a second.

"why? why did you laugh?"

they share a look before she smacks his shoulder again.

"would you stop? i have pains, you know this. but y/n, we know you. we love you. but your latest stints haven't been...the most successful. or left you in the best headspaces."

"he's right, honey. remember the last girl, hannah? one of the worst situationships i've ever seen. you told us you would be alright when she broke it off and then we found you at that lousy bar at eleven in the morning..."

you start biting at your lip. there was nothing you hated more than when they told you the truth about how you could act. it wasn't your fault that all the time your relationships got messy, or that you got attached a little quickly. people didn't understand but a life like yours could be lonely. standing up on a stage and performing for people who want you to do just that and only that: sing and look like a glamourous pin-up doll. most of the time its the other performers who even bother to ask if your throat is alright after singing for hours.

so yes, sometimes you rushed into relationships. and you might have done it again in the dumbest way possible.

"i just...she let me stay after, y'know? and she came back and brought me with her again. why go through that effort just to leave me behind like trash?" your friends pouted before closing in to comfort you, rubbing your back and giving you small affirmations.

for a month you go into a rut. unless it's performing or going to the dentist for a checkup you don't leave your house. you become pretty good acquaintances with the grocery delivery boy, benny, who started panicking when he realized he forgot one of your items until you assured him it was fine. it wasn't the first time you'd grown so oddly attached to a romantic prospect, and it wasn't the first time you'd gotten hurt by it. you spend your time moping on your couch and binge-watching your favorite show for the third time when your phone buzzes from beside you.

nancy schmancy : call me.

you rolled your eyes. she could have just called you in the first place, but no. she had to be extra about it. you press the call button and don't have to wait even five seconds for her voice to ring in your ear.

"do you want to know what mister barbier just emailed me?"

"i think you already have that answer for me."

"he said, and i quote, 'tell y/n i send my best wishes. her performance last night was hauntingly beautiful, and i'm hoping it was one of her greatest acts yet.'"

"if you ask me, it sounds like i did a pretty good job."

"it sounds like he thought you were singing your damn suicide note!" she groaned, and you could hear her face scrunching from over the phone. "i don't know what is going on with you recently, and i don't want to sound insensitive, but if you can't manage to keep your work and personal life separate, even i can't help you make it far in this business. clients may say they want you to be expressive but they only mean so far. unhappy music means unhappy customers, capeche?"

"i understand, nancy. ill send a personal apology to mister barbier."

"good. ill call you soon to let you know about any new gigs. take care of yourself. seriously."

the line clicks and you toss your phone onto the couch and take another sip of sauvignon blanc from your rose-shaped wine glass. it pained you to admit it, but nancy had a point. if you kept letting yourself mope in your feelings you'd run out of people who wanted you to sing, and if the point came where you were out of gigs...you didn't even want to think about it. if you weren't singing you weren't living.

only a few hours after that call you manage to get back to normal. you go out and get your own groceries, deciding to indulge yourself and buy the ingredients for some recipe you saw online months ago. one of your clients cries at your performance, ecstatically telling you they'll be in talks with your manager to set up a stable contract. things really start to look up. two weeks later you even manage to get the number of a cute girl, elise, a tall woman with dyed hair who reached for the same vintage music box as you at an open market.

you're smiling as you look down at the messy ink on a slip of paper, the numbers and tiny smily face distracting you as you enter the hallway to your apartment. so distracted that you nearly trip over a object on the floor, looking down to see...a bouquet?

a really gorgeous bouquet you notice as you bend over to pick it up. its a collage of dusty blues and off-colored ivories, and when you brought it closer to your nose for a whiff you felt a sense of bliss. you bring it into your apartment with a skip in your step before you spot a piece of paper among the flowers, plucking it from the collection and reading it over.

upon closer inspection, you can see its a postcard, the cover a flattering shot of the statue of liberty with text that reads "love from new york city!". you try to calm your heart down at the location and the 'love' part, but you've already gotten your hopes up when you turn the card around to read the message:

xxx-xxx-xxxx

sorry for the wait. i'll make it up to you, angel.

you'd never felt so conflicted as you did in the past five seconds. half of you was vindicated that yes, this attractive woman didnt leave you high and dry and did actually have a deeper interest in you, but the other part was angry. and embarrassed that you were angry, because again, you spent less than a day with this woman, she didn't owe you anything. but also yes the hell she did.

before you could get yourself together you were harshly tapping the number into your cell, biting at your lip as the phone slowly rings.

"y/n, is that you?" echoes from the line, victorias voice sounding and running over your head like soft silk. no, no, stop it. focus.

"howd you know it was me? im sure you have other people who'd be calling you this late."

"certainly not anyone with a phone number from paris. besides, i was hoping it'd be you."

"well, i would have been flattered two weeks ago but unfortunately i dont think your words could phase me right now."

she sighs and the line goes silent. you feel bad for being catty for a few seconds before you brush it off. she's the one who played with your emotions and promised to call you but never did. she had this coming.

"im sorry, really i am. i've been busy with things at work and my daughter-"

damn it, she pulled the kid card again.

"i just...dont like being lied to. or led on. maybe its my fault for beeing too clingy-"

"no, no. dont apologize. if it means anything youve been on my mind for weeks now."

"yeah, same here. except my thoughts havent been all that nice." you laugh.

"deserved. and id like to make it up to you."

"oh yeah? let me guess, this time we'll spend two nights together?"

"close. how about two weeks. in new york."

you don't know if you should laugh. you feel like you should, so you do. but she isn't.

"you...you're being serious."

"im being serious."

what do you even say? what do you even do? of course, whatever higher power there is would make your life stable and steady for the past few months then throw this in to shake you up. you really should have been expecting it, considering...

you shake yourself back to the present. victoria is still waiting on the other line, unwilling to rush you into a decision, apparently. you'd applaud her for her chivalry if you weren't so stunned.

"victoria, come on. we've only met once, and while it was nice it was brief. now you want me to upend my life and career to jet off to america? it sounds crazy."

"you make me a bit crazy, honestly. besides, you were telling me in bed you haven't been in the states since you left, i have a feeling you miss it more than you let on."

you shuffle in your spot, reminded that you're standing in your cold-ass kitchen and you haven't changed out of the outfit you wore out today. but half of your uncomfortableness is from a feeling gnawing at your chest because she's right. at this point you can barely remember the night you left your childhood home, but you know it was rushed. you wanted to forget everything.

