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pursuitseternal · 6 months

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“Hold me…” a hurt/comfort nsfw update to Ascended Astarion x Reader fic: “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader |E| 3.8K Hurt/Comfort Smut

Summary: The nightmares still come, even with all that power and influence and Ascension. You are the one thing that can comfort him, to ground him and heal him. To restore him with your touch, your love.

CW: Trauma, self-hate, hurt, comfort, gentle sex, pull him out of his loathing and make that rogue feel something.

Read here if you like AO3

Throw yourself in his arms, darling…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

It begins the same every time… how he shakes, hands clenching in the sheets. Breathing going ragged. His muscles spasming on their own. An arm thrown to the side, his legs kicking the luxurious comforter from your bed. He contorts, the ghosts of his pain wracking his body beside you.

You slowly come to, feeling the jolts of him knocking you awake. It hasn’t been since he’s ascended that he’s had a nightmare. You’ve seen them, on the road, in his bedroll. You did you best then to soothe gently, hard to do with others around.

But this was his palace, this was your bed.

“Astarion,” you whisper, repeating his name louder as you watch his face grimace in his sleep, moans and grunts of anguish in his throat as he tosses and flails.

You reach for his shoulder, tense and cold. That small, soft contact lurches his body in his angonized sleep. Bolting and twisting he clambers on top of you. He roars above you, body rolling as his hands claw around your wrists. Legs tangling in your bedding.

Trapping you firmly under his naked body.

Panting. Snarling. Dripping in sweat.

His eyes are open, glowing as bright and scarlet as the day he took the power meant to kill him.

He snaps his jaws in your face, feral and bloodthirsty. His fangs glisten in the dim light, shining with his spit. “No,” he roars, “no, don’t touch me!” He bellows, “You won’t win, you can’t win. I’m free!”

You tremble under his strength, his eyes unfocused, staring past you, burrowed beneath him and pinned under his shaking body. You do the one thing that pops in your racing mind, something you would do under the stars before.

“Shhh,” you breathe quietly, “it’s okay. You’re okay, Astarion… shhhhh….”

He struggles a bit. Eyes blinking. Black pupils in the center of his glowing red orbs seeming to search your face.

And then, he sees you. His face softens in recognition, the creases of his face easing, his brows lifting from their ferocious furrow. He looks down at you under him, feeling how your frame shakes as your breath races.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you repeat one more time, looking right into his eyes, watching their glow fade. Watching them grow veiled with fear.

“I… I thought I was free of these,” he murmurs, voice quaking as he eases his hands from pinning your wrists. “Free of… him.”

He doesn’t need to say another word. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Astarion shivers, sliding off you to settle heavy back in his spot in the bed. You see him shudder, rolling his back to you, arms wrapping around himself tightly.

Then you hear a wet, shaking breath.

Pain clutches your heart, souring your stomach. Eyeing his body, you know better than to touch his back. Not on those literally Infernal scars. Carefully, you slide yourself up in the bed, resting your back against the carved wood of the headboard and the pile of pillows behind you. Angling your body away from his, you lightly brush your fingers into that mess of silver curls. Ever so slightly, you run through them. So soft, just enough to let him know you are there.

He shudders again, this time it’s a sob that comes from his mouth. Your hand feels it through his scalp, putting just a bit more pressure as you stroke into his hair. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t fight it. But he also doesn’t turn. You watch his fingers clawing around his own arm, pressing in so hard it could draw blood.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, carefully not to touch more than just the wisps of his hair that tickle beneath your single hand. “Breathe, my love. Breathe,” you softly score your fingers into his hair, firmer. Enough to reassure him of your presence.

Slowly, he begins to still. “He’s gone,” you continue to whisper, trying to carefully breach the boundary of his pain. “He is dead, and you, you live, my love…”

Your fingers stray into the soft and short hairs that run in front of his pointed ear. You hear him hiss, your finger barely grazing the skin of his cheek.

“Two-hundred years…” he begins, so soft, you have to lean over his head just to catch his feeble words.

“I know,” you try to soothe, your hands tenderly lift his head, sliding your legs beneath his temple, his cheek, praying that the softness of your body grounds him.

If he lets it…

You feel his muscles clench, his jaw biting into itself at the contact. But you hold still, waiting, watching… until he finally eases, body relaxing almost imperceptibly as he rests on your inner thigh. His breath is ragged and cold as it flutters over your skin. But at least he is breathing.

Hesitant, you run your fingers down his wet cheek, trailing a single finger over that firm cut of his jaw. Wiping away his tears.

“You can’t let this beat you, my love,” you whisper. “And you are not alone, you have more than your power to comfort you now…”

His jaw tweaks under your touch, his swallow loud and forced.

“He’s still won,” you hear him rasp, “not even my power, not even my love for you can erase those years… all the… horrible… horrible… things he did to me.” He trails off, turning his head to stare at the ceiling, his eyes distant, wet, brimming with anguish. “He might as well have won…”

You hold your breath, heart racing as you watch that spark of his power flickering. Your bond teems with his pain, twisting your own gut and heart and soul with the share of his burden.

“Cazador… is dead,” you whisper, the name alone makes his face screw tight, eyes shut and teeth bared as he rests in your lap. “And I… am… with you, every day to remind you of that fact, Astarion.”

“You’ve chosen nothing more than a life with a monster,” his lips move slowly, eyes still shut. “I saw myself… the greatest torture… he… could inflict… making me just like him.” You watch as his teeth bite into his own lip, the thin trickle of blood seeping down his cheek and chin.

Torment, torture, it paints his face, marring those handsome features like the scars that disfigure his back.

“You are nothing like him… you are more than him,” you begin to feel… indignant. Irritated. Not at your love. At the shadow that still insists to manifest over his shining flame of a soul. A soul he fought so hard to get back. “I am proof of that…”

“You are proof of my weakness, that I can’t face a future alone after all … all Cazador did to me…”

Now, you feel a growl in your throat. “Weakness?” You snip, carefully measuring your words, your breath. “I’m your… weakness? Sharing yourself is not weakness, forgoing loneliness is not weakness…”

You feel his shoulder shrug against your leg. “I do not deserve it. What does it matter…”

“Why shouldn’t you have a consort, a queen, a… someone to care about you, whether you live or die?” You swallow hard, biting your tongue. His apathy is consuming him alive. Eating his passion up from the inside out more than any parasite could.

“What does it matter…” he repeats again. “I’m nothing more than what he made me…”

That’s it. Something snaps inside you. Indignant. Not at him. For him. You shuffle from under him, and quickly climb on top. Hovering your body above him. Hands and knees keep you carefully from touching too much. But making well and truly certain he has to look at you. “And what about what… I… made you?” you try to soften your snarl. “What about what you made me, more than spawn. Giving me your blood… don’t you think you’ve done more than seal my fate?”

He stares at you, wet crimson eyes blinking, the little muscles of his face beginning to twitch. Good. That was something more than apathy. Something you could work with. “You are not his creature anymore, Astarion,” you murmur in his face, letting your hair fall in rivulets down from your shoulders. “You are mine…. Forever…. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

A slight glow begins in his face, just a twitch of his lip in that usually insufferable corner. “I suppose…” he finally breathes.

“You are mine, and no amount of imaginary dreams can rob you from me, no matter how real they are.” Something creeps up your thighs, feather-light as hands ghost up to the curve of your ass. He is touching you, and you smile. You honey your tone, letting his fingers bring you slowly to rest on his body. “You may have been his for two-hundred years, my love… but you are mine now, for the rest of eternity.” Those hands press ever-so-slightly harder as you wiggle on his lap.

“You won’t ever let me forget it, will you, darling?” he purrs. Faintly, but it’s there.

“No, my love,” you smirk, voice soft and sultry, more than usual. Teasing the same tones you long to hear from him. “Not as long as I have been made yours… forever…” you growl the word, the way it has been forever branded in your immortal memory.

You see that corner of his mouth lift a little higher, his head lilting against the bed. “If you insist, darling…” he replies, more honeyed, more silken.

“I most certainly do, my love,” you purr, a toss of your hair, letting it fall softly down your back. Licking your lips, you give a slight roll of your hips on his lap, hoping to feel a burgeoning of hardness beneath you. It’s slight, the beginning of an erection, enough to make your core ignite, to make you swallow hard, needing to comfort your lover. “Allow me, darling…” you breath, soft and gentle.

But his brows furrow, head cocking with a spike of suspicion. “Allow you to do what, exactly?” he replies, voice edged with something sharp.

You smile, a bit confused. But undeterred. Carefully proceeding with every little step, every little touch. “Allow me to console you… to… show you I love you… Will you allow me to… pleasure you?”

The question hangs in the air longer than you thought it would. His face is unmoving, you begin to worry, to slide off his body in case it’s too much.

But his hands hold you in place, pressing faintly on your hips to resist even the slightest movement off him. “What would you like for me to do with you, Astarion?” you whisper, so softly, anxious over breaking into his thoughts.

“I…” he begins. “I’ve never been asked that…”

Your brows crease, you smile a bit, perhaps a bit darkly. “Even with me? I’m sure I have…”

“I mean, I always knew you cared deeply for me… for giving to me… giving into me, but…” he breathes, a heavy sigh that seems to ease every muscle beneath you. “To hear it in so many words…” You hear him swallow, breath and tears catching in his throat. “I want you to make love to me, my treasure. Make me feel… everything… with you.”

Something hardens between your folds, and by the growing smirk and ever increasing glow of crimson in his eyes, you know he wants this.

Wants you.

“Yes,” you sigh, “I’ll give you everything, and then some.”

He laughs, just a few times, but it melts your heart, that tear-streaked sticky chuckle.

“Will you give me a taste, darling?” he croons, that voice back with its full force to make you molten and quick between your thighs.

“My lips?” you tease gently, “my blood… my nether regions?”

“All of it,” he growls, hand almost clawing at the back of your neck, bearing you down towards his simpering mouth. His kiss is salty from tears, but just as ferocious as ever… the little nicks of his fangs inside your lip, the deep delve of his tongue into the furthest reaches of your mouth… Even as the seducer, you melt into his body, losing yourself in the workings of his kiss. Your hips lifted off of his belly, you feel the twitching of his cock against you with every lick of his tongue over the small cuts on your lips. He’s humming, low in his throat, at the taste of you. Feasting on your desire and your blood all at once.

You let him, keeping your mouth open and returning the favor, until you feel his lips beginning to stray. Beginning to catch your chin, your cheek and jaw. Until his hand knots into the strands of your hair and pulls your neck to his fangs. You cry out, his name pleading in your voice, begging for more and for him to be gentle all at once.

His bite is hungry, as ravenous as when he first pleaded for your blood… only a little of it… to feed your hungry rogue. Astarion sucks and laps, starved for your power, your love, your consolation that is balm for his soul. Little moans escape you, each time his breath rattles in your ear, heavy and hungry.

You let him drink, feeling the flow of your blood in his body tightening your bond, your desire. Your essence filling his insides… you want the same. Crave the same. Him inside you.

But you dig deep to be patient, to follow his desires, his hunger. And with a final lick, he pulls from your neck. Your well-fed vampire, eyes almost sleepy from a full belly, glassy from the pulsing desire that prods into your belly. “Darling,” he purrs, throat slick with your blood, “won’t you put that mouth of yours to use?”

You smile, feeling his hand taking his own cock in his fist, dragging it over your belly. A hint, none too subtle. Licking your lips, you place a kiss on that conceited smirk first, pulling away quickly, lest you lose yourself in that perfect kiss again. Instead, you nuzzle the cut of his jaw, a soft press, almost reverent, over the bite marks in his neck. You feel his jaw clenching, his breath catching. “I love these,” you whisper just beneath the bottom of his ear. He shudders at your voice’s tickle. “I love everything that made you who you are, that made me find you in my path….”

A loud groan sounds from the throat beneath your lips. “And?” he prods, another little noise as you trail your lips to his shoulder, to the wiry strength that could snap you in two. “What else do you love?”

“I love that stroking your vanity gets you just as hard as my touch…”

He laughs, long and low. “Choose the right words, and you might find out just how hard you can make me for you, darling…”

Your hands race down both those arms, gasping his hands in yours to place them in your hair. “I love your strength, that you can crush your enemy in a second… so powerful, none can resist you…”

“Mmm,” he moans loudly, fingers clawing in your hair, riding the rise and fall of your head as you trail caresses over the expanse of his chest. You stop at his belly, even as his hands in your hair will for you to continue that downward trek. But you pause, letting your tongue lick over those cold and hard ridges. Salty from his sweat, clenching at the agonizing pace you seem to set. You claw your nails down his sides, feeling his hips flexing as you dig in, slowly sliding to settle yourself between his thighs at last.

You softly run your hands over that panting plane of his stomach. His fingers stray from your hair, wrapping around his cock, his straining length, trying to bring your mouth to it. His breathing is hard, quick. And you give him a placating lick from base to velvety, seeping head. “Shhh,” you smile up at him, tenderly taking his hand from his own cock, giving it a slight kiss, and placing it back into your hair. “Let me take care of you,” you whisper.

Uncertainty flashes in his eyes, his belly clenching and sending his cock jerking against your face.

“Let me pleasure you, entirely. Trust me to know you, my love, to read your body for what you want. Use that silken voice of yours, if you like, but…” you lick your lips, taking his cock in one hand, cradling his balls in another, “…I need you to trust me, and you… can… trust me, lover.”

His eyes still look down at you, lidded and veiled in suspicion, but his fingers ease their grip, letting you settle your mouth to lick as you please. You linger your mouth to run the full, long length of him. That silken skin, hard and throbbing underneath, he pulses with every lick, every swirl. Slowly, gradually, you nibble your way to his head, hearing him sigh as you finally lick away that bitter seed already leaking from the tip. It twitches, dancing, responding in time to every wet attention you lavish on him.

His hands slowly sweep from your head, teasing down your neck, thumb tracing over the top of your ear. Palm lifting and stroking you over and over again. He paws you, pets you… his breathing steadier, heavier. And then you take him deep, or as much of him as you can into your mouth and down your throat. Stifling a groan, he thrusts into your mouth, but you anticipate it, carefully moving with it so as not to gag. You bob up and down, lapping your tongue in circles, attentive to each sensitive spot you have come to know and worship on his cock.

He moans as you suck, as you pop off his head loudly. Loud enough to make him laugh quietly. Relaxed and pleasured. “What else do you love about me, my sweet?” You raise a brow, waiting so as to tease him. His hips raise, his ass clenches, jerking his aching and prominent erection in your face. “Anything in particular?”

You give a dramatic sigh, meeting his eye, holding his gaze as you slide your tongue from base to tip again. “Always the rogue, Astarion, so proud of your weapon…”

“Good enough a weapon that you long for it to destroy you…” his smirk widens fiercely, “…nightly.”

You laugh, holding that sensitive head in your mouth, making him feel the vibrations of your voice.

“Well…” he prods, another clenching thrust into your mouth, “aren’t you going to woo me with that mouth as well?” You laugh again, louder, wrapping your giggling lips around the whole circumference of him. “What do you insist on adoring most about my cock, darling?”

“Hmmmm,” you give another long and sultry hum as you let him slide from your mouth, “I love how hard you get when you see me… when you taste me…” You stray your fingers to wrap one at a time around him, giving his length a few hard strokes in your grip. “I love every vein, every ridge and rise that tickles my tongue when I take you…”

He gives a moan, his cock twitching, thickening…

“I love the way your balls tighten just as your body gets ready to fill me with your cum…” You murmur, giving his balls a gentle tug, as hard and tight as they are. He is ready, prodded towards his climax, driven by your pleasure and praise.

“Mmm, what else?” he rasps, ravenous for more. Hungry for your adoration.

But you raise above him, letting go of his cock, crawling up to cage him from above. His eyes are wide, his breathing ragged as he licks his lips for more.

“There is much more, but mostly I crave the way your cum drips from me for hours, days after you fuck me…”

“How could I refuse such a need, my love?” That purr, that smirk and canting brow, all of him makes your folds just aching for that relief of him buried deep inside you.

You fall into his kiss, your tongue and lips beginning to ache from all their use, but you don’t mind. Not as you settle your hips lower, the press of his cock at your entrance makes your breath catch hard and painful in your throat. “You make me so wet, you know,” you moan, sinking onto his cock with another heavy, damp sigh. “All because you are mine,” and with that, you slam your cunt on him, making your body take him so deep, you can’t fit any more.

He groans, hands clawing at your hips, he simply lets you, swivel and ride him. Eyes sharp and watching everything about you… you can see them darting, so quick, he doesn’t want to miss anything. Not the little bites you make on your lips, the way your breasts swing with each undulating slam you make on his lap, the way he can see himself entering you sweet, dripping, honeyed cunt with the way you rise up so high.