"i think you're also forgetting that i have a blossoming career here. are you gonna pay my definitely going to be pissed off manager her wages? plus i was supposed to be first pick for this really good gig-"

"i'll pay for everything, i promise. dont forget that i have connections. in two weeks they''ll be singing you praises across the globe."

you close your eyes and take in a breath.

"can you make my ticket first class?"

one thing you didnt miss about america? just how...much everything was, all the time.

your flight was quiet. victoria didnt hesitate to book you an expensive ticket, almost taking offense to your request for a nice one and scheduling you for business class, sending you a text to get lots of rest in the ultra-luxe beds on the plane. it was probably one of the best nights sleeps you'd had in months.

when you got off the plane there were two tall escorts holding a sign with your last name on it, taking the suitcases from your hands before you could say anything and leading you into a sleek black car. a voice in the back of your head starts screaming but you ignore it. for now.

the men in the car give you some basic rundowns, how they'll constantly be hovering over you during your stay for your "protection", and that they'll be taking you to settle into a hotel until victoria makes contact, and the little voice starts freaking out again and telling you that you've slept with and are fraternizing with a mob boss. at least it's more exciting than your last few flings.

the car goes silent after that, and you put in your earbuds as you watch the city go by. you weren't from new york, but you loved watching movies set in the bustling cityscape. the buildings really are humongous, and you see so many different types of people it sets your brain on a whirlwind.

you look back down at your phone after the fifth 'the seven' advertisement in one block.

yet again you're led into a clearly extremely expensive hotel, breezing through reception before you are led to a luxuriant hotel room, the bodyguards ignoring you as you giggle and flop onto the bed, waving them off when they tell you they'll be posted outside.

the sheets feel heavenly on your skin, and with the soft sunshine from the window beaming down on you and the gentle hustle and bustle of new york outside, you think you could fall asleep in a minute. but, begrudgingly, you peel yourself form the bed and open your suitcase to start putting your clothes away before taking a quick shower in the giant bathtub.

just as you exit the shower and wrap your body in a towel, your phone starts ringing and as soon as you read the 'v' in the contact name you push answer and bring it to your ear.

"hello? vic?"

"hey, hon. eager to talk to me?"

"you called me. and 'hon'? really? we've moved to petnames already?"

"figured id start making up for those weeks with no contact. and id like to do so again tonight. i wanna bring you somewhere."

your mouth quirks up in a smile as you re-adjust the towel around your body, the phone nearly slipping from its quick placement between your phone and ear, "id really like that. i hope its out to dinner, i didnt care to eat any of the plane food."

“yes, it’s to dinner. but its up to you if you want it to be fancy or casual. i know its tacky but there’s this pretty cute french place near where i live...”

“that vaguely sounds like an invitation to your place, but ill let it slide. are you gonna pick me up or are your special agents going to escort me everywhere for the next few weeks?”

“special agents? what agents?”

a bead of water drips from your neck down your back and it feels like the tip of a knife. a pressure builds in the back of your throat and your fingers grip the fabric of your towel. “what…that’s a joke, right?”

her laughter rings in your ear and you are seconds away from hanging up the call.

“sorry, sorry. i sometimes have a weird sense of humor. you'll get used to it.”

“i doubt it.”

“and i'm hopeful. i'll let you go so you can get ready, i'll be by in under an hour.”

you hang up after a sweet goodbye and gently sit on the toilet. your brain is rushing to catch up after the conversation like your body goes on autopilot when you hear victoria's voice. its terrifying and its thrilling. and you don't know why a part of you likes the feeling.

after you brush your teeth, do some quick skincare, debate over shaving just in case, and spend twenty minutes picking out a cute outfit, you finally hear the gentle knocking on the door while you're double-checking over the content of your purse.

rushing to open the door, you're greeted with the sight of a smiling victoria, her hands tucked into the pants of her clearly expensive pinstriped pantsuit. you're admiring the look of her hair tucked back into a ponytail when she's reaching forward and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"you look perfect. come on, i made us a reservation."

and it turned out to be a perfect night. she did end up taking you to the french place, allowing you to order whatever you wanted. that place was weirdly empty, only a handful of other patrons inside. you were pleased to see that the waitress was french herself, having a small chat about the customs and foods she missed while she praised the authenticity of the food at the restaurant.

only a day and you had already forgotten how forward the people back home could be, because the waitress throws a subtle look at victoria and compliments you on finding such an attractive woman. when she leaves vic just smiles.

“ok, id say at this point we’re doing pretty good with the communication thing, right?” you ask, taking a sip of the pricey wine your date ordered.

“yeah, id say that.”

you finger the rim of your glass, the nerves getting to you before you ask your question. "i want you to tell me what your job is. your actual job, not some vague ass title. you have security following gus around, so i feel like i should know."

"no, no, you're right. i just didnt wanna scare you off. or have you think differently of me once i told you." she sighs, thumbing the napkins on the table. "i work in the government. i'm a congresswoman, to be exact."

you don't doubt she's a politician for a second, because she shows no hint of nervousness at your lack of emotion.

"are you...a good congresswoman?"

"i don't really know how to answer that." she laughs.

"i'm sorry. i knew you were important enough to be at that gala, but a politician is...tricky."

she reaches across the table and lays her hand palm up, smiling when you rest yours on top of it. "look, i get it. i should have told you sooner but please understand why i didn't. i wanted to get to know you as normally as possible, without all of the press and politics in the way."

"normally as possible, huh? that includes sleeping together on the first night?"

you're trying to show your acceptance of the situation with your humor, but you can tell victoria can sense your uneasiness at the situation. here you were thinking you had found some under-the-radar millionaire to dote on you and instead, you'd roped in someone whose job was entirely in the public eye that could be put in danger at the flip of a switch.