You splay your hands on his chest, and one of his hands comes to hold yours, lacing his fingers in between yours. His grip is tight, like a drowning man clinging to the only thing that will save him.

You.

You can feel him growing thick and hard inside you again. His breathing rasping and ragged. His hips trying to buck into you, even as he lets you ride his cock at your pace.

“Say it again,” he growls, eyes closed, head straining back into the mattress. “Say it again,” he cries louder.

“You’re mine…” you moan, his hand pushing your body down, his cock pulsing and thrusting hard into you as he comes.

So wet, so thick, so loud as he groans with his orgasm, you tumble into yours even as he still writhes and thrusts beneath you. His hand fisting in your hair pulls you down, making you collapse on his chest.

Breathless. Both of you pant. Sopping in sweat. But he won’t let you catch your air, not when his lips press yours, his breath rushing into your mouth, your lungs. His arms cling to you tightly, his embrace is like iron, keeping you clutched with your mouth fastened to his.

Like he would hold you thus for eternity.

Because that’s how long you have now. Eternity. Forever with your ascended master. Your rogue until the end of time.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Read the rest of “The Rogue You Were:”

Part 1: Welcome me…

Part 2: Cleanse me…

Part 3: Surprise me…

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spydergaz · 2 months

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⋆⭒˚.⋆ not a lot, just forever.

🍂📀🍁

word count : 654

cw: fluff, no actual pronouns used, peter is awkward as hell, idk your vibe, but it’s a good one, peter is a cranberries fan.

a/n: i haven’t properly written something in forever :/ but i’m trying i swear lol. i was also listening to Adrianne Lenker while writing this so that may have influenced this a bit.

the leaves crunch under your converses as you walk, your arms swinging loosely by your sides as you wave your hands in the breeze. you’re walking across campus to your next class, a routine you've grown fond of due to the simplicity of it all. you consider yourself a simple person, you enjoy small things like rocks and the sound of the river that flows under the bridge of your campus.

you’re also noticeably quiet, so much so that your teachers have stopped trying to get you to participate in group discussions. you don’t mind though, you’re content being by yourself.

and so is peter. he’s just as quiet as you, he always has headphones on. you can faintly hear his music, you like the fact that he likes the cranberries, you do too. but he tends to sit away from you, he doesn’t hate you, how could he? the way you skip around campus, the way you collect and paint rocks, the way you sit by the river, the way you’re so freely yourself.

his crush on you is something you’re oblivious too, and he’s too scared to even look at you. he’s read so many books on nature related topics that he might turn into a walking weed, he’s replayed a conversation with you in his head so much he could write a script about it. he wants to ask you to get coffee, he’s seen you sip coffee once or twice, maybe he’ll ask you to see a movie?

he knows you like superheroes, he sees the superman pin on your tote bag. but talking to you seems like his kryptonite, like he’ll die if he tries.

but today he’ll try, he’ll try and push past that fear and talk to you.

it’s the afternoon, you’re sitting on a bench and quietly sketching the trees in front of you. your foot lightly tapping on the grass to your music that plays softly in your headphones.

he feels like he’s being creepy, holding flowers for a person who doesn’t even know him. but he sighs and walks up to you, cringing at himself as he taps your shoulder.

“hi uhm, i’m not trying to be creepy but-“ he’s cut off by your eyes peering into his, he feels so small when you look at him with those pretty eyes.

“are those flowers?”

“for you.”

“me..?” you smile as he hands them to you, they’re some sunflowers, they’re fake, but the gesture is nice anyways. “the real ones are super expensive and uh-“

you shake your head and look up at him again. “i get it, it’s okay.” he nervously laughs, mindlessly fidgeting with his fingers.

“could i ask your name?” you reply with your name and he smiles, smiles that you trust him enough already for that. “i’m peter parker, i promise i’m a lot more composed usually.”

you laugh at the self deprecating joke.

“i’ve seen you in class.”

“well i don’t tend to turn invisible, i’ve seen you too. which is why i’m giving you flowers.”

you smile, you appreciate how nice he is and how awkward he is too. “i was- am asking you out by the way, if you’re… interested?” you nod, laughing a bit.

“well don’t laugh at me, i’m trying!” his voice is mockingly whiny as he laughs with you. “but you’re like.. okay with going on a date?” you nod again, stifling your laughter for his sake.

“how does a cafe sound?”

“i like the sound of that, I’m always in a mood for coffee.”

“when do you… wanna go?”

“tomorrow? after class?”

“holy shi- uh- yeah that’s okay.” and with that he stands there awkwardly before clearing his throat and nodding, sighing of relief. “yeah i’ll see you tomorrow! uh, i’ve gotta bounce.” you nod in response and wave him goodbye as he runs off, you can practically hear the smile in his voice.

#spydergaz...!!#spydergaz... writes!!#peter parker #peter parker x reader #andrew garfield #tasm peter parker #tasm fluff

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mrsnegan · 6 months

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Only If For A Night

[Soooo...yes, I might have yet another obsession with a fictional, emotional unavailable man, haha. This is just a little drabble for you. I still write for Negan, of course. In the meantime, I hope you also enjoy this little fic. If it isn't your cup of tea, feel free to scroll past it.]

Summary: Joel has a nightmare. You try to make him feel better, make him forget his demons, only if for a night.

Warnings: angst, brief talk of trauma, smut, blowjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, f!Reader on top, creampie, cockwarming I guess?

You woke from heavy breathing and occasional grunts coming from the makeshift bed on the other side of the room.

Joel had insisted to sleep on the sofa, offering you the bed for as much comfort as this world still beheld. He was gruff, not a big fan of casual conversation, but he was a man of his word, one you could rely on, the only one you trusted with your life. You had met some months ago during a smuggling mission and had worked together since. Your new job required you to transport ammunition to one of the safe zones well outside of your usual territory. It was risky to say the least, but you needed the reward. So here you were, finding shelter for the night in an abandoned house. Joel must have fallen asleep during his watch which was very unusual for him. You rubbed your eyes which slowly adjusted to the darkness around you. Your bare feet touched the wooden floor and you shivered. As soundless as possible you made your way towards Joel who was fast asleep, one arm hanging down the sofa, the other draped across his eyes.

"Joel?" you questioned carefully, your fingers lightly touching his arm. He still breathed heavily, unevenly, and with your next touch to his heated skin, he jolted awake and upright, eyes wild with fear. You had never seen him like this, it made your blood freeze.

"Jo-Joel?" you asked again, this time very timidly, carefully.

He seemed to wake up fully, recognizing you. With a deep sigh, he rubbed his hands over his face.

"Sorry for scaring you, t'was a nightmare..." Joel's voice was heavy with sleep, barely above a whisper. "It's always rough 'round this time of the year."

This time of the year.

He talked about when the world turned to shit. You had heard about his past, about what happened to his daughter, but never asked him anything about it. It wasn't your place to talk with him about such traumatic things.

"It's okay, you're awake now, I'm here."

He scoffed at your remark, his eyes not meeting yours.

"That's sweet o'you, but it isn't somethin' you can influence. It's my issue, has been for a very long time. I'm used to it."

You huffed at his statement, deciding to ignore it, carefully sitting down beside him.

"Go back to sleep, it's still dark outside", he tried again, but you just shook your head.

"No, won't let you sit alone with your nightmares."

Joel's eyes met yours, his icey stare bore into you, he was pissed you could tell, though it seemed too tired to really make a scene.

"Wasn't an offer," he just spat, voice cold and distant.

"Mine neither", you stood your ground, meeting his gaze with equal determination. Before you could think about it any longer, you leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

At first he didn't respond, didn't move a single finger. When you pulled away to look at him again, he just looked at you, a mix of surprise and anger plain on his face.

"Told you to go to bed."

"No. It isn't your decision to make, Joel. You're always in charge, always functioning. You're not okay. And I won't sit around or sleep when you're hurt like this."

"You're not my wife," he said, nearly muttered under his breath.

"I know," you just mumbled, heart beating fast. Of course being someone's wife wasn't on your list, it held no special meaning in this fucked-up world, though you couldn't deny the feelings you had developed in the last few months. The need to help Joel, the need to touch him, to touch his body and his heart, to make him smile, if only a little, to make him feel good...it was hard for you to ignore this need, this pull you felt towards him. Even harder now that he really needed comfort even if he would never ask for it because he was so used to deal with his demons all on his own.

"Just let me...," you tried again, your hand resting lightly on his arm. You felt him tense under your fingertips, not used to a tender touch either, your tender touch.

Joel didn't meet your eyes, his gaze was fixed on your hand. He seemed to fight with himself, not sure if he wanted to push you away or pull you into him.

"Joel," you whispered, making him look up to you. "Please, let me make you feel good. Let me-"

You couldn't end your sentence, Joel's hand grabbed yours on his arm, before he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your fingertips before letting it go.

The shaky breath you drew in was the only sound in the abandoned house. Lightly, carefully, your fingers grazed his lips, his cheek, before you leaned in again to kiss him. This time he kissed you back, slowly but he did. The kiss lasted a long time and grew more passionate with every passing second. His hands wandered from your hair to your shoulders, downwards to your hips and urged you to stand up and straddle him.

His hands were all over you while you ground down on his lap, feeling his hardening length through your trousers. He grew impatient by the second, clawing at your clothes while not breaking the kiss. This felt better than any wet dream could prepare you, better than what your imagination came up with in lonely nights.

Your lips wandered downwards, kissing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Meanwhile your fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, one by one, exposing his chest to the cold air. Noticing the goosebumps right away, your lips kept kissing his skin, feeling him shiver.

"Fuck," he mumbled, when your nails grazed one of his nipples, followed by your tongue.

With every downward motion, you also slid down further, sooner than later landing on your knees between his spread legs. He looked so handsome from your perspective, cheeks heated, mouth agape, eyes wild.

Biting your lip, you undid his belt, then the button of his trousers and the fly. When you motioned to help him pull them down, he stopped you.

"You don't have to do this."

Heart still beating fast, your desire got the best of you, kissing his hard length through the denim of his trousers.

"Shit," he swore, his head lulling to the side.

"I want to, so much," you answered him, face mere inches from his groin.

"It's yours, darlin', c'mon, make me feel good," Joel finally exclaimed, voice thick with arousel.

You didn't have to be told twice. With fast movements you helped him pull his trousers down towards his ankles, his briefs went with it too. When your eyes met his hard cock, your mouth watered. He was a sight, packing exactly what you always imagined.

Experimentally, you kissed his tip, tasting the salty precum. Joel's moan was music to your ears, so your fingers grabbed the base of him, stroking his length with enough pressure to make him shake above you.

He was silent except for the occasional moan and curse, enjoying your touch, the feel of your hand around him, pumping him just right. When your lips finally closed around the head of his cock, his hand flew into your hair, anchoring himself.

"Fuuck-," he managed to say before you went down on him, swallowing as much of him as you could at the first go. Feeling the wetness between your thighs, you kept bobbing your head, taking him deeper and deeper with your movements. What didn't fit in your mouth, you stroked with your hand.

Joel was much more vocal now, his own thighs tensing with the pleasure, fingers still woven into your hair.

"Shit, so good. Such a good girl, fuck, feels so...gooood."

The deep sound of his voice made you tingle all over, moaning around his length with the praise he gifted you with.

"Up, c'mere," he demanded after some moments, guiding you away from his throbbing length by your hair.

"Take off your clothes, darlin'." He let go of you, lips puffy and eyes hooded and he didn't need to tell you twice. With shaking fingers, you got rid of your trousers and underwear, pulled your shirt over your head and made quick work of shedding your bra. Meanwhile Joel, not taking his eyes off of you for a heartbeat, drinking in every inch of your skin, got rid of his already open shirt and kicked off his trousers and underwear still stuck at his feet.

When you were cold at the beginning of the night, you only felt heat now, naked from head to toe, bare and vulnerable, but the gaze Joel gave you made you feel anything but. You felt like a goddess.

Straddling him again, your wet center came in contact with his length which pulled whimper out of your mouth and quiet curses out of Joel's. His right hand travelled from your cheek towards you neck and from there down, down, down, groping your breats, finding its way over your stomach to your dripping pussy.

Two of his fingers stroked you while your eyes fluttered shut at his ministrations.

"Look at me," he exclaimed, voice deep.

Your eyes shot open, locking with his just in time for his fingers to enter you. He met no resistence, sliding in perfectly, fucking you slowly.

"Fuck, darlin', you're so wet, y'hear that?"

He pumped his fingers a bit faster now, the sound of your wetness obscene in your own ears. With your mouth agape, your hands flew around his neck to anchor yourself, your hips kept moving with Joel's strokes, like having a will of their own.

"That's it, fuck y'self on my fingers, just like that."

"Joel," you moaned, feeling him curl his fingers just right, his thumb coming down on your clit, flicking it with the right amount of pressure to make you see stars. Your hips stuttered, clenching around his fingers when you came with his name leaving your lips.

He held you steadily in his lap with his other hand by grabbing the flesh of your hips, pumping his fingers time and time again before he retreated them.

The bliss of your orgasm clouded your mind, your legs and arms felt like jelly, your heart beating so fast, faster than you were used to. You didn't register Joel lifting you up a bit to position himself at your entrance, stroking himself, coating himself in your juices. You didn't register it until he pushed into you, pulling you down, down, down, impaling you on his girthy length. He was a tight fit, stretching you deliciously.

"Fuck, Joel," you babbled, cock-drunk, and so full of him.

"Yeah, I know. Shit, you feel so good, so tight." He kissed you, tongue licking at your lips and slipping past them. His hands embraced you, keeping you safe and secure while he bottomed out.

His heated skin against yours, his hot breath against your neck when he broke the kiss to nip at your skin, his heartbeat, fast, so fast against your own chest, you could have died then and there.

Hands still around his neck and secure in his embrace, your hips kept lifting a bit before sinking down again. The movement made him moan, his cock dragging across your walls deliciously. It didn't take long for you to increase your movements, bouncing on his lap. His hands grasped your hips, helping you lift yourself up and down, up and down.

"Like that, darlin', just like that", he mumbled into your skin, occasionally biting at your sweaty flesh while the next high kept building inside of you.

"Joel, I'm gonna...," you warned him, riding him faster and faster.

His hands held you still then, pumping himself into you with sharp thrusts upwards, driving the air out of your lungs.

"Go on, cum on my cock, sweet thing, c'mon."

One look into his stormy eyes and you came shaking on his lap. He fucked you through it, praising you so sweetly, only his rough voice gave away how close he was himself.

"Don't," you babbled, letting him guide you on his cock, faster and faster, chasing his own high.

"What?" he breathlessly asked, gaze fixed on your face.

"Don't...pull out."

The moan it ripped from him, this one little sentence, made you unravel again in his arms, cock still pushing into you time and time again against that spot.

You felt him tense under you, moaning your name when he came, forehead resting against yours, giving you all he had to offer.

And then he fell silent, your unsteady breaths the only sound. He locked eyes with you again after a while and you could see a faint smile painting his lips before he shook his head.

"What?" you questioned, insecure all of a sudden without the adrenaline of arousel. You motioned to stand up on wobbly legs, but his hands pushed you down, keeping you impaled on his softening cock.

"Don't," he said, voice low and spent, "Stay."

His lips found yours in a soft kiss and your heart ached. You knew with the first sunlight this side of him will be gone again, his soft touches and heated words, his kisses. He will be the ever grumpy and cold-hearted Joel, so you decided to enjoy this as long as you could, letting him wrap the blanket next to him around your cooling bodies, embracing you with warmth.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller drabble #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel x reader #joel tlou

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erisenyo · 8 months

Note

ooh, “you already know how this will end.” for the prompts? 🤩🍿

For this prompt game! (And also this one!)

(NSFW AHEAD)

“You already know how this will end,” Sokka mumbles as he lets Zuko back him through the door, “Right?”

“Mhm,” Zuko says, eyes intent on his lips.

“We’re gonna—we're gonna get divorced,” Sokka says as Zuko kicks the door shut behind them.

“After years of long distance,” Zuko agrees, fingers skimming up Sokka’s sides.

“And a secret relationship for the most of it,” Sokka says, running his palms up Zuko’s chest.

“Because it would be ridiculous,” Zuko murmurs, just above his lips, “The Fire Lord and the Southern Water Tribe ambassador trying to be together.”

Sokka pauses, fingers tangled in Zuko’s collar. “Chief,” he says, tugging lightly. “I think you mean Southern Water Tribe Chief.”

Zuko’s eyebrow ticks up. “Tell that to Katara.”

“…Fine,” Sokka huffs after a moment, reaching up to pluck the headpiece out of Zuko’s hair. “I’ll allow it.”