"how about we finish up and take this back to my place? i'll tell you everything that you wanna know about me. no matter how personal."

you stare into her eyes for a few seconds and decide that she looks genuine, getting confirmation that her daughter is staying with a friend before ending your meal and following her to her place.

for the amount of money she's ready to spend on you, you're surprised to see that victoria lives in a chic but quaint townhome only a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant. she gently takes off your coat and instructs you to sit with her on the couch, pressing on a remote to turn on her fireplace.

after a few hours and two more glasses of wine, victoria had opened up to you about nearly everything in her life. the mysterious death of her birth family, being adopted by a man who helped pushed her to go into a political career, her polite but loveless marriage with her ex. she even shows you a picture of zoe that she has in her wallet, taking the chance to gush over her daughter. she seems like such a sweet girl.

maybe it's the wine or maybe it's the way vic is opening up to you so freely, but you decide to tell her more about your past. how you always wondered why you barely stuggled moving to another continent at such a young age, or the fact that you dont even remeber why you had the drive to leave your parents home in the first place. you didnt even remember the last words you said to each other.

and throughout it all she's nothing if not attentive, she doesnt ask questions unless you give her permission too, keeping her eyes on you and gently placing her hand over yours.

you feel a turning in your stomach when she moves a stray hand of hair behind your ear. you told yourself to try taking things slow this time, but your body is starting to feel fuzzy and shes looking at you like she wants to devour you.

she decides to indulge you and gently brushes her lips against yours, smiling at the way your breath staggers. your head moves forwards to finaly get her to kiss you but she jerks her head back.

"i want you to tell me what to do."

god, your stomach feels hot. this is new, but a really arousing style of new. the last time you both slept together she had taken a careful but unwavering charge, unraveling you with a steady hand a sweet smile.

"cmon just...please?"

"no. tell me what you want me to do."

you sigh and bite at your lip. "i want you to lay me down and fuck me. right now."

so she laid you down and she did. there were no words to describe how much you enjoyed that night on her couch, the way she could read your body like a book and brought you to ecstasy again and again and again...

and when you wake up a soft blanket is draped over your body, a brekfast of coffee and some crepes set in front of you.

the days after are a whirlwind. discreetly as possible victoria takes you on a tour of new york city, to more expensive restaurants and hidden jewels that most tourists skipped over.

youre lounging in your hotel room when you decide to inform your friends of how your trip is going. while slightly hesitant they seemed more than happy that you were enjoying yourself with someone who took a genuine interest in you.

until you told them her job.

"my love, are you insane? a politician?"

"an american politician?" chloe gasps, continuing off of jamies shock.

"hey, im american too dont forget!"

"of course you are, but please, you understand why this is not good, no?"

"you know how fishy they are, especially with all the supe business going on. that place is getting more dangerous by the day, and i dont think you should be seeing someone whos contirbuting to that."

it pained you to admit it but jamie had a point. the three of you would always laugh in amused horror at how badly things were going on in your birth country, and the politics...it was less than pleasant.

not to mention the supe business. every corner of the world had to deal with the annoyance that was vought and their "products", even france. but so far you'd just had to deal with a few perverted looks from traveling supers and talks of some stupid theme park a few miles out of the city. meanwhile, it seemed like every day a new superhero was being introduced to the American public. it unnerved you.

"i understand. i appreciate both of you looking out for me. trust me, i'll be on my guard for now on." you mumble, picking at the material of your sleeve.

"of course, songbird. we'll call again soon."

the call ends and drop your phone on the nightstand. you look at the eiffel tower cutout in your phone case and your heart aches.

the next morning you're eating a a breakfast of coffee and fruit crepes when your phone rings, dragging your atttention away from the trashy dating show you were watching on the bedroom's tv. when you see nancy's name you hesitantly answer the call.

"nance? is everything alright?"

"everything is great. i'm just here to check in about your next gig."

"my next- nance, im on vacation. please tell you didnt forget and booked me for a job when im across the ocean."

"no, im not that stupid, hon." she sighs. "i didnt even arrange this job, victoria did. im just the messenger."

you blink once. then twice. you remember vic saying something about helping you with a job but you honestly just thought that was bullshit to get her to come stay with you.

(or get in your pants. but you don’t think you’d be too upset about that now.)

“ok. thank you, nancy. tell me the details.”

it’s a lot more extravagant than you expected. victorias friend, an actual senator, was holding a fundraising event for some government program he and vic were both involved in. nancy wasn’t told what the program was, but that you would have to go through a security debrief before being told you'd be given a team to help you prepare. and picking from a selected closet of dresses. fun.

you ignore the feeling of nervousness that’s building up in your gut. because while all of your gigs were important, they were never this important. you push it down as you call victoria and thank her endlessly, when you tell your friends the minimum amount that you can tell them, and when victoria picks you up from outside your hotel twelve hours before the event even starts.

she pressed a small kiss to your hand, laughing at the grumpy and tired mumble you let out when you sit in the car seat. it only passes once she gives you a coffee she picked up, the caffeine waking you up and putting a smile on your face.

the content feeling turns into shock when you enter victorias' place and see zoe, vic throwing a short explanation of “busy babysitter” over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen.

its a bit awkward at first, sitting on one couch as she plays on a black nintendo switch on the other. it helps when you ask her about whatever she’s playing, the girl diving into a rant about the farm game she’s playing and how she’s trying to catch a certain type of fish.

victoria comes back with a tray of breakfast for the three of you before asking her daughter how school is going, how her friends are, etc. its nice to get a glimpse into victories private life during the morning, the close bond she has with her daughter. you notice some tension but decide not to bring it up.

the morning goes by too quickly, zoe being picked up to be dropped off at a friend's house after giving you a sweet goodbye and you getting rushed upstairs as the team comes to the townhome to help you prepare. its a nice change, having other people doll you up instead of having to worry about trying to do everything correctly and by yourself. and its a perk you don't have to spend your own money to do it.

the team members are nice but punctual, finishing your hair and makeup in record time with not a second wasted. you barely get time to notice yourself in the mirror before you're ushered into a gorgeous gown, soft fabrics and a chic and elegant style.

when your finished you’re finally allowed to observe yourself while your transportation and is prepared, and it feels like you’re looking at a dream version of yourself.

as you admire yourself in the mirror vic comes up next to you, clearly enjoying herself as her eyes slowly drift up and down your body.

“you look…ethereal.” she whispers, pressing a small kiss to your cheek after you turn to smile at her.

“only because of you. i don’t know how i could ever make this up to you, vic. this is just…”

“trust me, you’ve already done enough.”

while you knew there would be some press at the event, you didn't expect over two dozen paparazzi to quickly start flashing their cameras in your direction as soon as you got out of your ride. questions about who you were wearing, the relationship you had with vic, etcetera etcetera. you would've buckled from the sudden pressure if it weren't for victoria’s steady hand on your waist, the press of her arm through her red pantsuit.

the venue is downright insane, so grand you start to wonder if you're in one of those gilded age mansions you used to read about in new york magazines. climbing pillars and art on the ceiling of the main hall, which you don't get to admire since you’re yet again whisked away to get ready.

after a few more touch ups you aren’t afforded a minute to prepare, guided to the edge of the performance area. the sinking feeling is back in your stomach. the biggest moment of your life and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

the lights dim and you glide onto the stage, able to see the shadows of the guests faces from the flickering table lights. it’s eerie, the amount of them staring up at you with eyes you can’t even see.

you were given a set list a few days prior, only a couple of songs for the payment you would apparently receive after this. the songs piqued your interest, a collection of classical melancholic pieces from around the fifties. vic told you her friend was a vintage nut, but you didn't know why he chose these for you to perform when the event seemed to have an uplifting aura.

either way it felt…different, singing this time. the spotlight was on you and you’ve never felt as beautiful as you did in this moment. everyone was watching you, so hooked on the melodies escaping your body that you could see the emotions brining some people to the edge of their seats.

you don’t let it show but you grow a bit anxious at the sight of supers in their uniforms in the crowd. you don’t see anyone from the seven, but you do notice a woman you recognized from some commercial about climate change and earth preservation, the green of her dress and the nature motifs in her outfit give you a clue as to what her power was.

just when you feel yourself about to slip, dangerously close to hitting a note at a weird pitch, you see victoria, getting deja vu at the sight of her staring at you from the bar like the first night you met. she's looking at you like she's never doubted you for a second, like you're an angel sent from above that's blessed her life.

you hold her gaze when you sing. noticing the soft smile on her face when you sing a lyric about how the feelings in your heart feel so intense you fear you're going insane.

when the first song ends the lights come back on and you're met with a polite yet thunderous applause, the smile on your face so wide your cheeks start to hurt. the presenter comes back on stage, praising your performance with a swipe at his eyes before telling the guests that the host would be on shortly, and after he gives a short speech you'd be back to sing some more. with a gentle nod and wave, you step off the stage.

you feel like you're walking on air, with no doubt that was one of your best performances yet. your emotions got a little intense there but nothing you couldn't manage, and everyone seemed to like it anyway.

you're able to send a quick text and a picture to jamie and chloe before you hear the sound of the door to your quaint dressing room open, not able to turn around before you feel hands around your waist and plush lips on the side of your neck, the sight of victoria wrapped around you in the mirror making butterflies swarm in your stomach.

"i take it you liked my singing?"

"like doesn't even begin to cover it," she mumbles into your neck, raising her head slightly to be able to hold eye contact through the mirror. "i'm so lucky i found you, y'know that?"

you playfully brush her off, telling her you have to freshen up for some mingling before you get back on stage. she gladly helps you with your makeup, and while you weren't expecting her to be so touchy tonight you definitely aren't complaining, especially when her hand starts to drift closer to the space between your legs. it takes an embarrassing amount of mental strength to deny her, promising you'll continue once you go back to her place.

once you're finished getting ready she leads you back out to the hall, introducing you to numerous business people, politicians, celebrities, etc. you try not to fangirl when you meet a singer whose songs you've been obsessed with lately and when she asks you to perform at her cousins wedding. victoria just smirks when she leads you away and you let out a tiny squeal under your breath.

once the networking is done you're able to take the time to sit down and eat some of the catered food, almost moaning at the tastes of the food. you sometimes forget just how good food could be in the states, and these rich people pulled out all the stops. you try not to eat too quickly or impolitely as victoria talks with her tablemates, some people from her job apparently. after the first introductions and praises they gave you you mentally tapped out of the situation. she luckily covers for you when they question your mood, laughing when she tells them you've had a long day of being treated like a singing barbie doll.

everyone in the room quiets down when the hos taakes the stage and starts his speech. he introduces himself as robert stendham, and you feel a little embarrassed that this man gave you the chance to sing here and you didn't even know his name. you're thinking about how odd it is that you weren't introduced before this when he mentions something about the program and you perk up.

"...extend a personal thank you to general jameson for finding the time to escape his duties to fly in and be here with us tonight, and a special thanks to director neuman for helping me with this project and finding the beautifully talented y/n to perform for us tonight."

there was a brief few seconds of applause, victoria looking around and giving out smiles while you wondered what the hell she was the director of.

"as you can see, we have a few supers with us tonight. people like hazelwood, whose efforts against climate change have lead to over a dozen organizations plating millions of trees and clearing millions of pounds of trash for the ocean. because that's what supers are supposed to do-protect us. not act like degenerates who get to do what they want because of their abilities."

your eyebrow twitches, sensing the slight anti-supe propaganda from the end of his speech. well, not anti every supe, just the ones who act like gods among men, which you could understand. but you still felt an uneasy feeling rising in your stomach. you feel vic's palm rest over the top of your hand under the table.

"which is why im incredibly honored that director and congresswoman neuman has extended a hand to me to invest in the federal bureau of superhuman affairs, and to further extend that hand to you to help participate in this monumental institution..."

everything is a fog and your brain taps out once he starts talking about what this burerua does, how they closely monitor supes and jail the ones who've caused public harm. your head feels hot and your chest feels cold, and you can't stop your body from going on auto-pilot and excusing yourself to the bathroom before finding some balcony on the higher floor.

the cold air of new york shocks your body back into normalcy, but the pounding in your head persists. it feels like a panic attack ut so much worse, like your fight or flight has been activated without anything even happening. had you rushed into all of this? chasing a girl and a dream like you were a teenager again?

yet again the door opens behind you and someone comes to stand next to you, able to tell who it is by the scent of brown sugar and the glimpse of dark hair blowing with the slight breeze.