“And inventor?” Zuko offers, hand coming up to cradle Sokka’s head, thumb running along his jaw. “And poet, too?”

“That’s more like it,” Sokka breathes, tugging Zuko in again.

“Because either way, it would still be crazy,” Zuko murmurs above his lips, body brushing against his.

“There’s no way it could last,” Sokka nods, stepping in the last inch to press them together, shivering a little because this is so, so not like training. “The political situation alone.

“Questions of improper influences.”

“Accusations of backdoor alliances,” Sokka says, Zuko huffing a surprised laugh and Sokka can’t help but finally lean up toward the sound, lips already parted as Zuko sways in to meet him.

“Accusations we couldn’t deny,” Zuko finally whispers against his lips as they come up for air.

“All that tension,” Sokka sighs, head lolling back.

“Add in the pressure—” Wet kisses along his jaw, down his throat. “—of needing an heir.”

“And my inevitable hurt,” Sokka mumbles, eyes fluttering, “That I’ll try to conceal under a cheerful exterior.”

“The way nothing I say will make you stop being jealous.” Zuko tonguing along his choker now.

“And I’ll hate that I feel it.” Sokka sinks his hands into Zuko’s hair. “But I won’t be able to stop.”

“The same way I’d hate always having to put the Fire Nation first,” Zuko murmurs against his pulse point, fingers beginning to tug at the tie of Sokka’s tunic, “And you second.”

“The way I could never imagine living in one place,” Sokka sighs, shivering at the breath of Zuko’s loose hair against his skin.

“We’ll steal time together at political events,” Zuko says, licking along the V of Sokka’s tunic as he opens it one catch at a time. “And pretend no one knows.”

“And when they inevitably do find out—” Sokka shrugs out of his tunic the minute the last catch slips open, “We’ll pretend we all don’t know it’s foolish.”

“No one will bring it up,” Zuko says, the look in his eyes almost more than Sokka can deal with as he runs reverent, careful hands over Sokka’s chest, like he’s never seen it before.

“But we’ll all know,” Sokka says, skin shivering and prickling under Zuko’s touch. “We just won’t say it.”

“Like we won’t tell anyone when we break up, either,” Zuko says, dropping to his knees. “Not at first.”

“We won’t be able to bear anyone saying they knew it was coming,” Sokka says, shaky as Zuko licks down the trail of hair disappearing into his waistband, and then along the waistband too. “We’ll just endure months of them thinking we’re still together.”

“Because we won’t want anyone to feel like they have to take sides,” Zuko whispers, hands running slow up Sokka’s thighs, gripping and squeezing.

“Your best friend is my brother-in-law,” Sokka agrees, sinking his fingers into Zuko’s hair again to steady himself.

“And your best friend is my bodyguard.” Zuko’s fingers stop just below Sokka’s ass, flexing there as he breathes suddenly hot against the bulge in Sokka’s pants, “That we both have an ongoing flirtation with,” he whispers, lips moving against Sokka’s cock and fuck, but Sokka’s pants have never felt so thin before, and so completely in the way, “That we both pretend we don’t find threatening.”

“And my dad would have taken you ice dodging,” Sokka says, uneven, wanting to rock forward but also wanting to touch.

“And my dad—” He pauses, pointed, Sokka letting out a startled laugh and yanking Zuko up, the need to touch winning out at the sight of Zuko’s flashing grin. “My sword master,” Zuko corrects as Sokka takes him in, already flushed and mussed and gold eyes molten, “Would have taught you all his special moves.”

“Because everything can see that we make each other so happy, is the thing,” Sokka murmurs, finally reaching for Zuko’s sash, fumbling at his own boldness like he never has before.

“The happiest,” Zuko agrees, breaths going uneven as Sokka shoves off his over robe.

Sokka shoves off the sheer under robe, too, much as he’d love to linger to look at it. “Until the secret divorce.”

“Which is after the secret marriage.” Zuko bites his lip as Sokka ghosts his fingers along Zuko’s waistband.

“Which is after the secret dating,” Sokka says, pausing with his fingers hooked just into Zuko’s pants, transfixed by the sight.

“Where we can’t stop smiling because we’re so happy,” Zuko whispers, brushing his fingers over Sokka’s knuckles where they’re resting light against his stomach.

“All the shopping sprees,” Sokka says, beginning to back toward the bed.

“The puns.” Zuko gives him a little push around a chaise.

“Staying up all night talking.”

“The food.”

“The secret glances we exchange during meetings.”

“The pet names you didn’t know you wanted.”

“The late nights working together.”

“These shoulders,” Zuko says, hands running appreciatively over them before he uses them to push Sokka back onto the bed.

“Oh, definitely the shoulders,” Sokka murmurs, low, eyes lingering over Zuko’s as he catches himself on his elbows.

Zuko catches his eye, planting a knee on the mattress between Sokka’s legs. “The sex.”

“Oh,” Sokka grins, slow, running his heel up the back of Zuko’s leg, “Definitely the sex.”

“We’ll keep having it before we admit we’re actually dating,” Zuko says, leaning forward to brace himself over him.

“Because it’ll be so good we can’t stop,” Sokka says, leaning up to kiss him filthy and slow, “Even though we know we’re about to catch feelings.”

“We’ll keep telling ourselves we won’t,” Zuko rasps, grabbing Sokka by the hip to shove him up the bed, crawling up after him. “That one more time won’t hurt.”

“But we’ll know it’s not true,” Sokka says, hand shaking as he reaches for the tie of his pants.

“Because we’ve already been having them,” Zuko sighs, pausing on hands and knees to watch.

“And we’ll take—” Sokka rips open his fly. “—any bit we can get—” he shoves up his hips. “—of what we’ve been imagining,” the words barely out of his mouth before Zuko is grabbing onto his pants.

“Even though we know it’s an awful idea,” Zuko breathes as he tugs Sokka’s pants off.

“The worst,” Sokka whispers, shivering as Zuko stills, staring at Sokka bare and hard before him.

“After all,” Zuko finally says, hands finding Sokka’s calves, his knees, his thighs, “There’s a reason it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Two best friends?” Sokka lets his legs fall open.

“Two world leaders?” Zuko’s thumbs dig into the crease of his groin.

“From separate countries?” Sokka digs his fingers into the sheets as Zuko shifts up between his legs, spreading him wider.

“From different sides of the war?” Zuko looks at him reverent, hungry.

“And that time you attacked my home,” Sokka says, jerking up a knee to stop Zuko as he leans in and giving his still-on pants a pointed look.

“And that time you tried to kill my dad,” Zuko agrees, reaching for his waistband.

“You did too,” Sokka points out, want hot in his gut as he watches the casual, efficient way Zuko strips.

A shrug, Zuko’s pants tossed to the side. “It’s the principle of it, probably.”

“You hunted us,” Sokka points out, planting his foot against Zuko’s chest this time so he can fully admire him, all strong thighs and hard cock and arousal flushed skin.

“You left me for dead.” Zuko leans into his foot, hungry, testing.

“And I have too many projects these days,” Sokka says, biting his lip as Zuko grabs onto his ankle.

“And I have too many responsibilities,” Zuko says, tugging Sokka’s foot out to the side.

“And there’s no way we’d have time for each other, anyway,” Sokka says, words cracking as Zuko settles into the cradle of his thighs.

“None,” Zuko sighs, hips sinking against him.

“So it’d be awful, really,” Sokka groans like praise.

“Ridiculous,” Zuko rasps, low.

“We’d have to be a pair of idiots,” Sokka says, running his hands down Zuko’s back to cup his ass, “To think it would work.”

“Delusional,” Zuko agrees, rocking against him.

“Not to realize how quick it will burn out,” Sokka gasps, hands tugging, encouraging Zuko to do it again.

“Fast and bright,” Zuko says, breath hitching. “Before it fizzles and dies.”

“And all the longing and agony after,” Sokka pants, shifting to chase the friction, the angle, the glancing rub of Zuko’s cock against his own.

“Cause we’d still love each other,” Zuko says, leaning up onto a forearm enough to be able to watch them, both of them letting out a punch of air as the shift grinds their cocks together. “Even after the divorce.”

“We wouldn’t break up because we didn’t anymore,” Sokka agrees, entranced by the sight of them like this. “We’d do it because we were trying to do what was best for each other.”

“And we wouldn’t realize the other felt the same,” Zuko says, taking them both in hand.

“And we wouldn’t want to show how much it hurt,” Sokka says, tight, rolling up into Zuko’s grip.

“Or make the other feel bad,” Zuko says, stroking slow, hips moving with it, the sight of him savoring the feel of them pressed together—

“So we’d pretend it was fine, that we didn’t care,” Sokka says, shaky as he hooks his thigh over Zuko’s, urging him on.

“Even though we still do,” Zuko says, settling into a rhythm with his hand and hips, not enough, now with the way they both can’t stop watching to get the angle or the leverage for Spirits, Sokka can’t imagine looking away.

“We’d be self-sacrificing,” Sokka says, hips jerking because it’s too dry and too slow but it’s still so, so good.

“A bad idea, two people like that getting together,” Zuko pants, glancing around the bed.

“All that yearning,” Sokka says, reaching up under the pillow because he knows Zuko, he does. “All that longing, like it was the start of it all over again.”

“The crazy lengths we’d go to, if we thought it would make the other happy,” Zuko says, grabbing the oil out of Sokka’s hand.

“Like no one’s ever done for us before,” Sokka says, coming up onto his elbows to watch as Zuko sits back, spilling oil over his hand in his haste, reaching for his cock and then stilling, reaching for Sokka instead.

“Like we’ve always wanted to do for someone,” Zuko whispers, fingers running slow and questioning just behind Sokka’s balls, “But haven’t known how.”

“Not without being too much,” Sokka agrees, shivering as he lets his legs fall wider in invitation.

“Except we’d be so hungry for it,” Zuko says, low, eyes intent as he circles around Sokka’s hole.

“To be picked first,” Sokka gasps, grabbing onto the sheets again.

Zuko’s finger pressing against him. “Even if we were just pretending we could, in the moment.”

“It would be crazy,” Sokka moans, head dropping back as Zuko finally pushes into him, “To start something. Knowing all that.”

“Foolish,” Zuko whispers, gentle as he eases out, then in again.

“Ridiculous.” Fuck, Sokka is so hungry for it, for more, so hungry after so long spent starving.

“Self-indulgent,” Zuko sighs, stroking deeper this time.

“Short-sighted,” Sokak pants, rocking back onto it.

“Purposefully blind,” Zuko says, eyes flicking up before giving him another finger.

“Willfully ignorant,” Sokka moans, melting into the burn-pressure-friction-full of it.

“The worst, really,” Zuko murmurs, like he’s drunk on it, moving carefully, then faster as Sokka makes an impatient noise.

“Awful, so awful,” Sokka says like praise, finally shoving up onto his elbows, needing, reaching for the oil and Zuko’s cock.

“Because we already know how this is going to end,” Zuko says as he keeps working Sokka, the words shaky and tight and his eyes wide.

“Because we know right from the start that it’s a bad idea,” Sokka says, slicking Zuko up and then lingering to stroke, to feel the weight of Zuko in his hand for the first time.

“A bad idea like breaking into Boiling Rock,” Zuko pants, rocking into Sokka’s hand even as he his fingers twist, seeking.

“Like trying to steal from a spirit library,” Sokka moans as Zuko hits that perfect spot inside him.

“Like following seals beneath the ice,” Zuko groans as Sokka thumbs over his slit.

“Like trying to crash a warship into another airship,” Sokka says, tugging Zuko back over him, “And hoping you come out okay.”

“Like hunting the Avatar to make your father love you,” Zuko says, lining them up.

“Like following your sister around the world because you don’t know how to be left behind,” Sokka says, hitching his legs up around Zuko’s waist.

“Good thing,” Zuko says, gaze lifting to Sokka’s face, “That we never do bad ideas.”

“Yeah,” Sokka moans as Zuko finally pushes inside, twining his arms around Zuko’s neck to tug him in closer. “Good thing.”

#asks and answers #ask game #This is wholly unedited so I cannot vouch for anyone's limbs moving in a consistent and coherent manner #Or honestly the dialogue being consistent and coherent either #But we can chalk that one up to *in the moment* reasons #my writing #fic writing #Sokka #Zuko #Zukka

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n3tworksucks · 1 year

Note

getting high w Quackity maybe ?? 👀

MAYBE YES??👀

ALSO I DONT KNOW MUCH AB GETTING HIGH SO I HAD TO ASK MY DAD FOR SOME INFORMATION LOL

word count; 964

warnings; drug use, umm idk

-hes never gotten high before

- he said that before

- he knew you liked to get high every once in a while

- like you'd go on the balcony and smoke for a while

- or you'd make pot brownies

- and he's never really thought about doing it

- but because he started to sit with you on the balcony and watch you eat the brownies

-he got more curious

- but he wouldn't ask to take a puff of your blunt or ask for a bite of your brownie

- he'd just wait till you asked if he wanted to try

-and you've asked before but he'd lightly shake his head no not thinking about how it would feel to be high

- he knew the main parts on what its like being high

- like blood shot eyes or feeling dizzy

-but everyone says it and he just wasn't interested in feeling like that

- but now he's starting to rethink

- so now when you're both sitting on the chairs on the balcony at 2a.m, he looks between you and the blunt in-between your fingers

- looking at you place it between your lips

- he wasn't trying to look like he wanted to try

- but you could tell he wanted something

you look up at the night sky, not a whole lot of noise going on except the crickets and the occasional dog bark. you hadn't been out here on the balcony smoking for long but long enough for you to feel something.

you had your boyfriend next to you, he had recently started coming out with you, even though he didn't really like the smell. but he wanted to come to see if he could try, but he's not gonna ask, he'll wait for you to ask. but the other times you've both come out, hes been acting a little different, not in a bad way but more of a curious way, an observed way. and you noticed before, you noticed when he'd look at you more when you take a drag. so this time you wanted to ask if he wanted to try even though you thought he'd say no you still ask. you look over to him with slight red eyes," you wanna try this time?" you ask, slightly holding out. When you asked him if he wanted to try he'd usually say no immediately, but this time he waited a second to answer, looking at the lit blut in-between your thumb and your index finger. "Sure" he said slowly and you pass him the blunt. "you know how?" you asked, making sure he'd do it right "kinda- like I've seen people do it" he said a little unsure. " ok so you fill your mouth with smoke. then take a long deep breath oh air, then exhale kinda quickly" you tried explaining the best you could, but with you being under the influence didn't make you explain the best. so he took the information he had then hesitantly put it between his lips and tried taking a drag, but before he could do the rest of the steps he started coughing really bad. covering his mouth with his arm as he kept coughing, not sounding like he'd stop anytime soon, you started laughing a bit. like if someone were to walk out on their balcony they would probably think someone was choking and some cruel person was just laughing at him. still laughing, you reach over to your side and grab a bottle of water that you had brought out and hand it to him, he quickly grabs it and starts drinking it. about a minute goes by and he finally calmed down, he gives the blunt back and shakes his head, a little light headed as well, saying he can't do it. but you have and idea."Well, do you wanna try a brownie?" you ask and he says yeah, because why not I guess. so you go inside real quick to get one brownie to share, you come back out, and carefully split it in half, giving him one half. it was a rather small brownie and before he can comment on it you say something first "I know its small but a little goes a long way" you tell him. "oh" he says. you take small bites of yours, savoring the tast. "do i just eat it whole?" he asks. you giggle a bit realizing how clueless he is."you can i guess" you say and he eats it.

time goes by, but you zoned out for a while not knowing how much time went by."yo" he said looking at you with now red eyes"this is cool" he says as he laughs a little and looks around at the same time. it was his first time getting high so he was a little lightweight.

"I know" you say, smiling. "whats it feel like?" you ask, wanting to see how it feels for him

"like.. im floating i dunno man" he says putting his arms behind his head and relaxes in the chair. "it feels good though" he says, "maybe we can do it again next time" he suggested. "yeah" you agree "and I'll have to show you how to smoke too" you said remembering the way he failed, making you laugh."are you laughing at me?" he said acting offended. "yeah"you said straight up, catching him off guard a little, expecting you to cover it up somehow "oh" he said, also starting laughing "wooow" he said dramatically. a few minutes go by."I love you" he said now sounding tired. "I love you too, baby" you say, tiredness also growing on you."you wanna go to bed?", you ask and he nods. you both get up tidying up the little mess you made outside and going in, then going to bed.

#quackity #quackityhq #quackity imagines #quackity x reader #high quackity???