"you alright? mr. brandon from the tech startup was asking about you, tried to make me invest in some room light plant grower hybrid-"

"why did you bring me here?"

you cut her off and the air is quiet, save for the sounds of cars and the city and the wind. it's weird, standing in a tense silence like this with her.

"how are you feeling?" she whispers .

"are you- " you turn, nearly giving yourself whiplash with the speed at which you turn to look at her. the look on her face, like she's just observing you and how you're reacting. it only upsets you more. "are you being serious?"

"yes, i am. tell me."

"no, answer my question first. why are you avoiding it?"

she sighs, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face before reaching to grab your hand, which you hesitantly let her hold.

"as you heard, im part of a buereau that monitors supherhumans, keeping track of them, making sure they cant use their powers for harm. so far we've only had to deal with supes here in the states. until one day, this couple comes in that believe their daughter has used her powers on them."

she reaches for something in her pocket and your grip tightens. she pulls out a polaroid and holds the picture up for you to see. you feel like you're going to vomit when you see you, smiling, standing with your parents in a backyard.

"what...what is this? how'd you get this?"

"the couple gave me this picture, and told me how weird the least few years have been. friends and family asking where their daughter went, how she was doing, a daughter they didnt even remeber having."

you bring a hand up to your head, hopelessly trying to dissipate the splitting headache that's forming.

"but then they said the memories started coming back. glimpses of a child running in the grass, birthday parties, graduations, talent shows-"

"stop, please just stop." you gasp, hunching over as good as you can with the restrictions of your gown. it doesn't even feel like the world is just spinning, it feels like its being played in some celestial game of pool. "so what, you're saying...you're saying i did that? to my parents?"

"yes," she reaches for the side of your face, guiding you to look up at her. "and you can do so much more. you already have."

this can't be happening.

"why do you think people react so emotionally to your singing? you think its just because you're amazing? that's not even half of it."

your breathing is picking up again.

flashes of memories start appearing in your vision. so many happy times with your parents that you forgot, friends that you left behind. how your parents didn't support your half-thought-out plan to become a singer, how you made them forget. made yourself forget.

"i don't want you to think i did all of this just for what i want. i didn't. i care about you, and i want you to help me. but you need to trust me."

the blood is rushing back and from your head, and you think about how weird her eyes look against the backdrop of the city before you pass out.

finally. FINALLY. ong i wrote like 1k in the past day because i said just get this shit over with but its done! 5 months later! hope you enjoyed :)

#the boys #the boys x reader #the boys series #the boys smut #gen v #gen v x reader #victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman #victoria x reader #victoria neuman fluff #victoria neuman angst #victoria neuman smut

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tennessoui · 2 years

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au where obi-wan is a young, up and coming galactic senator from Stewjon and he gets special permission to access the Jedi Temple Archives because he looks very polite. Meanwhile, Anakin is a feral desert child still who is very protective of his new home and he sees a stranger in his home so he goes into attack mode.

Later after obi-wan gets anakin off of him (and stems his bleeding from several different bite marks), he’s like “I showed you my visitors badge??” And Anakin sniffs and is like “well I can’t read basic yet! That could say anything!!”

And so obi-wan finds himself going to the Temple much more than planned that year in order to teach this baby how to read (and quickly nip his “actually dictators are cool and the best system of governance” thoughts in the bud)

Culminating in Senator Obi-Wan needing a Jedi escort and thinking of Anakin first, only to be very surprised when the stubborn and knobby-kneed 9 year old he met all those years ago has turned into a very attractive and solemn young man who is very passionate about keeping obi-wan safe (and marking him all up with a different kind of bite mark all together)

#Kit’s silly lil AUs #been trying to think of different senator obi-wan and Jedi anakin aus that don’t remind me too much of canon Anidala #here’s what I got so far lol #the mission is probably escorting obi-wan to a temple #ruin or something because obi wan wants to go #obikin

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enigmatist17 · 8 months

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Just thinking about Fox tonight, I've had a shitty day and have downed too many depresso expresso's, and he's my comfort blorbo I guess?

with the wing!au stuff I've written about before (Im sorry I can't find my part 2), his wings don't really gain a color for a long time. They're the light grey that they start out with, and it's not until he settles into his role as a protector for his brothers, rather than Palps and the shitty senators, they turn a beautiful ruby red.

-> he is very proud of the color that's his to call his own, and if you hurt one of his men, the sight of them became a warning that harm was coming your way

boy has depression

like really bad

likes to sketch things like trees/animals/anything that isn't the cold metal of Coruscant

sometimes paints as well, but gives his men all the nicest things he can find so doesn't get much of a chance

Wolffe drags him kicking and screaming to his Jetti, and Plo barely starts using the Force to calm Fox before the commander conks out against his vod. It's not a proper treatment (and Plo will look into it), but whenever the 104th is in town, Fox is found curled up beside Wolffe while Plo uses the Force to help the poor Corrie commander a break from reality

Speaking of, the only person more protective than Fox is Wolffe, who nearly bites Palps' head off when he tries to interrupt a rare nap that Fox was taking after a long shift

---> finding out he's a Sith (because he never lives as long as I make it that way) is not surprising, and once everything has died down, Fox and his men just kind of disappear onto The Triumphant for a solid month

Fox likes collecting colorful beads, and if he's particularly stressed, will lose himself in a sensory loop just running his fingers through them over and over until he remembers his job again (much to his dismay)

will also sometimes stare into space if he's luck enough to be seated near a window, and if you try and talk to him about anything not vital, it'll go in one ear and out the other

I just like my funky blorbo, and I wish to give him as many colorful beads as he desires

#personal #star wars #clone wars #the clone wars #commander fox #corrie guard #he's my depression buddy :')

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ohyoufool · 7 months

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Politician au brainrot!

Ok so I originally pitched the idea of Jack and Bitty as representatives who have to come together to work on a bill and don’t get along but form a begrudging working relationship that turns into respect that turns into love, BUT I keep thinking about it and now I raise you:

Jack, Chief of Staff to Senator Byron Knight, notable for coming from a politically dynastic family frequently referred to as the Republican Kennedys. EXCEPT now Senator Knight is rattling political cages by running for office as a Democrat and SWEEPING the competition.

There’s a speaking engagement – a party – and Shitty gets the speaking role. Jack staffs, and while there, gets run into by someone who spills their drink on his white shirt by accident (critical faux pas), but keeps going. The speech goes off without a hitch but Jack is like “man reporters suck!”

But Senator Knight is new! And they need a strategy to get him in front of cameras. So they hatch a plan to get a reporter to buy into a story about the Knight legacy and what their office is doing to change the direction of politics and push progressive policy. AND GUESS who they get to bite on the story? IT’S NO OTHER THAN THE WINE-SPILLER HIMESLF, budding political journalist Eric Bittle.

So then they’re obviously working on this story about the bills Shitty is running, and Bitty is following them to events and hanging out in the office, and then there’s POLITICAL SCANDAL and doctored footage comes out of Shitty apparently saying some stuff about he’s only running to co-opt the party and it’s. NOT GOOD. But good thing they have an investigative reporter waiting for his big break! So Bitty and Jack are suddenly working in tandem to figure out who is doctoring footage and trying to get them in big trouble (and hooking up in hotel rooms the whole time both trying to assure themselves it Isn’t Going to Be That Serious while failing that assignment)

There’s definitely also a potential for a little Jack/Kent backstory here – maybe Jack also comes from a politically dynastic Democrat family, and was a budding star until he dropped out of the spotlight. BUT GUESS WHO DID RUN FOR OFFICE?? Kent MF Parson. And then tapes come out about HIM too, and they have to team up with his office too to figure out who is running all these crazy campaigns.

#brain go BRRRRRR #omgcp #omg check please #i speak #zimbits #eric bittle #omgcheckplease #jack zimmermann #check please

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

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📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Teen

Word Count:

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, hurt/comfort, age gap (18/29), domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, got to the masterlist

6. A Honeymoon

This Chapter: Steve looks at him pointedly. “I’m pretty relaxed when it comes to matters of protocol - if it concerns just the two of us or our Third. But in company I’ll expect you to mind yourself. Understood?”

Except for being trampled by a carriage and almost losing his arm, taking a boat over the Atlantic winds up being the worst experience of Bucky’s life.

It’s neat, at first. Bucky’s only ever travelled by boat once before, and Steve has booked them tickets for a first-class suite on a luxury liner. A week after their wedding, they drive to the harbor, Steve and Bucky in one car and two of their servants and all the luggage in another.

At the docks are a number of newspaper reporters, all standing around and yelling out for a comment. It’s to be expected for a newly-married Senatorial couple such as them, but annoying all the same. Bucky heads straight for the gangplank, ready to walk-on-by and ignore the shouts completely. It’s been drummed into him since childhood: never give the press an unauthorized interview.

So he’s taken aback when Steve grabs his hand and pulls him over to address the reporters. Bucky looks at Steve with wide eyes, but his husband is already speaking to the nearest photographer, who’s asked them if they’re off for their honeymoon. “Yes,” Steve says, an easy smile gracing his face. Surprised, Bucky stands there like a dolt while Steve takes questions and engages politely with the reporters.

How liberal of him, Bucky thinks. It’s certainly unexpected from someone like Steve, who’s a goddamn member of the Senate. These are nothing but a bunch of gossip rag sidewalk paparazzi. Even they seem shocked that they're being given the time of day. Normally men of Steve's stature stick their noses up at anything but the most coordinated of interviews, arranged and conducted by seasoned journalists from only the most respected publications.

Bucky bites his lip as he watches Steve, looking at his smile, his bright eyes. He’s so handsome, he can’t help but think. Why the hell would someone like that ever consider marrying someone like him? Bucky averts his eyes when Steve turns his head and catches him staring.

“Captain Rogers: Is it Europe then, where you and the Lord Rogers will be travelling?”

“Yes. England, and then we’ll be touring the continent,” Steve says. The other reporters bark out more questions, asking for private details about their wedding and their plans for the future, but Steve shuts them up with a raised hand. “I’m sorry gentlemen, ladies, but that’s all. We need to board now.” He directs Bucky back towards the ramp, and it’s with the sounds of still-squawking reporters at their backs that they board the ship.

Their staterooms are finely furnished but small.

Bucky figures that since they have a sitting room separate from the bedroom, and a private promenade, these accommodations must be quite spacious—for a ship. The servants put the luggage away, then excuse themselves to settle into their own cabins down in second class.

That leaves Bucky to wander about and look things over. He pokes his head into the bedroom. There’s a dressing table and a door that leads to the bath. The room has a bed with posts and a canopy, tucked right up against the wall. It's clearly meant for two people, but it is much, much smaller than the bed he and Steve shared on their wedding night.

That had been nearly a week ago. Steve had travelled to D.C. to set his Senatorial affairs in order before their trip abroad, and Bucky had stayed in his own family's home. Aside from Becca's teasing and Prudence asking naughty questions about 'marital activities', Bucky's almost been able to forget that he's married at all.

But now they're on the ship, in luxurious but cramped quarters—and with a bed sized to match. Bucky swallows and eyes the small frame, thinking about how he’ll be sleeping there with Steve for the next eleven days …

“Bucky?"

He inhales sharply, shaking himself from his thoughts "Coming!" He goes back out to the sitting room, where Steve is standing and looking about the room with a proud smile. "Well, what do you think? I made sure to book one of the finest staterooms. It's nice, right?"

It's fucking gorgeous, but Bucky isn't going to say so just so Steve can preen over himself. He shrugs. "Sure. I guess so."

The light in Steve's eyes dims a little, but he recovers. “There's a promenade," he offers brightly. "Want to see outside?”

Bucky huffs as if put-upon, even though he does want to see, and follows Steve onto the promenade. It’s nice—light and airy, with wicker furniture and large windows that can be opened to let the sea breeze in. Steve flops down onto one of the chairs and Bucky walks over to the windows, sliding one open and looking out. Their stateroom is on the side of the ship that faces the docks, and he observes all of the pedestrians and dock workers moving around on the street below. Some are passing by, others have stopped to look up at the ship as all of its passengers and luggage are brought on board. Below, the muddy harbor water sloshes gently against the bottom of the ship, and Bucky leans out over the edge of the window, trying to see if there are any barnacles clinging to the—

“Bucky!” Steve’s hands are suddenly on him, yanking him by his coat.

"Wha—oof!"