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kazamajun · 1 month

Text

More Tekken Hades AU brainrot

Her influence has taught him much. Things he never needed nor particularly wanted to know, but because it was her, he listened. Attentiveness is a form of respect; and they have both, he must admit, become quite adept at indulging each other. Thus, he learns the names of the trees, observes the small creatures (insignificant small lives, but meaningful to her) making their homes in them, and watches as new species of flowers spring into being under her hands and beneath her feet. The power of destruction meets creation. He has seen the strength in it.

That doesn't mean it is always pleasant, but for her he will endure.

To her credit Jun also reciprocates; just as often as she will coerce him out to experience the vibrancy of life, she spends time in the hells acquainting herself with the nuances of his existence. Kazuya's job is the other side of the coin to hers so perhaps a measure of curiosity was natural.

"It is rather… bureaucratic here." Her word choice is generous. Hell is made of laws, the red tape of its contracts and punishments like a noose to so many souls.

"Does it bore you?"

"No." Jun shakes her head. The natural world above has structure too, and its necessary principles can be just as brutal. The relationship between predator and prey, to name one. "I suppose I am just seeing yet another different side to you, here. From ambitious conqueror to reluctant planter of trees, though it is at this desk you seem most in your element."

She's not wrong. Despite this domain not being something he had ever asked for, Kazuya has managed to make it his. He thrives off of being in control, and it has become what he views freedom to be. True mastery of his environment, and the ability to shape it in accordance with his wishes.

In the room dedicated to sparring -- the existence of which Jun notes with amusement, as she doubts there are many who present a satisfactory challenge to Kazuya -- they once more take up the steps of the dance initiated the day they'd first met. A series of advances, attacks, evasions and reversals that prove evenly matched. An exhausting yet satisfying affair, even though she would prefer the grounding feel of grass and dirt as they do so; a connection to the earth helps her remain truly balanced and centred. Eventually they mutually concede to a time out, breathless and satisfied. These sessions are an enjoyable outlet for stress and tension, along with helping condition the body and mind; something they both value.

Perhaps it should be strange to feel this comfortable in the presence of one who was once an enemy, to feel that longing for connection, but the sensation is so natural now that Jun has long since ceased questioning it and takes his hand in hers. A gaze into his red eyes sees them soften with uncertainty and she finds it emboldening. The palm of her free hand rises to graze his jaw, fingers splayed across his cheek and it remains there as she leans in to press a kiss to his mouth, chaste and soft. This small contact is enough to send Kazuya's senses reeling, his nerve endings on fire with a pleasant frisson so fierce that he forgets to react until she begins to pull back. A gentle squeeze of her hand signals he does not wish for her to go anywhere, though the true quelling of any uncertainty comes when he reciprocates with a kiss of his own. This one is firmer, more heated, the king of hell is accustomed to being demanding even though there is no need to demand that which is given freely. Jun merely smiles against his lips before matching his desire, pressing against him and arms slipping around his neck. He grabs her waist with lightly trembling arms as flowers bloom inside his cold, stony heart; an organ previously thought useless but it might - just might - exist solely to be given to her.

#tekken hades au #my writing #just me being normal about two lonely weird people who are more similar than you'd think at first glance #sorry if it's crap this is literally just first draft material but i had to get it out!

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calpalirwin · 2 years

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The Curse of the Viscount

Summary: With the marriage season upon them, Y/N makes her debut into society with the hope of finding love. What she finds instead is Viscount James “Bucky” Barnes, who years after heartache, is only interested in a match that will fulfill his duty to society.

Word Count: 15.5k

And away, and away we go!

James took a steadying breath as he straightened the tie on his shirt. “My task this season cannot be exceptionally difficult,” he spoke, more as a way of thinking through his thoughts rather than for the benefit of conversation to his carriage mate as they headed toward the palace. The palace where all this season’s ladies would be waiting to make their debut, signaling their search for a husband. “Rogers, you did it after all. How hard can it be?” He shot the man across from him a playful wink.

“Ah,” Steve said, placing a hand over his heart, matching his friend’s playfully jesting tone, “spoken with such feeling, too.”

“I do not need feeling,” James was quick to answer. “What I need is what I have, and that is a list. Tolerable, dutiful, suitable enough hips for childbearing, and at least half a brain. And that last part is not so much a requirement, but a preference, in fact.” The words fell flat, his facial features schooled into neutral indifference.

Steve only gave James a look as if to say “Let’s see how well that works out for you,” as he turned his own gaze towards the approaching palace, carriages from all the other families lined up in a queue. “Last chance to turn back.”

James squared his shoulders, also sparing a glance towards the palace. He loosed another slow breath. “No need, I’m ready.”

“And might I ask where all the eagerness is coming from? You haven’t been interested in the debut of the ladies since-”

“It’s time,” James interjected sharply. “I can’t impose on you and Natasha any longer. Not now that you need your estate for your growing brood.” There was a softening in both his words and hard expression as he switched to lightly teasing his friend. “Tony’s estate is hardly a place for a respectable gentleman to spend his days. And returning to my own estate without a wife is simply unfathomable.”

“Spoken like a businessman, and not a romantic.”

“Since playing the romantic didn’t grant me any favors, perhaps a level head will.”

Steve sighed heavily, a hand reaching across to pat the other man’s knee. “It’s perfectly acceptable if you’re not ready, Buck. I hope that my life with Nat is not pressuring you, or influencing you in any way.”

James gave a small shake of his head. “No. I’m doing this for me. But I’m not looking for a fairytale, Steve. Practicality will suit me just fine. I’m ready.”

And by ready, he meant ready to stand by listening to the long list of ladies being introduced, all dressed in the same simple, yet elegantly designed white dress, complete with a ridiculous white feather adorning their heads. His blue eyes were sharp with focus, studying each lady and matching her against his laundry list of admirable traits, much like every other hopeless bachelor in the room. At least until a servant came rushing in the room towards the queen and whispered something to her, halting the entire process. “I’ve seen enough!” she announced to the room of hopefuls, before following the servant out.

Quiet murmurs floated about the room, the confusion and discontent growing louder, as James looked at Steve expectantly. “Truly, I cannot say I will long for any of this,” Steve said with an air of relief, eyes dancing as he teased James. “Best of luck to you. You shall certainly need it.”

James’ soft smile dropped, face neutral of any emotion aside from his eyes, darkening at Steve’s taunt, be it playful or not. Best of luck indeed. However was he to find an eligible wife under these conditions?

~~~

As soon as James had gotten back to Tony’s estate after the presentation of ladies, he excused himself to his room where he wrote down everything he had committed to memory. What resulted was a long list of women for him to call upon to consider for an eventual marriage. With his list in his pocket, he made his way to the living room where Wanda and Peter practiced their dancing in preparation for the onslaught of balls that were to be held in the upcoming months. Everyone else lounged about, chatting quietly.

“Ah, joining us for tea, Buck?” Steve asked, as James entered the room.

He shook his head, “Uh, I’m afraid I must pass. Too many calls on my funds today. Now that the season’s started, I need to start considering my options. The sooner I start, the better” he explained. “I also need to go see about having a ring made.”

“A ring?” All eyes in the room turned towards James. “Did someone catch your eye at the presentation, Buck?” Steve was the one to ask.

“I thought they all looked beautiful,” Peter murmured.

James rolled his eyes in disgust. “Not particularly,” he said, answering Steve. “And all the ladies looked the same. Like ladies. I should simply like to be prepared for when the opportunity presents itself.”

“Opportunity?”

“I’ve already compiled an index of all the eligible misses, and arranged interviews.”

“Interviews,” Tony snorted. “My, you’ve been busy.”

James didn’t rise to the teasing. “I assure you all, everything is in order.” And with that, he pulled his pocket watch out to check the time before making his exit, leaving all of his friends to share a look of bemused confusion, before looking towards Steve for an answer.

The blonde merely shrugged his shoulders. “That’s Buck, for you. Always thinking three steps ahead. It’s what made him such a good sergeant.”

~~~

Considering his options meant long afternoons spent strolling about gardens, enjoying tea and delicate little cakes outside of cafes, or listening to the musical talents of his many dates. He paid little mind to how they reacted to his oftentimes blunt questioning, his focus solely on finding a lady who seemed to be of like mind, and also seemed pleasant enough to consider being betrothed to by the end of the season.

He wasn’t keen on the overeager ladies whose only interest seemed to be providing him with an answer that he approved of. He also wasn’t drawn to the quiet spoken ladies, as he wanted a wife with whom he could match wits with. After all, he was looking for a wife to spend the rest of his days with. He didn’t want someone who always agreed with him, or someone boring. It was a task he didn’t realize could be so taxing as he made his way down the list, growing more uncertain of finding a lady worthwhile with each name he crossed off.

Two weeks after the presentation of ladies, with his list dwindling down to almost nothing, James took an early morning ride as a way to clear his head. Maybe he was being too judgemental. Maybe he needed to lessen his expectations. Surely all of his dates hadn’t been miserable. Surely there were a handful of ladies that he had somewhat enjoyed spending an afternoon with. As his horse trotted along the path, he went back through each encounter systematically in his mind, trying to come up with a new list of ladies to reconsider.

So preoccupied with his thoughts, he was unaware he wasn’t alone until he heard galloping hooves, before a horse rode into view, the rider’s cloak being whipped behind with the speed as if she was fleeing from something, or perhaps someone. What could she possibly be running from?

“Whoa there!” James called out. “Miss, are you in trouble?”

The lady and her horse did not slow, in fact they didn’t acknowledge James at all as they raced by. Intrigued, James guided his own horse into a gallop, giving chase to the mysterious woman who spared a glance back towards him, a smile of challenge on her lips as she urged her horse faster.

Grinning himself, James continued to chase after her, the challenge of an unspoken race bringing forth his slightly competitive nature. He was only a few paces behind her when a hedge loomed, bringing an abrupt end to their impromptu race. He began to slow his horse, not wishing to collide with the hedge. However, the woman showed no signs of slowing down. “Careful now!” he called out in warning, hoping she was a good enough rider to stop in time. “Whoa there!” he tried to warn again, wincing internally as he sensed the impending crash of her not having enough time to stop.

And then the horse and rider were both sailing across the top of the hedge, ever the picture of grace. Only then did she slow her horse down, bringing the creature into a walk, and turning to look at him over her shoulder. The hood of her cloak fell, her dark hair wore in a single braid, with escaped strands framing a pretty face. He nodded his head to her, conceding defeat. She gave the sublest of smiles, before guiding her horse onward, leaving a breathless, and delightfully baffled James in her wake.

He, however, was not content to let her go. Knowing the paths in the park rather well, he headed in a direction to cut her off. “Enjoying your victory lap?” he asked.

She looked up at him in startled surprise before glancing around for an escape.

“You will not be afforded an ample headstart this time, I assure you,” he continued as he directed his horse to walk beside hers.

“Apologies, sir,” she said politely. “I did not mean to cause anyone concern.”

“Does your maid know you are riding astride?”

“I have no maid.”

“Then you’re married.”

She took note that it was not a question, but rather a deduction. A wrong deduction.

“Forgive me,” he quickly apologized at the way her face had twisted at his assumption. “Then you are lost.”

“I am not lost either. I’m on my way back to Mayfair. It is just ahead.”

“Mayfair?” he asked, not calling her out on the obvious lie. “Well, then.”

“I appreciate your attention, sir. But, I assure you, I am perfectly safe. Perhaps we pretend this encounter never took place? You allow me to go my way, and you go yours.”

“You worry about being seen.”

“I worry about meeting strange men in parks at dawn who fail to leave me alone with their questions,” she countered.

James held back a smirk. She had fire in her heart. It was refreshing. “Your secret is safe. I shall not tell a soul.”

“How grateful I am,” she deadpanned.

“Losing races to strange women in such parks at dawn, I can only imagine the questions I would be asked,” he told her, both as a way to prolong his conversation with her, and to assure her that he had no reason to tell anyone if she desired such discretion.

“Is that what that was?” she asked with a small chuckle. “A race?”

“Was it not?”

“Does one not need actual competition for a race?” she pondered, dark eyes dancing at their now playful back and forth banter.

“You could say that if we had decided on a finish line together. But alas, we made no such agreement.”

“Ah,” she teased. “I see you are not one for losing.”

“I shall have you-” he started, but paused at the look she gave him. A look that conveyed she was very interested in hearing whatever excuse he was bound to come up with. “In the rare instances it occurs, I’d admit that I have either lost, or am in the wrong. But I’m afraid the same cannot be said for you.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, taking insult.

“Mayfair is not right ahead,” he told her, now calling out her lie. “It is the other way entirely.”

She stared at him, wondering how to outwit him now.

“Not lost, you said?” he went on.

“Good day, sir,” she said, turning her horse around to leave.

“We’ve not yet been introduced!” he called out after her, needing to know her name.

“I’m afraid that is not possible! Not when I have a victory lap to enjoy!” And with that, she galloped off, leaving James once again baffled, but utterly delighted.

~~~

Y/N stared at her reflection, imagining herself in the gown she had pressed up against her, a hand running down the fabric. It was a lovely gown to be sure, but she couldn’t bring herself to be excited about it. A society that had shunned her mother because they only cared about title and wealth wasn’t a society she wanted to be part of. Unfortunately, the only way her estranged grandparents would provide a generous dowry and ensure her mother’s financial well-being was to find a match that they deemed worthy. Which is precisely how she found herself being hosted by the lovely Lady Danbury for her season debut. However, Y/N had no intention of merely settling for the richest man with the most impressive title. Love, true love like the kind her parents had shared was of equal importance. And in her mind, it was the only importance.

“Are you thinking of wearing that one?” her mother’s voice floated in the room, pulling Y/N away from her thoughts. “It is quite beautiful.”

She offered a small nod.

The older woman knew her daughter well enough to know when something was troubling her. “What is it, my dear?”

“I- I only hope they like me,” Y/N confessed, her voice small.

Her mother gripped her shoulder reassuringly and smiled wide. “How could they not?”

“The gossip you endured after marrying father has been unbearable, has it not?”

“Is that what troubles you? What society still thinks of me?”

“Everyone will have questions.”

“Then let them ask me. Your only focus tonight is to remember what you are looking for.”

Y/N squared her shoulders, nodding. “Someone whose mind and spirit will court mine,” she began to list. “He will speak in a manner that only my heart can hear. Love in its purest form.”

~~~

Beautifully dressed lords and ladies were already dancing together in perfect harmony as the orchestra played on. Y/N looked around, both excited and a little scared. But Lady Danbury was quick to walk her around the outer edge of the room, pointing out various eligible men and listing both their credentials and shortcomings. However, Lady Danbury was not the only one who had done her research on the men.

“Now, what about the Duke of Suffolk? According to Debrett’s, he should be quite the catch this year.”

“The Duke flaunts his mistresses. I assure you, Miss Y/L/N, I have your prospects well in hand. Ah, there she is,” she said, spotting the Queen and making her way over.

“So soon?” her mother questioned nervously as both she and Y/N followed after.

“Lady Danbury,” the Queen greeted. “A delightful soiree, as expected. Though my own later this week will be much more exclusive.”

“Your Majesty, I would not think to compare. May I present Lady Mary Y/L/N, whom you must remember. And may I present her daughter, Miss Y/L/N. My personal guests for the season.”

The mother and daughter pair curtsied upon the introduction of their name to the Queen who showed no signs of interest, nor disdain. “A high honor, indeed,” she said instead, fixing her gaze upon Mary. “I hear you have made quite a journey to join us again after all these years, Lady Mary. If only you extended the courtesy of offering your queen a final farewell before you left.”

The words were a stinging blow as the Queen sauntered off, her various servants trailing behind. “Oh, I do relish a challenge,” Lady Danbury said.

Across the room, James was making his own entrance with Steve, Wanda, and Peter. “Stop fussing at your dress,” he scolded under his breath.

“You look lovely,” Steve told her.

“I look like a prized calf, trussed up for auction,” she muttered, still picking at her dress.

Peter snickered, looking Wanda up and down as he let out a long, “moo.”

James rolled his eyes at Peter’s antics, his eyes scanning the room, leaving Steve to calm down a reluctant Wanda. “Even Natasha felt apprehensive at her first ball, and look how well that turned out for her,” Steve reminded her with a nudge and a wink as some hopeful came up to try his luck.

“Come, Wanda,” Peter rushed, taking Wanda’s arm and stirring her away from the approaching man. “The cakes at these occasions are surprisingly good.”

As the younger two made their escape, Steve looked to James. “It truly is a sparse crop,” James noted with distaste.

Steve let out a sigh. “Oh, I am sure there is someone here who will charm you. After all,” he said, raising his voice to draw attention of those nearby, “this is the season the viscount intends to find a wife.”

James stiffened as eyes fell on him. “You honestly just did that?” he hissed.