Steve pulls him back into the room, maintaining a harsh grip on his upper arm as he shuts the window. He turns and glares at him. “You could have fallen!”

Bucky jerks away from his hold. “No I couldn’tve,” he snaps. “Jesus, I was just looking. I’m fine. What’s your problem?”

"You could've been hurt," Steve insists. "Or killed! You have to be more careful."

"More careful than what?" Bucky scowls. He stalks away, not noticing the other man's pained expression as he watched him go.

Steve gives him his space after that, telling Bucky that he’s going down to arrange their dinner reservations, and that he’ll be back in a bit. Bucky waits, intending to bide his time in the cabin, but there’s really nothing to do, and it gets boring after only a few minutes.

So he decides he’ll explore the ship. He heads out, not unaware that he should probably be waiting for Steve, or at least leaving him a note telling him where he’s going. It is a big ship, after all. But he ignores the consideration. Steve can figure it out for himself. Bucky’s an adult, and even though Steve's his Headship, he hadn’t told Bucky to stay put. Bucky smirks as he leaves their stateroom and takes the lift down, thinking about Steve returning to the room to find it empty.

The ship, Bucky concludes, is ridiculous.

He stops a steward and asks about what he might see, and the man directs him to several attractions. There’s the day lounge, the smoking lounge, the bar, the library, the gym, the squash courts and the swimming pool. There’s a goddamn Turkish bath, of all things! Bucky can’t imagine what person thought that they needed one of those. God forbid they cross an ocean without the essentials.

It takes a long time to tour most of the ship. At least an hour goes by before Bucky makes his way up to the public promenade and sits on a deck chair, tired and ready to people-watch. He’s relaxing, enjoying the busy sounds of the ship and the dockside, when all of a sudden someone down the way is exclaiming,

“There you are!”

He startles, head turning to see Steve approaching looking quite harried. Oh. Bucky tucks his lips in, trying hard not to smile. “Oh, hey Steve.”

Steve comes over and stands there with his hands on his hips, staring down at him. “I’ve been looking for you for over an hour!”

Bucky shrugs. “I went for a walk.”

“A walk?!” Steve huffs. “What on earth was so important that you couldn’t have waited for me to get back?” He glares at him. “I had half a mind that you’d gotten off the ship!”

Bucky laughs out loud at that. Even he wouldn’t literally jump ship to escape his new husband. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that,” he drawls. “It’s an idea though.”

Steve’s face darkens, and he is not amused. Growling, he grabs Bucky by the scruff of his shirt and yanks him up. “Come on,” he says, verging on using his Voice. “We’re going back to the room.”

“Sit,” he says, the moment he’s got the door to their suite shut. He points at the couch. “There. Now.”

Bucky gulps. He’s never been on the receiving end of an alpha’s Voice before. Truth be told, he’d always expected that it wouldn’t have much of an effect on him. He’s beta: omegas are the ones who are supposed to be compelled. But Bucky definitely feels something. Steve’s Voice puts a slight urge in his brain, an itch to obey. Coupled with the fact that he's wary of his husband's anger, it motivates him to plant his butt exactly where Steve just pointed.

He doesn’t have to do this, he reminds himself stubbornly. He doesn’t have to obey Steve’s command. … It just feels better if he does. Bucky grits his teeth and tells him, “You don’t have to Voice, alright? I’m here. I won’t run off again.”

Steve’s features lift a bit, whether in surprise or relief is unclear. “Okay,” he says, and yeah, it’s relief. He comes to join Bucky on the couch. “I was really worried, Bucky.”

Bucky hates the honest look that’s on Steve’s face right now, hates the hurt pinch in his brow. It tells him that Steve is a good man, is just concerned for his safety. Bucky feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment at having to be scolded like a child. “Sorry,” he mutters, hoping that it'll be enough to satisfy whatever his husband needs to hear from him.

“Promise me you won’t go running off again,” Steve says. He’s not using his Voice anymore, but his tone is imploring. “On this ship or elsewhere. We’ve got stops planned all over Europe. I won’t be able to relax if I constantly have to worry about you disappearing.”

Bucky frowns. Sure, he’d disappeared for an hour or two, and maybe he’d enjoyed the fact that he knew it would annoy Steve, but that wasn't why he'd done it. Bucky had honestly wanted to see the ship. He tells Steve so, saying, “I just wanted to explore. I won’t run away.”

Steve nods, seemingly satisfied. “Okay. Thank you, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels suddenly awkward, sitting on the couch next to Steve; his husband, his Headship, the alpha who just a week ago had held Bucky tight to his body, jerked him off, and fucked his spend all over his thighs. Bucky swallows heavily at the memory. “I ...” he starts, needing to put some space between them. “Steve, I … need to use the bathroom.”

Steve frowns lightly. “Well go ahead. Jeez Buck, you don’t have to ask permission.”

Bucky shoots up from the couch, eager to get away because he's not sure he can keep himself from flinging out a nasty rebuttal, if he stays sitting there much longer.

They dress in tails for dinner in the ship’s finest and most exclusive dining room. Steve leads Bucky in by the arm, all eyes turning to watch them as they enter. Thankfully, everyone else in this part of the ship is just as, or nearly as, wealthy and important as Steve and Bucky are, so it isn’t long before most of the eyes trail away and their owners return to their previous conversations, two members of minor American royalty of no special note to them. Steve guides Bucky in the direction of their table, at which point they are accosted by two people.

“Captain Rogers!”

One of them Bucky recognizes. He’s Henry Mills, youngest son of Senator Mills of New Jersey, the man who used to be Bucky’s father’s counterpart—No longer, he thinks bitterly.

You’re the Lord of nothing!

He can still hear his mother's hissing rebuke from that day. He blushes, embarrassed to have to stand in the company of his old schoolmate like this. Before, as both a Senatorial heir and as a beta, Bucky would've been considered above Henry in status. But now all that's changed. He’s sure Henry must be thinking about House Barnes’ scandal, as word has undoubtedly gotten 'round to the more important families of society by now. Soon enough it’ll be in the papers and everyone will know. Bucky cringes at the thought.