“I believe I did,” Steve grinned, clapping his friend on the shoulder, as ladies began to swarm them, asking for a dance from the viscount, who made a mental note to plot Steve’s demise later.

Y/N took note of James as he began to accept dances, comparing him to the man she had unexpectedly encountered on her morning ride. “I know that man,” she said.

“Who?” Lady Danbury inquired. “The viscount? I do not believe I have yet made an introduction.”

“Of course,” Y/N corrected, not aware she had spoken out loud. “It must be my mistake.”

“Though you have quite the eye,” Danbury went on, finally impressed by the young woman. “Viscount Barnes is wealthy, well-connected, and from one of society’s most illustrious families. Although his family has unfortunately passed, he has found himself rather well acquainted with other various families of equal prestige. And he is apparently hoping to marry this season. He may very well be our most eligible bachelor, indeed.”

“He is very handsome,” she allowed herself to admire. And she was right to do so. James Barnes was undeniably handsome in his well tailored suit, with his dark hair perfectly maintained, and striking blue eyes. Even the soft smile he bestowed upon the ladies he was interacting with was handsome.

A young man approached, bringing a halt to their discussion of the viscount as he asked Y/N for a dance. With Lady Danbury’s nod of approval, Y/N accepted, and the lord led her to the dance floor.

Try though she might, her eyes kept shifting across the room, finding James, dancing with some unknown lady. His face revealed that he was not at all satisfied with his partner, and for a reason she could not name, she felt a pang of empathy for the man, along with a bit of jealousy. It was for that reason that when James excused himself after the dance, Y/N bid her own partner farewell before stepping back into the shadows, and following after the viscount.

James huffed as the outside air cooled his face, taking a moment to collect himself before locating Sam, who waved him over to where he stood with Tony. “Barnes!” Sam greeted as James approached them. “I believe I owe you a drink.”

“Whatever for?” James wondered.

“With you as the prize catch of the season, the rest of us shall receive a respite from the marriage-minded mamas this season, indeed.”

“Enjoy your freedom while it lasts. You, too, will soon submit to this ridiculous rigmarole of courtship. Squiring every eligible miss around town until you’re barely able to see straight,” he voiced his own musings.

“Is one lady unlike any other?” Tony asked in a playful tone. “Simply pick the least objectionable, and get her wed, bed, and bred. Then you can turn to more pleasurable pursuits.”

“You may be cavalier, but if I must leg-shackle myself in marriage, the lady in question should have more to recommend her.”

“Do not tell us you are hoping for a love match?”

James paled, swallowing thickly and giving a tight shake of his head. “Love is the last thing I desire. But if my children are to be of good stock, then their mother must be of impeccable quality. A pleasing face, an acceptable wit, genteel manners enough to credit a viscountess. It should not be so hard to find. And yet, the debutantes fall short at every turn.”

“You want the best,” Sam deduced. “Perhaps the Queen will finally name a diamond. Save you some trouble at least of choosing her. Wooing the piece will be a different story, indeed.”

“Ah, I shall have no problem there,” James smirked.

The men all shared a small laugh, knowing well enough that James was in fact, quite the charmer when he wanted to be. And then Sam and Tony were disbanding in off of various other pursuits for the night. James, himself took another moment to ready himself before going to face the onslaught that awaited him inside.

Y/N’s blood was boiling, having been privy to the whole conversation. Why was it always the pretty ones who possessed the worst minds? She too, made to leave before she was caught eavesdropping, but kicks a nearby pot, alerting James that he wasn’t as alone as he perceived to be. “Is someone there?” he asked.

Y/N held her breath, debating whether to speak up, or make a run for it.

“I can hear you,” James told her, and she heard his footsteps as he rounded the corner, finding her. “You,” he said with familiarity, recognizing her much in the same manner she had recognized him.

She straightened, masking her face from revealing any of what she had heard. “Pardon me, my lord.”

“I never got your name,” he recalled, as he closed the small distance between them. “I was wondering if we’d meet again.”

She forced herself not to melt under his charming smile he flashed at her. “So you might discern if my wit is acceptable? My manners genteel?”

“You were eavesdropping?” It was less of a question than it was an offering for her to admit what she had done.

“It was hardly an effort,” she told him, refusing to play meek, “seeing as you were proclaiming your many requirements for a wife loud enough for the entire party to hear.”

“You take issue with my requirements?”

“I take issue with any man who views women merely as chattels and breeding stock,” she spat.

“None of that was meant-”

“Viscount Barnes, yes? When you manage to find this paragon of virtue, whatever makes you think she will accept your suit? Are the young ladies here truly so easily won by a pleasing smile, and absolutely nothing more?”

“So you find my smile pleasing.”

“I find your opinion of yourself entirely too high. Your character is as deficient as your horsemanship. I shall bid you goodnight.”

Before James could come up with a rebuttal, the still unnamed lady left him standing there all alone and baffled. A task, he was learning, she was remarkable at.

~~~

There was a knock on Y/N’s door, and when she answered, Lady Danbury was on the other side, stern-faced, and a letter in hand. “Lady Danbury,” she said politely. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lady Danbury waved the letter in her face. “I have no interest in being used as a pawn in someone else’s game.”

“I-” Y/N started, uncertain of what to say.

“Tell me,” Lady Danbury continued, “what stipulations the Sheffields have apparently set down with regard to your match. Stipulations which if met, I am guessing, guarantee great fortune for you and your mama.”

The Sheffields. Mary’s parents, who had never approved when the woman had run off with a lowly clerk. Y/N sighed. There was no use in hiding it anymore, and if the night’s ball was anything to go on, she was woefully unprepared for securing herself a worthy match, and could use all the help she could get. “There was nothing left when Father died. Hardly enough money for us to come back here. Certainly not enough for a dowry or to provide us with any sort of financial comfort. But Mother is too proud. So I went to my grandparents and got them to agree to bestow a dowry and look after Mother. But it did not come without conditions. I am to marry someone of nobility.”

Lady Danbury nodded, anger dissipated as she took a seat, patting the space next to her in invitation. “They could not control your mother’s marriage, so they mean to interfere with yours.”

“Yes. They never recovered from my father’s lack of rank and title. Though, let me assure you, Lady Danbury, I am not here for selfish reasons. I truly do wish to marry. I’ve dedicated years to learning how to walk in the right way, to talk in the right way, to play the pianoforte just so. Teaching myself twice as much and working twice as hard as anyone else. I even taught myself how to make this pitiful excuse for tea, you all so adore, which I despise. But if it means that I have a chance at finding love and that my mother will not be left destitute, then I will smile and nod politely after each and every sip, to be sure.”

Lady Danbury nodded in understanding. “And your mama is unaware of such a bargain?”

Y/N nodded. “But she deserves to believe that her parents are trying to mend things between them. That they are willing to overlook the past in favor of having their daughter and granddaughter home again. Please, you must not tell a soul.”

Lady Danbury said nothing, only patted Y/N’s knee, and offered her a kind smile.

~~~

“Still no one who has caught your eye?” Steve asked as he and James made their way into the Queen’s ball.

“You’re the artist,” he quipped. “Do you see anyone remotely inspiring? We shall have our diamond tonight, and I shall have a wife.”

“Yes, but I still do not understand the urgency. Surely this isn’t about-”

James gave his friend a sharp look. “This isn’t about anything,” he hissed. “ Besides, I’ve already told you. It is not fair of me to continue to impose on you and Natasha know that you are growing a family. And while I’m certain Tony doesn’t pay the slightest attention to anyone who occupies the rooms in his own home, it’s long overdue for me to uphold my own familial obligation as the last of my line.”

“Good. Because if you were looking to replace Yelena,” Steve warned gently, “I’m afraid that you’ll end up alone.”

James stiffened at the mention of Yelena, breathing slowly.

“Although,” Steve carried on, realizing he may have overstepped, and attempting to crack a joke to smooth things over, and remind his friend that he would be on his side no matter what happened, “if the Queen names Wanda the season’s diamond, who will you marry then?”

“Ha-ha. Clever,” James deadpanned.

“Attention guests!” the Queen announced before Steve could continue to either calm down James or rile him up further. “Allow it to be my honor to announce the season’s diamond: Miss Y/L/N.”

From where she stood, Y/N gasped in pleasant surprise as the room broke out in polite applause. As she stepped forward, James let out a gasp of air himself. Oh!

Steve clapped him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. “Now there’s a look I haven’t seen from you in a while. Smitten, are we?” The blonde continued to laugh as he steered James in Y/N’s direction.

“Ah!” the Queen clapped in delight as Steve approached, James still too stunned to do anything but let himself be led. “Duke Rogers and Viscount Barnes! Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to Lady Y/N.”

“Duke Steven Rogers,” Steve smiled politely at Y/N. “I trust the season is finding you well?”

“Yes, it is, my lord, thank you,” Y/N offered up a warm smile of her own, keeping any trace of familiarity with James off of her face.

“Perhaps you and my friend could share a dance?” Steve volunteered, his elbow harshly digging into James’ ribs to stir the man out of his trance. “Buck here is quite the dancer.”

“Yes,” James said quickly. “I hope that I might be awarded the pleasure of a dance. However if you find yourself already engaged-”

Y/N gaped softly. Not only was he playing along with her ruse of not knowing her, he was now offering her an escape so that she didn’t not have to be in his presence longer than necessary. An escape she should take with no hesitation, and yet… Viscount. A title her grandparents would no doubt approve of. Better yet, a title that could evoke competition from men who might have a more romantic mindset than the man standing before her. “A dance would be lovely,” she found herself saying.

If he was shocked by her response, he didn’t show it as he offered her his arm and led her out onto the ballroom floor. “You have a beautiful name,” he murmured as a way to make conversation. “I’m glad I finally have the privilege of knowing it.”

Her eyes narrowed, as their fingers interlaced and they began to waltz. “We don’t need to speak as if we’re interested in learning about each other.”

“Who said I wasn’t interested in learning about you?”

“You said as much to your friends the other evening.”

“It was a conversation you were not meant to overhear.”

“Does that make what you said any less true?”

“If you are so quick to dismiss me, why did you say yes to this dance?” he questioned, as he twirled her towards them, their chests pressing tightly together. “Unless, of course, you only agreed to further your own game this season. The season’s diamond dancing with the viscount? The men will be lined around the palace vying for your hand. We’re more alike than you think.”

His breath was hot on her neck as he spoke in a deep rumble, the look he gave her even hotter. It was enough to make her feel weak in the knees, his hand on her waist tightening instinctively as she faltered a half step. But the way his mouth quivered into a smirk had her squaring her shoulders. “And we are more different than you think, my lord,” she said tightly as the waltz came to a halt, the skirt of her dress still swishing with movement before stilling. “Thank you for the dance.”

“Pleasure was all mine, I assure you,” he told her with a bow.

She offered a curtsy in return before making her exit.

A low whistle of appreciation sounded behind James as a hand found his shoulder. “The two of you are quite the pair out there. The whole room is talking about it. Is it possible that she’s-”

“Yes,” James nodded, his previous smirk now a soft smile as he followed Y/N with his eyes. “She’s the one.”

~~~

“You left off Lord Barnes?” Lady Danbury asked, glancing at the list of gentlemen Y/N had written up for herself.

“Oh, now he is what you’re looking for,” Mary said.

“An oversight on your part, my dear?” Lady Danbury guessed.

“Lord Barnes is quite adept at conveying false first impressions,” Y/N held her ground.

“What did you hear?”

“He stated rather clearly that he seeks a wife only to fulfill his duty, and in fact, does not believe in love at all.”

Lady Danbury looked perplexed. By all accounts the young viscount would more than fulfill the Sheffields standards. “And you find this unusual? Most marriages are mere matters of business Matters that have been working for centuries. It is the true love match that is quite rare.”

Y/N lifted her chin defiantly. “It is precisely that type of rare match that I am after. This list of lords will turn the Viscount into a distant memory. And they’ll be arriving soon.”

Indeed there was a line of gentlemen making their way to Lady Danbury’s estate for a chance to talk with Y/N. And while some of the lords were dreadfully boring, prattling on about their achievements, she found herself quite taken with others, laughing genuinely at their stories.It was entirely possible that she might find a match that not only satisfied the Sheffields requirements, but hers as well.

As she bid one gentleman goodbye, there was a gruff of “Are we meant to wait around all day?” from one of the men.

“You wouldn’t wish for your discourse to be interrupted when it is your turn, would you, my lord?” Y/N asked, with a note of annoyance.

“I say we heed the young lady,” James spoke up in the back of the line, “and wait with the grace our hostess affords us.”

Y/N held back a sigh of exasperation, recognizing his voice. “Thank you, Lord…”

“Barnes,” he grinned as he came into her line of view.

Another held back sigh of exasperation. “I’m afraid you are much too late, my lord. You now find yourself at the back of a very considerably long queue.”

He took a few steps forward, past her, to create some privacy as he expressed his reason for being at the estate. “I wish to escort you to the races this afternoon.”

“I already have an escort this afternoon.”

“Tomorrow then.”

“I’m engaged tomorrow, too.”

“And the day after?” James continued to press, not deterred in the slightest.

“Now that I think of it I may be free,” Y/N started.

“Ah,” James interrupted with small delight.

“After December.” Y/N flashed a smile. “Unless of course, I’m on my honeymoon by then.”

James laughed. He had to laugh because otherwise he might find himself incredibly frustrated in his dealing with Y/N.

“Did I say something funny?”

“I believe you did,” James said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Y/N supposed James found himself to be charming. But she had her own list of words to describe him, and charming was not one of them. “What is funny, my lord, is you here now, after-”

“After we shared a lovely dance? A dance that you are now reaping the benefits of? And I cannot be awarded even a single moment of your time?”

Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “You are not entitled to my time. Now, or ever.”

James ducked his head. “I did not mean-”

“It seems I catch you saying a lot of things you don’t mean. Please feel free to catch me when you do mean to say something. Good day, Lord Barnes.”

~~~

“She is pompous, and arrogant, and quite sure she knows best in every situation,” James vented his frustrations as he fenced with Steve back at Steve’s estate.

“She sounds like a terrible nuisance,” Steve sympathized.

“Especially since you are the one who knows best in every situation,” Sam butted in from where he stood, watching the swishing blades.

With a rapid flourish, James disarmed Steve. “And the victor of every match today,” Steve added as his sword clattered into the dust.

“Less talking, more fencing,” James decided as Sam switched places with Steve. “Do you know why I win every time?” James asked as he began to parry Sam’s attacks.

“Because every time you lose, you claim we cheated?”

“Because I know my duty. What my purposes are, and how to obtain them. Which I will do when I make Miss Y/N my viscountess.”

Sam looked at Steve in annoyance. “You just had to get married, Steve. That’s the only reason Buck here feels the need to marry, after all. It’s not like anyone here is pressuring him to do so. No, he’s doing that all on his own. And why is that? Oh, because his best friend recently wed, and Buck always has to be better, doesn’t he?”

James growled, striking at Sam. Sam was half right. James wouldn’t be partaking in this season if Steve wasn’t married. But it wasn’t because he needed to be better than Steve. He didn’t want to feel left behind. And Yelena would have wanted him to at least try.

“An interesting deduction, to be sure. But surely Buck does not wish to wed simply because I have, does he?” Steve offered James the chance to come clean of his real intentions.

“Miss Y/N and I are well-suited. She is a lovely young lady. She’ll make a perfectly agreeable wife,” James justified.

“I thought she was pompous, and arrogant?” Sam asked, puzzled. “Did I miss the part where that makes her lovely and agreeable?”

“She is opinionated, to be sure. Stubbornly so, at times. But that is precisely why she is the perfect match. One whom I can match wits with.”

“Is it really matching wits if she bests you at every turn?”

James growled again, and attacked, metal scraping against metal as he went after Sam, who deflected each blow with his own blade, but narrowly so, until James succeeded in disarming him.

“Is this still a friendly match, or do we need to find some armor?” Steve said off-handedly.

~~~

Y/N had lied to James about having escorts. Not for a lack of being asked. No, she wanted to get to know her potential suitors better before selecting a few to make public appearances with. So when Lady Danbury suggested that they hold a soiree for the gentlemen, Y/N had happily agreed.

Invitations were hastily sent out, and Y/N spent as much time worrying if anyone would come on such short notice as she did getting ready that when Lady Danbury mentioned her first guest had arrived, she was too pleased to realize the time.

Any trace of excitement however vanished when the viscount stepped into the room, a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. “Lady Y/N,” he said with a warm smile before presenting her with the flowers.

“Lord Barnes,” she replied, taking the small bouquet from him and busying herself with setting them in a vase of water. “I must say, I’ve never met a man so brazenly presumptuous as to steal an invitation-”

“I beg your pardon,” he interrupted, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “Invitation?”

“Oh, do not play games now.”

“I’m not here to play games.” His voice still held a note of confusion. “Might we sit?” he gestured towards the couch.

“Then what are you here for?” she demanded, as she took a seat, crossing her arms.

James stifled a laugh at the unladylike gesture, situating himself on a chair directly across from her. “To see you. To get to know you. And for you to get to know me.”

“I know you are polished. I know you are careful. I know you make promises without so much as uttering a word. There is not much more I need to know, is there?”

His tongue clicked in his cheek. “Is this about what you heard on the terrace again? You act as if I’m some sort of villain when every other woman in London aspires for the kind of marriage I’m offering. You must know that. You have been exceptionally clear about what your opinion of me is. But has it ever occurred to you that your opinion might be wrong?”

“You never gave me a clear answer the night of the Queen’s ball. Was the conversation I overheard your truest feelings.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Then why shall I waste my time with someone who shares such a low opinion of women?”

“Because with me you will have honesty. Every man whether he openly admits it or not also desires the same thing. And you ladies are not the innocent party you portray yourselves as. You also have your own list of requirements for the men you hope to wed. So if it is my bluntness that offends you, then for that I do apologize. I can do my best to be a liar from here on out if that is what you are truly after.”

His words stunned her. As she stared blankly back at him, mouth slightly agape, he took his chance to keep talking. “And, you are wrong in that I share a low opinion of women. I actually have a very high respect for you, and find you to be quite alluring. I am only here to ask that you give me a chance. A real chance. I promise I will make it worth your while.”

Sighing, she rose from her seat and grabbed an invitation from a nearby table. One addressed to Lord Barnes that she had slipped out of the pile before handing them to a servant for delivery. “I believe this belongs to you, my lord. I hope that the short notice does not deter you from joining us this evening.”

He stood up to meet her, relishing the way her fingers brushed against his as he took the letter from her. “Thank you, Lady Y/N. I look forward to it.”

~~~

Y/N watched, unaware of whether she should be amused or not at the men foolishly flaunting their talents in front of her. “At least it is the men who are making fools of themselves this time,” she remarked to the young woman next to her, who happened to be Wanda.

“Was this your idea?” Wanda wondered

“I wish I could take credit, but no. It was Lady Danbury who encouraged a poetry reading. The men, thanks to their spirit and competition, concocted the rest of this farce on their own.”

“Of course they did.”

“You are a friend of the viscount, yes?” Y/N asked.

“Yes, but do not hold it against me,” Wanda laughed.

“Oh, heavens no. The fact that the viscount is a friend of yours almost makes me think better of him.”

“We should certainly not give him too much credit now, should we?” Wanda laughed again, before letting out a bored sigh as the gentleman showcasing his talent for the room ended his mediocre performance. “My, do you think any of these men might show any real promise?”

“I cannot say for ce- oh, good heavens! What could he have possibly come up with in such a short amount of time?” she wondered as James strode to the front of the room.

“I’m not sure. He holed himself up in one of Tony’s studies and refused to let anyone see what he was working on. Claimed it was a surprise.”

James glanced Y/N’s way, offering a shy smile as he pulled forth a piece of paper from his jacket. Clearing his throat, he began to read. “What is it truly to admire a woman? To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty. So much that all your defenses crumble.” He paused, clearing his throat again. Reading these words after so long was harder than he had anticipated. So he glanced up, locking eyes with Edwina, gathering strength, and continued on. “That you would willingly take on any pain, any burden for her. To honor-” His gaze flickered from the paper to Y/N as he paused once more. “To hon-” he stumbled. And rather than recover, he stopped, crumpling the paper in his fist, and tossing it into the fire behind him. “My apologies. I cannot do this. I cannot claim these words as my own. They are someone else’s entirely. Truth be told, I’m not a man of poetry. Words of flattery are beautiful and sweet. But they are also hollow unless accompanied by action. Miss Y/N, I could stand here and pretend to be someone I am not. I could pretend to be the very same things as you, but I’d be lying. I may not be able to offer the display of passion that you truly deserve. But, I assure you that when it comes to action and duty, I shall never be found lacking. And I hope that is what will speak louder than any pretty words ever can.”

He let his gaze linger on her, a soft smile of promise on his lips. A promise that he would be everything Y/N asked him to be, a promise that he was worthy of a better opinion than the one she had thrust upon him so easily. Then he bowed, and made his exit.

Her heart thundered in her chest, watching him leave. She was certain she should know better than to be enamored by some well-placed words spoken by some handsome face. And yet… “James!” she called out, hurrying after him.

He turned, not a trace of smug cockiness, nor even the barest smirk on his face. Just utter surprised delight as he waited patiently for her to join him. “It’s a lovely party,” he complimented. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I was wrong before,” she cut straight to the point. “I think I would very much like to get to know you.”

The smile that lit up his face had her own cheeks hurting. “Well, if I might be so bold, the next party of the season takes place at my estate. It’s out in the countryside, so it offers a nice reprieve from the city. We all make a week of it, that is myself, Duke Rogers and his wife, and Tony and everyone who resides in his estate. It’s rather enjoyable if I do say so myself. Perhaps you, along with Lady Danbury and your mother of course, would care to join us? Unless of co-”

“I accept,” she interrupted with a smile of her own. “We’d be honored to join you.”

~~~

James huffed as he planted himself in the grass. Yelena mocked him, “Oh, always so grumpy,” she said, reaching to squish his cheeks in between the palms of her hands, deepening his pout.

“Your sister-” he began, still agitated, but calming under her touch. He removed her hands from his face, but continued to hold onto them.

“My sister only wants what is best for me.”

“And what can be better than marrying me?” James mused. “I have everything your sister desires you to have, and more than that I am quite irrevocably in love with you. Or is it that she finds herself jealous of what we have while she and Steve continue to deny their own feelings about each other?”

“Jealousy or not, why do you concern yourself with her opinion of you? Shouldn’t my opinion of you matter most?”

“And what is your opinion of me?”

“That you are someone I find it easy to be equally irrevocably in love with.”

“So you’ll marry me even if I don’t procure your sister’s favor?”

“If I had to wait for someone to procure Natasha’s favor before I could wed them, I’d never wed,” she laughed. “Come now, look at where we are. Your garden is beautiful. Who planted these flowers?” She rose, leading him by the hand.

“My mother, some years ago. The servants are paid well to make sure they’re well looked after.”

“They’re lovely. Oh, hello little friend,” she cooed at a nearby bee as it swarmed about before landing delicately on the shoulder of her dress. “No, I won’t pluck any of your flowers. I’m simply admiring them is all.”

James laughed at her kind-hearted nature. She could befriend anyone, love anyone. And yet, she was willing to love him. It took every ounce of self-restraint he had not to marry her on the spot, along with countless other things his mind desired to do.

“Ah!” Yelena cried out suddenly, clamping a hand to her neck. “Well that wasn’t very-”

“Did it sting you?” James asked, rushing to her as she froze, eyes growing wide with horror. “Yelena! What is it?!”

She clutched at her neck with one hand, reaching for him with the other, as she gasped for breath. He caught her as she swayed, both of them falling into the grass. “Yelena! Help! Someone help us!” he screamed, cradling her into him.

“Bucky…” she croaked, her hands scrambling at his jacket. “I can’t-”

“Shh, it’s alright. It’ll be alright,” he soothed, panic laced in every word. “HELP! Someone! Please!”

“Bu-” she tried again before going limp in his arms.

“Yelena? Yelena! Please! No, no, no. Yelena…” he sobbed. “Don’t leave me. Please. Yelena… NO!”

~~~

“Are you alright?” Steve asked as James waited in the wings.

“Hmm?” James asked, pulling himself from his thoughts. While he hadn’t entirely lied about how he and his group of friends came out to his estate before the ball every year, he hadn’t been entirely truthful. The past few years he’d been unable to face the memories that lurked in the now empty hallways. He paid the staff well to both prepare the place and deal with the clean up, as he showed up as late as he possibly could, drank himself into a stupor in the gardens, and then made the earliest exit he could without being deemed rude. But since this season was all about new starts for him, James figured now was as good a time as any to return to his old traditions. Plus there was the added benefit of Y/N accepting his invitation to join him, which meant ample time to get to know the young woman better, before the rest of the masses arrived for the ball. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are they almost here?”

“I’m a duke, not a servant. How should I know?”

“Because I thought you offered to come to be of use to me. Out of the kindness of your heart to help out a dear old friend.”

“Oh? I thought it was to keep up our tradition of you losing to me in pall mall.”

James rolled his eyes. “Just help me win her over. If I wish to be engaged to Miss Y/N, then it is a fight I will need as much help with as you can provide.”

“Seeing as how you helped me last season with Natasha, I’m more than happy to repay the favor. I’ll go ask someone, and report back. As for you… Try not to go too far down memory lane before they get here. You’re already sullen in your best moods.”

Before Steve could turn to leave, a servant found them, “They’re here, Lord Barnes.”

“Ah!” Steve brightened. “Well, there you have it, Buck. Your guests are here. Shall we greet them?”

James again rolled his eyes, but followed Steve out to welcome the arrivals.

Outside, Y/N was admiring the estate, a rare smile on her face. “Ah, you’re smiling,” James noted with his own smile, approaching her first. “I see my plan to win you over is already working.”

Her smile immediately vanished. “I was smiling at the view, which you are now blocking.”

“My apologies,” he said, stepping off to the side. “I could provide you with a tour if you wish. Show you Aubrey Hall in all of its glory.”

“Or perhaps,” Steve interjected. “You might have the servants show the lady to her room so that she can get refreshed after such a weary trip.”

“Yes, of course,” James agreed. “Lady Y/N, you remember Duke Rogers?”

“Yes, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” she told Steve politely.

“The pleasure is all ours, I assure you. Please feel free to meet us in the garden whenever you’re settled.”

As Y/N, Lady Mary, and Lady Danbury followed the servants inside James pulled Steve to the side. “I need your opinion about something. Natasha’s too.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Meet me in the study in five minutes?”

Not even a full five minutes later, James was showing them the ring he had picked out: a gold band with six distinct stones circling a seventh. “So you’re quite set on your decision then?” Steve assumed, as Natasha admired the ring.

James nodded. “I believe I made my intentions clear.”

“Still,” Natasha spoke up, “you must know there’s no need to hurry such a momentous occasion. Your guests have barely unpacked their things. Isn’t the whole point of all of us being here so that they might get to know us, and us get to know them?”

“Mmm, that’s unnecessary. I already know Miss Y/N will make the perfect viscountess.”

“I understand that this house holds many memories for you, Bucky,” Natasha said softly, fingers running over the portrait of Yelena that still remained on James’ desk, albeit covered in thin film of dust. “Those of love. Those of loss. I only hope that you are acting with a clear mind.”

James picked up the portrait, swallowing thickly. “You and Steve have moved on. Are you suggesting that I continue to mourn your sister forever?”

“I did not say that. I only want you to be certain that Miss Y/N is more than a mere replacement. Mourn Yelena if you must, but do not subject that poor girl into a life of living in the shadow of a ghost.”

~~~

The weeping of Natasha left a ringing in James’ ears. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. Yelena couldn’t be dead. And yet her body… Her body that had fallen limp his arms. The chest that stopped rising as her heart stopped. Somewhere someone was asking about funeral arrangements. “My lord? My lord!”

“Do whatever’s necessary,” he croaked out around the lump in his throat, vision blurry with tears. “Spare no expense.”

~~~

“This will teach Sam!” Steve said, slamming a last wicket into place. “Last time, he put a wicket behind the goat barn.”

“What exactly are the rules of this game?” Y/N asked as she watched Steve set the field for pall-mall.

“Pall-mall is less about the rules, and more about the goal. Which is, of course, to hit your ball through each wicket. The first player to send their ball through the last wicket wins. Simple enough. Though, if you are feeling devilish, you can use your turn to knock an opponent’s ball as far away from their next wicket as you would like.”

“Is the point in wasting a turn meant to only infuriate your opponents? Since the main point is to get one’s own ball through the wicket?” Y/N pondered.

“Precisely,” Steve smiled proudly. “It is a poor player who plays the game, and a wise one who plays their opponent.” He paused before continuing, “Now, Peter is a solid shot, but he avoids conflict. Sam is crafty. He will strike when he thinks you are least suspecting it, so always be suspecting it. Wanda and Natasha concentrate entirely on beating them. The hope is they get so absorbed by them, they ignore you. I, of course, am a complete enigma who will divulge none of my secrets. And, well, then there’s Buck, and when it comes to him and pall-mall-”

“He is the most cutthroat,” Y/N deduced.

“My, you certainly know him well, don’t you?” Steve chuckled. “That is not to say he has no honor. He is usually the most genteel sportsman,” he added, as a way to dissuade any ill thought towards the viscount having a naturally competitive nature.

“I’m sure the viscount is a most excellent player. We shall all pass a very pleasant afternoon,” Y/N decided, reminding herself that she was here to see the best in James, rather than assume the worst, not that a competitive nature was a bad trait in her book.

The pleasant afternoon Y/N was determined to have, however, was already off to a disagreeable start as they made their way to the rest of the group who were in the middle of an argument about the mallets. “The only fair thing to do,” Natasha raised her voice as she smiled warmly at her approaching husband, “is to let our invited guests choose their mallets and strike first.”

“Please,” James agreed, smiling at Y/N. “Take your pick, Miss Y/N.”

Y/N looked at the rack of mallets, taking no time at all in selecting a metal colored one. Peter and Wanda let out small gasps, looking towards James expectantly, who’s face had pinched slightly. “Is this one yours?” Y/N asked him.

He quickly shook his head. “No, not at all. You’re welcome to it.”

“He threatened to beat me the last time I touched it,” Peter whispered to Wanda.

“You exaggerate,” James said tightly.

Y/N laughed. “Are you the superstitious sort? I know some men cannot perform without their tools. Like a child with a blanket.”

“I can play perfectly with any mallet,” James assured her amidst the soft chuckling from the group. “I wish you the best of luck.”

“Are we to stand around deliberating all day, or shall we play?” Sam asked impatiently.

There was a mad dash to grab the remaining mallets, with James getting stuck with a pale pink colored one. He put on a brave face, gesturing for Y/N to follow him to where the first wicket was set up. Focusing on Y/N, James hoped he’d be able to forget the last time the pink mallet in his hand had been in someone else’s.

Quickly the group fell into a friendly competition, jeering and taunting each other playfully. James was even able to keep his competitive nature friendly and light, despite Y/N’s best intentions to unleash it at every turn they took. None was that more apparent than when James failed to send his ball through the last wicket, landing a mere few feet ahead of Y/N’s.

“You have the chance to best him,” Natasha said delightfully.

“That would not be very sportsmanlike, would it?” Sam pondered.

“I was told unsportsmanlike conduct was a requirement for this game,” Y/N said, sharing a knowing smile with Steve.

“A fast learner,” Steve said proudly.

“What do you say, my lord?” Y/N asked as she stepped forward to take her possibly game winning turn. “Are you in a losing mood?”

“My mood shall remain unchanged regardless of your choice,” he informed her. While he knew she was trying to provoke him into being a sore loser, any time she had addressed him so far throughout the game hadn’t been without the sharpness he’d grown used to. Perhaps it was possible for them to have a fresh start after all.

“You would bravely bear the crushing shame of defeat?” she taunted him anyway.

James merely smiled at Y/N, knowing that for all the bite, this was still the more pleasant version of Y/N than he usually got. He figured this to be her more truer side, the self she allowed herself to be when she was at her most relaxed. A side he could easily imagine a peaceful life with. “I would,” he answered honestly.

Her eyes narrowed as Y/N swung her mallet as hard as she could at James’ ball, sending it flying into the bushes and out of sight.

The act was pure spite, and James couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it. So he ground his teeth in slight agitation as Sam took his turn next, sending Y/N’s ball into the bushes as well. “Oh, what a shame,” Sam tsked. “Looks like you’ll both have to go fetch them. Unless you would like to quit?”

Y/N and James shared a look, determination etched upon both their faces, and together, they stalked off towards the bushes. “You best hope your play does not hand victory to my friends, or we shall never hear the end of it,” James grumbled at her as they bushed branches out of their faces.

“What happened to bravely bearing the crushing shame of defeat?” she asked with fake innocence.

“A courtesy I would only have granted you, as you would have truly bested me without the need for sabotage.” James said as he held one of the branches for her as they both found their balls, lying side by side in a particularly swampy section of the land. He grumbled a small curse.

“We could pluck them out,” she suggested, not thrilled at the idea of retrieving their balls fairly. “No one would be the wiser.”

“Yes, but we’d still have to wade into the mud,” he pointed out.