Steve starts up a stilted conversation of pleasantries with the alpha who introduces himself as Henry’s husband—Lord Jamison, Senator of Ohio. Henry is omega and a younger son, two very simple reasons why he was never going to inherit his father’s Seat. Bucky thinks dejectedly about how now the two of them have ended up in very much the same place; married to alpha Senators to maintain their positions in Society. The only difference between them is their designation, and it’s glaring. Henry’s stomach is noticeable beneath his waistcoat and dinner jacket. He’s pregnant.

“Yes,” Jamison is saying. “We’re very excited to be starting a family.” He wraps his arm possessively around Henry’s waist, drawing him closer against his side. “And we’re thinking we may have found our third. A beta from Maine. She’s just a daughter of one of the elected, but even still, she’s a very nice girl. Don’t you think, Sweetheart?”

Henry nods, one hand migrating to his stomach as he gazes up at his husband in adoration. “Yes,” he says. “It’s been a wonderful first year. We’re very fortunate.” He returns his attention to Bucky and Steve, saying, “You must be looking forward to setting up your Household, when you get back.”

It’s framed as a question, and since it’s clearly been aimed at Bucky, he feels compelled to answer, “Um, yes?” It’s a terribly awkward answer, and the uncomfortable silence that follows it makes him want to shrink away. Henry’s so obviously in love with his Headship, and meanwhile Bucky is just … not. He feels guilty for making it so obvious.

Hadn’t they come there to eat dinner? He doubts he’ll have much of an appetite after this. He's been feeling a tad bit queasy since the ship departed that afternoon, and he desperately hopes that he won’t be prone to seasickness. “We’re moving into Steve’s brownstone,” he says, trying to offer something useful to the conversation. “It’s in Brooklyn.”

Jamison laughs. “Oh, how terribly chic of you. Such an eclectic place.” ‘Eclectic’, Bucky knows, is a euphemism for ‘common’. “You’ll have a lot to see there,” the alpha says. “I’ve heard they’ve made great progress in gentrifying some of the neighborhoods.”

Bucky looks to Steve, who is smiling a fake smile with tight eyes. “Yes, it’s nice. My favorite of all our residences.”

All our residences? Bucky thinks. All our residences? He tries to reign in his reaction. He hadn’t known that Steve owned more than one property, though it does make sense, given his wealth. He makes a mental note to ask Steve later about where the other houses are.

“Well, we really must take our seats,” Steve excuses. “I think I’ve seen our waiter divert himself twice, now.” He chuckles, and even that is fake, though Bucky isn’t sure the Jamisons can tell. “Gentlemen,” Steve says, and the couple bids them a polite goodbye. Steve waits until they’ve stepped away before he guides Bucky to sit at their table. “They seem nice,” he says, unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap. Bucky follows suit.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

The waiter arrives and asks Steve what they’ll have. He doesn’t address Bucky, as it’s traditional for Headships to order for their spouses. Bucky is annoyed but not surprised. He speaks up right after Steve’s asked for lobster and before he can order for Bucky. “I’ll have the duck à l’orange,” he says.

The waiter seems tense for a moment, eyes flicking to Steve to assess his reaction. Steve gives a slight nod, and the waiter relaxes. “Very good Sir. I’ll tell the chef.” He turns and walks on to the next table.

“You don’t mind, do you Steve?” Bucky asks sweetly, waiting for his husband to scold him for the embarrassment. But it doesn’t come.

“No, I don’t,” Steve says, smiling slightly when Bucky looks at him with surprise. “I’m pretty relaxed when it comes to matters of protocol.”

“Oh?”

He nods. “When it concerns just the two of us or our Third, yes.” He looks at Bucky pointedly. “But in company I’ll expect you to mind yourself. Understood?”

Bucky wants so badly to say that no, it’s not understood, but that would be embarrassingly childish, even for him, so he reins himself in. “Sure,” he says.

“Good.”

They sit in silence, uncomfortable, until Bucky blurts, “Where are your residences?”

Steve's mouth quirks. “Well for one, they’re our houses now, seeing as we’re married. And they’re in Brooklyn, the Hamptons, Washington D.C., Manhattan, London and Paris. The latter three are only apartments, but they’re sizeable. I especially enjoy the Paris residence. We’ll be staying there for part of the trip. I'll look forward to hearing your opinions on each, you know." His expression turns fond. "Especially about our house in Cobble Hill. That's to be our family home."

Bucky fights to keep his face neutral, but internally he’s impressed. House Barnes has only ever kept residences in Paramus and Washington D.C. Ruefully, he thinks of how his mother and sisters will likely be forced to move to a different house now that their Senatorial status is about to be revoked, the only thing keeping them in Society being Bucky’s marriage to Steve. For that, he is grateful. He nods and fiddles with his silverware. “That’s nice,” he says.

Steve smiles. “Have you ever been to France?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. I um, I went with my father to a state dinner in London once, back when I was introduced to Society, but it was brief. We didn’t go to the continent.”

“I see. Well I think you’ll enjoy yourself on our trip. I’m looking forward to showing you the sights.”

Bucky nods, not disagreeing but silent on the matter. Secretly, he’s been kind of excited to go on this honeymoon with Steve. He’s never traveled much, and touring Europe with a gorgeous Alpha is hardly a hardship. The only catch being that Bucky has to be married to him.

Their meal arrives before too long, and he's able to distract himself with the food. He drinks the wine that the sommelier suggests—a floral red that compliments the duck—and is pleased when Steve doesn’t protest his request of a second glass. Dessert is a rich chocolate cake, and Bucky nearly moans by the time he’s enjoying the last bite. When he finishes and glances up, Steve is looking at him with a mixture of amusement and desire. Bucky blushes. “Um, do you want to go to the smoking lounge, maybe? Have a brandy?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’ve had enough, and it's been a long day. Shall we head back to the room?”

Bucky swallows, nodding meekly and standing to take Steve’s offered arm. He thinks about what they’re going to do when they get back to their quarters. Will Steve undress him? Expect to have sex? Bucky’s thoughts drift back to their first night together; how Steve had handled him gently, made him come …

Steve guides him from the dining room. On the way out, they pass by Senator Jamison's table, and Bucky catches Henry Mills shooting him a friendly look—almost one of understanding, as though the two of them are Societal equals.

With a strange twinge in his gut, Bucky realizes that now they are.

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