“Afraid of dirtying those fine boots of yours?” Y/N teased as she lifted the hem of her dress, marching forward, the mud squelching and splattering with each step she took. James watched in both a mix of awe and disgust as Y/N swung her mallet, sending her ball safely back onto solid dirt. “Your play, my lord.”

“Do not worry about my boots,” he sighed deeply as he took a step forward. There was more squelching and splattering of mud as James made his way towards Y/N, smacking his ball back to dry land, and proceeding back out of the mud himself.

Y/N went to follow after him, but found her foot lodged in the mud, unable to lift it. “Help,” she pleaded, reaching a hand out towards him..

He stepped forward, carefully planting his feet and wrapping both hands around her arm. He pulled as she tried to shift her weight. “Ow!” she complained about his strong grip.

“Do you want my help or not?” he demanded as he let go of her arm.

Despite herself, she gave a small chuckle, reaching out for him again. And this time, when he pulled, the mud gave way, freeing her. The sudden shift in weight caught them both off guard, and with a small yelp, they both landed in the mud. Y/N stifled another laugh.

James couldn’t help himself. The sight, he imagined, was one to behold, both of them covered in muck. And she was laughing for once, an unrestrained, joyous sound. So he laughed with her, his own true laugh. Which only made the pair of them laugh harder at the sound of the other being fully relaxed with the other.

Both of them sat there a moment, giggling like children before they finally plucked themselves up. “Tell me honestly,” he spoke suddenly, his voice soft. “If we are to truly start fresh in our opinions of one another, what can I do to gain a favorable one? I understand your ultimate desire is a love match. But surely that’s not the starting point for a good opinion.”

She smiled softly at him, and James knew it was a genuine one. “Happiness, my lord. Someone who I find myself being happy in their presence. Someone with whom I share a similar mindset. That is the type of person I could love, provided they love me in return.”

James nodded, knowing all too well about the desire of love. “Then let us put our past acrimony behind us, and allow me to prove I can provide you with all the happiness and security you seek.” The words came easy to him, and he was almost angry at himself that he hadn’t tried to start here in the first place. “Could you… Could you do me that favor?”

“Truce or not,” Y/N said, adjusting her mallet in her hand to take another swing. “I shall never surrender to you on the sporting field.” She smacked her ball straight into his, which went flying towards a wooden bench a few yards off. James froze in realization of where he was. No, no, no. “Is something the matter?”

James still said nothing, eyes locked on that bench, memories threatening to take hold. From the other side of the bushes, there was a smattering of applause and Steve announcing boastfully that he had won. James still didn’t move, barely daring to breathe.

“Lord Barnes? Do you not wish to-”

“The game is over. The softness of his tone was gone as his words came out clipped. He turned his back, effectively shutting out the bench, the memories, and by default, Y/N, as well.

Under the disguise of retrieving the balls, Y/N went in the direction of the bench, curious to investigate whatever about it had caused James’ demeanor to shift so suddenly into a side she wasn’t aware existed. Almost like there was a part of the viscount that was haunted.

The bench was placed beside a beautiful tree and when she rounded the tree, she came face to face with a granite memorial obelisk.

In loving memory of Yelena Romanoff

~~~

A pillow smacked him roughly in the face. “Ow! What in the-”

“She wouldn’t want this!” Natasha said harshly. “You, sulking about. Withering away to nothing. Hiding here in Tony’s estate like some-”

“You don’t know what she would want!” he snapped, voice equally as vicious.

“She was my sister!”

“And she was to be my wife!” The words cracked open his heart, the reality of what was and what would never be threatening to drown him. “She was to be my wife…” he whispered thickly. “Despite what you thought of me, she loved me, and I loved her. And I will continue to love her until my dying breath.” His voice shook with every word, “You may think that I have no right to mourn her because I was not yet her husband, but I did not love her any less. My grief is not diminished by yours. I will move on when I am damned good and ready, if I ever decide to be. You don’t see me bullying you into moving on faster than you’re ready to, do you? I expect you to grant me the same courtesy I am granting you. Are we in agreement?”

~~~

The following morning, James ran his hand along the granite memorial, the stone chilling his fingers. “Oh, you must hate me. I certainly wouldn’t blame you. I know your sister still does, though she does try to hide it more these days. I- I don’t know how to do right by her, by you. But I am trying. Trying to move on, to be happy. And Y/N makes me feel capable of being able to do so. She doesn’t make anything easy for me, much like you did. I truly think you would like her. Your sister thinks I’m merely replacing you with her. But I could never dream of replacing you. But perhaps, with Y/N, I could have something equal to the happiness I shared with you. And I hope that that is what you would have wanted.”

“Lilacs were her favorite,” a soft voice behind him said, before Natasha stepped into view, placing a small bouquet of lilacs before the stone. “And she always loved your family’s garden.”

James cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to visit privately.”

“I was wrong to call Y/N a replacement. I saw the ring, and- For a moment I remembered how you were once going to give a ring to Yelena. And how-” Natasha’s throat bobbed slightly as she swallowed. “My point is that you can love them both, Buck. Whatever feelings you have for Y/N and whatever future you decide to have with her, it doesn’t take away what you had with Yelena, or make any of it less real. Moving on doesn’t have to mean forgetting her. It could just be moving on.”

He shook his head. “I can’t love Y/N.” When Natasha opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand. “Not for the reasons you think. It is that I want a marriage that is untouched by heartache and the ravages of grief. As cruel and hard-hearted as everyone may find that desire to be, I do not wish to lose myself the way I did when we lost Yelena, nor have that be my wife’s experience should I be the one who passes.”

“Be mindful that in trying to control every outcome and protect everyone’s hearts that you don’t lose Y/N in the process. We all quite happen to like her.”

~~~

Y/N spent the better part of her morning wandering about the estate. While she didn’t have a goal in mind about where she was going, she did hold to the hope that she would run into James. Still, she found herself pleasantly surprised when she went around to the garden, and spotted him already admiring the flowers in bloom, albeit from a healthy distance.

“My lord,” she greeted as a way to make her presence known.

“Miss Y/N,�� he returned kindly. “I trust you’ve had an agreeable morning?”

“Yes. Although-”

“Although I did not seek you out, yes. My apologies. My mind has been elsewhere I’m afraid.”

Though she tried not to take them as such, the words felt like a personal attack. “If you have changed your mind about me-” she began, her own voice sharp.

He blinked in confusion, “Changed my mind?”

“Yes! You’ve barely spoken a word to me since yesterday afternoon! If your mind is so preoccupied elsewhere perhaps I should have waited with the rest of society to join you here!”

“I-” he faltered, not knowing what to say. “That was not my-”

“Intention?” she guessed. “No, nothing is ever ‘your intention,’ my lord. I am starting to think that you only know the right words to speak, but when it comes to action you- You-”

“I what?”

“Are quite disappointing. And to think I was fool enough to be charmed with words. I can only hope that my lapse in judgment has not cost me a husband who is unafraid to act, unlike yourself.”

He knew her words were cruel, and harsh. Perhaps even accurate. But he did not hear a single one as a bee landed on her chest. No. His eyes went wide in panic. “Stand still!” he barked when she turned to leave. “Do not move! Stand still, damn it!”

“Do not tell me what to do!”

Without thinking, he grabbed her arm, forcing her to stand still in front of him. She saw the wild panic in his eyes as she glanced to where he was looking at the small bee tickling her skin as it moved across her. “Do not move,” he whispered.

“It is only a bee,” she assured him as she brushed it away.

“No!” he screamed at the precise moment the bee stung her and she let out a soft, “Ow!”

He stared at Y/N in horror, watching for any sign of distress, images of Yelena flashing rapidly through his mind. “Are you alright?! Can you breathe?!”

Y/N looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “It’s only a sting. Of course.”

“Are you certain?!” His grip on her was tight, like that alone could save her. Yelena. He had to save her this time.

“My lord?” Y/N asked, starting to worry at the haunted look on James face.

“No, no. Do not-” His breathing was erratic with fear. Please. No. Not again.

“My lord! I am unharmed.” She grabbed his hand in hers, placing it on her chest so that he could feel for himself. “I am unharmed,” she repeated, taking slow calming breaths.

He could feel her heart beating under his palm, feel her chest rising with each breath she took, the warmth of her hand holding his hand in place. Their other hands interlaced together and found a spot of his own chest to rest. Slowly Yelena became Y/N again. The tightness in his chest eased. His own breathing slowed to match hers.

“It was just a bee,” she whispered.

His forehead knocked gently against hers, as relief washed over him. And when their eyes locked, he couldn’t stop his lips from brushing across hers in a soft kiss, his body grounded in every sensation of where their bodies touched.

~~~

James couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. How natural it had felt. The feel of her in his arms. The way he had felt her smile against his mouth as she kissed him back.He had thought that kissing someone again would feel wrong. But he found himself more at ease than he had in a long while. And for the first time since meeting her, he was willing to admit that he might actually love her.

As Y/N studied the small, angry red splotch on her skin, she too found her mind drifting to the kiss in the gardens. The way James’ worry gave way to a gratefulness that she was, in fact, unharmed. How such gratefulness had pulled forth such an action from him. An action that conveyed so much emotion she never thought him capable of possessing.

Unable to sleep, she wandered down the library. And as he passed by on the way to retire to his own room, he spotted the flicker of candlelight.

The door creaked open and Y/N startled. “Ah, Lord Barnes,” she said, relaxing when the man filled the doorway. The coat he usually wore was missing, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a delicious portion of his chest, and she briefly entertained the idea of always seeing him in such a relaxed state.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he apologized, gesturing to the candle. “I saw the light, and feared someone might have left a candle lit.”

“No, it’s only me,” she said, pulling a book from the shelf and examining it in her hands.

“Could you not sleep? If your lodgings are not comfortable-”

“No,” she cut him off with a shake of her head, her gaze moving from him to a window as a crack of lightning lit the room up in a soft glow. “The storm. I’ve always found them unsettling. Reading helps.”

He did not move from the doorway as he watched her move about the room, a light shawl resting loosely over her nightgown. He could still see the spot where she’d been stung, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he swallowed the urge to press a soothing kiss against the blistered skin. Because he knew if his lips found her skin just once he would not be able to contain himself.

The way she shuddered as he finally moved towards her made him fear he may have spoken such sinful thoughts out loud. But it was the intensity of his gaze that had her shivering. A gaze that seemed to say he would not be satisfied until he had explored every inch of her. A satisfaction she would delight in providing.

He ran his fingers along the cover of the book. One he had seen in Yelena’s own hands on multiple occasions. “This was one of her favorites,” he found himself murmuring.

“Her?” Y/N asked, wondering if the her he was referencing was the same her as the memorial.

“Yelena,” he nodded.

“Who was she, if I may ask such a question.”

“She was…” James paused, debating which truth to offer up, “Natasha’s sister. And a very dear friend of mine. And her passing was as unfortunate as it was unexpected.”

“How did she pass?” Y/N inquired, although she had an inkling as James’ eyes fluttered to that angry red splotch.

“She was stung by a bee.”

And though she had expected that response, she still gasped. “I am terribly sorry.”

He nodded. “Yes, so I do apologize if my reaction earlier today in the garden caused you any distress.”

“No. No, of course. Um. Did you mean to, my lord? Have that reaction?”

“No. But if you are asking if I regret it, my answer is also no. In fact, I’m finding myself wanting to do it more, and it is proving to be a difficult want to restrain myself from.”

“Well,” she said with a coy smile, “Do not restrain yourself on my account. Good night, my lord.”

~~~

With last minute preparations for the ball to attend to, Y/N did not see much of James until he was striding towards her, looking as handsome as she’d ever seen him. “Miss Y/LN, you look positively radiant this evening.”

“Thank you, my lord. You look rather dashing yourself.”

“May I have this dance?”

“You may.”

She placed her palm in his offered hand, letting him lead her onto the ballroom floor. When the band started, he bowed and she curtsied. Independent, but in sync they danced elegantly with each other, the skirt of her dress swishing with each of her movements. The brushing of their shoulders as they crossed each other lit a fire inside her and when their palms finally pressed together, she could see that same fire in his eyes as he held her gaze. Steady and confident they continued to move with the music, their focus on nothing but the other. When his hand led her to twirl into him, her back flush against his chest it was just them in this beautifully orchestrated moment. With her hand cradled in his, held against her chest, he couldn’t stop from tracing a path where a ring should be. A silent promise. And then not so silent.

He was proud of himself for having the sense to have always kept the ring in his coat pocket ready for a spontaneous proposal should the moment present itself. Y/N gasped lightly as James stepped back, reaching into his pocket as he kneeled before her. He presented the ring, holding her gaze as he slid it on her finger. “Marry me. Be my viscountess. Marry me.”

She beamed down at him, the ring a near perfect fit, delicate, beautiful, and nearly weightless on her finger like it had been destined for her hand alone. “Yes.”

~~~

“It’s a lovely spot is it not?” Lady Mary asked, finding her daughter in the garden. “So calming.”

“Calming, yes,” Y/N agreed, fanning herself against the summer heat, and perhaps her own nerves. While the proposal was indeed everything she personally wanted, the prospect of an engagement dinner with her grandparent so that James might procure their blessing was nerve wracking to say the least. Lady Danbury had been kind in not revealing Y/N’s deal with the Sheffields. But now there was a very real chance it would all come out . That James might think she had only given him a chance because of what he was rather than who he was. That her mother’s heart would break upon hearing how her daughter had gone to such lengths to provide for them both when that had never been Y/N’s burden to carry. And then of course there was the awkward business of Mary and Y/N having been estranged from the Sheffields Y/N’s entire life. “No one would blame you if you were to take sick,” Y/N offered, knowing her mother was just as nervous about the idea of facing the Sheffields as she was.

“No, no. It is important I be there.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“The night your father asked for my hand. My father made it clear that he did not support the match and would provide no dowry. And I thought that was going to be the end of it right then and there. But your father said that he had no interest in a dowry or marrying into a title. And I followed my heart. I wrote to them once when you were born. And they never bothered to write back. I thought society forgot all about us until Lady Danbury wrote to offer to host us if you were interested in making a debut.”

“And did you ever regret that choice?”

“Not once. It is a powerful thing to meet someone and feel like you know them. And I felt that every day for your father. And I pray that it is something you share with the viscount.”

~~~

As she got ready that evening, her stomach in knots, Y/N’s attention was drawn by the knocking on her door. She expected it to be James, waiting to escort her down. “Lady Danbury!” she gasped in surprise.

My apologies, dear one, were you expecting someone else?”

“No, of course not. I- I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. Your generosity-”

“Will continue regardless of what happens at dinner,” Lady Danbury’s eyes sparked with promise. “While the Sheffields will no doubt approve of your match with the viscount, I personally will see to it that your mother is provided for. I never did care for your grandparents. Which is why when they bragged about their lovely granddaughter coming out for her debut, I reached out to your mother, offering to host the two of you.”

Y/N’s mouth gaped open in shock.

Lay Danbury merely smiled knowingly. “The Sheffields would have gladly left you and your mother to fend for yourself this season, only stepping in when it benefited them to do so, much like tonight. Do not let them fool you into thinking they care about anything beyond title chasing.”

“Thank you, Lady Danbury. For everything.”

“Of course, my dear. Now let’s go. Our guests are waiting.”

~~~

Both James and Y/N noted how excited the Sheffields were at Y/N’s presence, the endless prattling about how much wealth they had, and how it was such a shame that their own daughter had spoiled it for a mere clerk.

“My mother has a name,” Y/N spoke out, having heard enough.

“We could not show our face in society for years,” Lady Sheffield retorted, head held high. “Not that your mother cared. No, she simply sailed away with that man, taking our granddaughter with her.”

Y/N held her ground. “A granddaughter you did not care to know until two months ago.”

Lady Sheffield gasped in shock, looking around to see if anyone would chastise Y/N for speaking to her so boldly. “Well, I-”

“Had every opportunity to form a connection, but chose not to?” Mary interjected, taking her daughter’s side. “I have dealt with the shame of being cast out from my own family for choosing to follow my heart. I have dealt with you shooting me looks of disdain all night. But I draw the line at you thinking you were the one who ended up shorthanded!”

“I don’t believe this is proper dinner conversation,” Lord Sheffield coughed, barely looking up from his plate.

“No! I have learned to be grateful for my family shunning me because I got to raise Y/N far from the scrutiny of the likes of you! And she has grown into a lady I am proud to call my daughter! And her engagement to the viscount is one I happily support!”

“Happily, yes,” Lady Sheffield sneered, “but not financially, isn’t that so?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, do not play innocent. The only reason you chose to have Y/N’s debut into society here was so that you could secure our financial backing!”

“Financial backing?! I assure you that I want nothing from you!”

“But your daughter does. A sizable dowry along with financial security for you, under the condition that Y/N must wed someone of nobility.”

Mary gasped, turning to Y/N with tears in her eyes. “Is this true?” she whispered.

“I- I-” Y/N croaked.

With the look of triumph painted cleanly on Lady Sheffield’s face, heartbreak on Mary’s, and complete panic on Y/N’s, James cleared his throat. “That is enough.”

“Go on, Y/N. Tell your mother the truth,” Lady Sheffield encouraged, not listening to James.

All eyes fell to Y/N, waiting for an answer. No. Her dress was too tight across her chest, the air too thin and stale. She needed to get out. Her chair scraped back as she fled from the dining room, leaving chaos in her wake.

“That is enough!” James barked, rising from his seat. “Lady and Lord Sheffield, as a viscount I have no need of a dowry. Much less one provided under such egregious conditions. While I had the rather optimistic intent of procuring your blessing, after insulting Lady Mary and disrupting what was supposed to be a happy occasion of celebration, I kindly ask that you take your leave now.”

“Now, now, Lord Barnes,” Lord Sheffield stepped in. “Surely we-”

“I will accept nothing from you aside from your absence which you will provide now.”

While they did rise to leave, they made sure to grumble their opinions on such “ill-mannered behavior.”

James only spoke again once he had heard the front door to the state click shut. “Lady Mary,” he addressed, his voice much kinder and softer than it had been addressing the Sheffields. “I love your daughter, and I am quite certain I can provide her with all the happiness and security she desires. So if I may have your blessing-”

“Yes,” Lady Mary answered quickly. “I shall be honored to have you as a son-in-law.”

He brightened, giving her a small bow. “Thank you. Now if you’ll all excuse me. It appears my wife-to-be has run off somewhere.”

~~~

Y/N had fled into the first empty room she could find, which appeared to be James’ study. Bookshelves lined three of the walls, with the forth providing a glorious view of the grounds. A crack of lightning outside has her jumping back into a desk that sat in the room. There was a small clatter and she whirled to find the source: a picture frame that had fallen over.

Ever so carefully she picked up the frame, turning over the picture of a young woman in her hands. Her heart cracked in her chest. Was this Yelena? Who was she truly to have earned such an honor as being placed on his desk? She glanced down at the ring on her hand. Had this once been Yelena’s?

That was where James found her, staring blankly down at her hands. “Ah, there you are,” he sighed in relief, crossing quickly over to her.

She set the picture down in a rush, squaring her shoulders to face him. “I suppose you are here to spin me a woeful tale about how you need to call off our engagement?”

He chuckled softly, taking her hands into his, his thumb rubbing over the ring. “Whatever would I do that for?”

“I have no dowry.”

He sighed. “Yes, and if you had simply told me that from the beginning… been honest with me-”

She wretched her hands from him, stepping away. “Honest with you?! Like you’ve been honest with me?!”

The fury in which she spoke confused him. “I’ve always been honest with you. It is what made you hate me, if you do not recall.” His own words had a bite to them as he tried to reign in his temper that was her yet again questioning his character.

“Always been honest?!” she scoffed. She flung a finger to point at the picture. “Who was she really to you?!”

The anger seeped out of his body as he looked back and forth between the picture and Y/N. It wasn’t anger that had her lashing out at him. It was hurt. Hurt that he alone had caused by sparing her the fullest truth of what Yelena had meant to him. He sighed. “Yelena. She… She was the woman I once believed I would marry.”

Y/N’s breathing quickened, as she tugged at the ring on her finger but found it to be stuck. “So that’s all I ever was to you? A replacement.”

“Yelena passed away before I could propose,” he tried to explain. “Before I could-”

At last the ring came free and she slammed it down on his desk. “You mean to tell me that that ring wasn’t meant for her?!”

“No!”

“No?!”

“No,” his voice dropped dangerously low, and his eyes flashed. “No. The ring wasn’t meant for her. How is that so hard for you to believe? How is it so hard for you to believe anything decent of me?”

“BECAUSE YOU VEX ME!” she yelled at him.

“AND DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT IS THAT YOU DO TO ME?!” he roared back. He stalked forward, tall and terrible, and she shrunk back as he rifled through papers on his desk. He located the one he sought and thrust it towards her. “You,” he breathed heavily. “You are the bane of my existence. And the object of all my desires. And this ring,” he plucked it up, holding it between his fingers. “This ring,” he repeated with a hard laugh, shaking his head.

She looked down at the paper he had given her. A receipt. For the ring he held in his hand. With a date from mere months ago. “Was meant for me…” Her voice was barely audible.

“Is meant for you,” he corrected.

“You… you truly love me…”

He nodded. “Ever since that first morning I have found that you consume all my senses. And I am utterly helpless to stop it.”

“I…” she started. “I have not made any of this easy for you. I have fought you at every turn because I desired love… The kind of love that you had been offering me freely from the start. And I was too blind to see it… to accept it… and I… I…”

The panic on her face was clear. The same panic that had been etched on her face before she fled the table. Panic that she had ruined everything. And since she never believed a word he said, he highly doubted talking her down would work. So he cupped her face in his hands, before capturing her lips with his, putting every word he wanted to tell her into that kiss. Making her feel for herself just how perfect their life together would be.

The power behind the kiss, and the strength of his arms as he held her to him was her undoing. She kissed back with fierce intensity, her hands snaking over the back of his neck, fingers carding into his hair.

His hands slid down her waist, pulling at the skirt of her dress to create as thin a barrier he could create as he reached between her legs. She gasped into his mouth as his fingers brushed against her sensitive and heated skin. “I will stop,” he offered, moving his mouth to trail kisses along her neck. “I will stop.”

“Do not stop,” she panted, bringing his mouth back up to hers.

He spun her in his arms, holding her flush against him. Her head tilted to the side as he sucked marks into her neck. His fingers made quick work of undoing her dress, the gown slithering to the floor. He broke contact to shed off his coat, and she whirled back around to help him unbutton his shirt, her own hands exploring the exposed span of his chest, feeling the muscles rippling with each of his movements, feeling the thrum of his heart racing in his chest.

In a swift motion he sat her on the desk, kissing down her body as he kneeled in front of her, freeing her from her stockings one at a time. A whimper of need escaped her and his eyes snapped to her, a burning blue flame. A wicked smile graced his lips before his tongue met where she desired him most. She didn’t hold back the moan that ripped from her throat as his tongue worked her over, his voice humming in delight. Needing to touch him, she reached down, gripping his hair harshly. Her moans were a symphony in his head that he wanted to hear forever as she responded to his tongue in the most delicious of ways. Her legs shook, signaling her undoing, and he drove a finger into her wet heat. Her moan cut out in a cry of pleasure, and he had to pin her legs down to stop her from gripping his head between them like a vice.

“James,” her voice pleaded, needing to kiss any part of him she could. “James.”

“Viscountess.” The title was a purr as he rose to meet her, gently guiding her to lie across the top of the desk.

“We’re going to break this,” she couldn’t help but giggle as his mouth found hers.

“Then I’ll buy a new one and we shall break it as well, my viscountess.”

Tag List

@stanofalotofthings @philthepegacorn @youngblood199456 @binxiboo @creator-appreciator @felixtok @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @picturetoburnnn @lilyoflower @mychemicalimagines @milea @partiesandblurrypolaroids @summerdaughter @agni-l @dividedtealeaf @tsnelf7

#the curse of the viscount #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bridgerton AU #marvel AU #calpal irwin

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ezlebe · 1 year

Note

prompt: rule 63 tomgreg?

Greg watches Tommy bully around the designer, or owner, or whatever he is, with a dubious slant to her mouth. She had sort of awkwardly mumbled a question to Shiv about Kendall’s birthday – what should I wear? – not expecting a lot, maybe to be coldly told not to try too hard, after everything else she’s paid for in the appearances sense, recently, but… instead, Shiv had called Tommy, for sure just because she’s tall, who Greg hasn’t really been alone with a lot in any capacity.

She’s been around her, for sure – Tommy is around in general. She had sort of been from the beginning when Logan died, because she is some… quote unquote friend of Shiv’s, and had sort of been when Kendall accepted money for a bad bank thing, because she also works as some corporate mercenary for Stewy Hosseini, and is sometimes around at like galas and parties, but other than that…

Like. Mostly, the first impression hadn’t been… It was a bit divisive, one might say, if they were Greg.

Tommy had made a joke that had seemed like pretty badly off-color, involving kissing and kinky boots, something like that, which had made Greg feel seen through and about half a meter tall, but… by the third time they saw each other, she realized that Tommy had no idea what she had said to her and probably didn't to anyone a lot of the time. It didn't exactly excuse it, but how she wasn’t pointedly nasty, really, not in that way sort of did; she always wandered over whenever they were at the same place to try to get Greg involved in whatever her cousins had dragged them both into, or to just gossip with her, or now she’s started to jokingly, like probably, ask Greg if she’s tired of being the assistant to Kendall’s assistant yet.

Greg hasn’t ever asked about what Tommy might’ve really meant that first misunderstood conversation; she has somewhat put it down between Tommy just being generally cringy, most likely, or honestly hitting on her in the worst way, because it is kind of like what she wants to imagine, nowadays? Tommy is like a real life mythical Amazon – really pretty, and really big, and really touchy, so Greg is like really comfortable in making it not really her own fault and just like a natural progression. She can even point to Shiv as a fellow victim of the influence.

She mostly has been able to keep that packed in behind her imagination, before now; she hasn’t even seen Tommy in a while, not in the social sense, and not counting since Stewy brought her with Sandi Furness to sneer at the shareholder meeting and they’d barely been in the same room.

“Are you like, um…” Greg says, lifting her hand and sweeping a piece of loose hair from her braid back behind her ear. “Going with Shiv… to Kendall’s thing?”

“If I were, it would be in a purely platonic capacity,” Tommy says, yanking a shirt off of a rack with a narrow look and a shake out of non-existent wrinkles. “I don’t out people.”

Greg wets her lips with a bob of her head.

“But also actually very platonic,” Tommy says, voice flattening, reaching out and considering a dress, low cut and strappy, so hopefully not something she’s actually thinking to put on Greg. “I believe she is in some throuple situation with that… reincarnated spirit of a used car salesman, Sofrelli.”

Greg lifts a hand and lightly scratches at her upper lip with her thumb. “That’s sort of outing her.”

Tommy rolls her eyes over her shoulder, mouth flattening, “You don’t know who the third is.”

“Probably his wife,” Greg says, raising her brows with a slight tilt to her head. “Yeah?”

Tommy doesn’t answer beyond looking back down with a couple of low tuts.

Greg steps a little closer, as she takes off her jacket and folds it over her arm. She reaches out and touches at one of the shinier dresses, feeling it give cool against her fingers, and wonders if she could be a woman who wears silver silk, glimmering under club lights, or if… she should stick to a neutral. Or a pattern? She does enjoy a good pattern, but there aren’t any she can see in the selection.

“They look great, by the way,” Tommy says, voice thinning and pitching, while drawing out another dress and gesturing for the stylist to bring out the next rack with a wag of it. “In case anyone hasn’t said.”

Greg blinks wide, brow knitting above her eyes. “Um, what?”

“Your tits, to be a totally crass fuck,” Tommy says, turning and framing her own bosom with a pair of lifted palms, then pointing at Greg’s chest. “I assume two of the reasons you asked Shiv about designer dresses for this shindig, rather than your usual modest schoolteacher getup?”

“Oh… oh,” Greg intones, only barely managing to ignore an urge to look down, as heat flares across her cheeks; no, no one really has said so, and seem mostly to pretend nothing changed. She’s part of the problem, though – it’s been months, but she’s still not quite used to them being much more than just impression and a good bra. “Yeah, uh… Thanks. Roman was, um – was the only one who really like addressed it? He said I should’ve done more of a porn star thing.”

Tommy makes a pinched face, shaking her head with a suck at her teeth. “That is... actually really unsurprising.”

“I’m really happy with, like… what I chose, though,” Greg says, swallowing thickly and trying not to let herself feel too affirmed… by Tommy, of all people. It had just been something she had agonized back and forth on for as long as she can remember; if it was worth doing at all, or just stick with what she had, while imagining what would look right – what would look great.

She rubs her palms together, then shoves them under her arms, trying to instead distract herself with the dresses that Tommy’s got piling on the bench. It’s a lot more color than the prior racks – she kind of actually really likes the darker orange. And the green. She probably shouldn’t try both at once, or like she might just look like a… a pumpkin, or something.

“Less back problems, trust me,” Tommy says, belatedly around a cough. A hand lifts to cup against her chin, as she rounds a rack of markedly fancier dresses with a tilted head. “How short are you willing to go with your skirt?”

“Uh,” Greg says, dragging her teeth along her lower lip with another glance down at herself. “I don’t usually go very – ”

“Like an Old Believer, I know,” Tommy says, eyes rolling, as she looks up with a quirk of a brow. “I’ve seen. It’s very cute, very flowy, but are you attached to that?”

“Kind of?” Greg says, rubbing at the back of her neck with a slight hunch.

“Oh, fine,” Tommy says, throwing her hands up, then out, sweeping her palms away from each other. “And up top, then – low cut, allowed, but is the public permitted to see your shoulders?”

“I guess… if it’s lacy, or something,” Greg says, drawing her hand back to rub now at one of her button-up-covered shoulders. “Maybe?”

Tommy claps her hands onto her hips. “Stu!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stu says, stepping forward from just near the door.

“How long would it take to tailor a six and a half foot wedding dress for Miss Hirsch?”

Greg makes a noise of protest. “A wedding – ?”

Tommy rounds on Greg with those open arms. “That is what you just described!”

“Is it – um?” Greg says, rolling her lips together, then tilting her head with a weak shrug. “Not if it’s a color? I like that orange.”

“Oh, she likes that orange,” Tommy repeats in a taunt, reaching out and picking the dress up with a tut. She looks at Greg, then down at the dress, shaking it out to hold up to her front; she seems to notice it is lacking other qualifications, but her brow furrows in thought. “It does suit you…” She looks toward Stu, shooing him, “Get us everything close to this color.”

Greg lingers at the entrance of the venue, checking her phone, and looks up at familiar voices to see Shiv and Roman, then more importantly Tommy, who’s peering dubiously up at the pink tunnel that touches her head. She’s in the navy mermaid dress that Greg had seen her put aside a week ago, but hadn’t given any hint how it would make her look so comely, and her short hair neatly swept close to the side of her head with an elaborate pin. Greg is vaguely aware of some comment from Roman to the nurse-hostess, but barely hears it, instead focusing on the way Tommy immediately marches toward her when they make eye contact.

“Holy moly, look at those eyes,” Tommy greets, peering up at Greg over one of the hospital bassinets, then rounding it with her hands drifting up in a way that is probably not supposed to be sort of threatening. “Who did your makeup?”

Greg feels heat crawl up to her ears. “I-I did?”

“You did?” Tommy says, eyes glancing twice more across Greg’s face with a different sort of assessment. She reaches out further, clapping her hands on Greg’s biceps. “You look like an autumn princess – take my arm, tonight I am your winter knight.”

“You look really nice, too,” Greg says, hesitantly grabbing at Tommy’s elbow, slipping her fingers around the offered crook; her arms are bare, skin soft and warm.

“Thank you, girlie, I couldn’t let you show me up,” Tommy says, as she gestures down at her dress with a sweep of her other hand and a sidelong wink. “I like that it looks like a stripper version of a power suit – I mean, look at my girls, they look perky as they did in college! You would almost think I’ve got a rack better than Shiv’s.”

Greg slowly furrows her brow, taking advantage of the permission to look down and admire. “You like do?”

Tommy looks shocked for a beat, making Greg hurriedly look away, but then bursts into a huffy snort. “Thank you for that ego boost, but methinks you don’t notice because she’s your cousin.”

Greg offers a shrug, but she doubts it.

Tommy leans into Greg’s arm, fingers sweeping up against her curved knuckles, as they walk deeper into the party. “I didn’t know you knew how to do more makeup than that faux au naturale you always have on.”

“I, uh – I used to practice a lot,” Greg admits, hearing her voice briefly weaken, looking down at the shiny floor passing under their feet. “Like, when I was younger. It was easy to take off, you know, an-and my mom never noticed.”

“Ah, and now you’re an expert,” Tom says, patting at her fingers, leaning briefly even heavier into her side with a pitchy bark. “I’m terrible with it; I always go to a professional for these things.”

Greg glances over, sweeping her eyes from Tom’s vague smoky eye to barely-lined lips. “You do?”

“I used to,” Tommy says, brightly, winking with a taunting sort of smile. “Now I know I can make you do – ” She comes to an abrupt stop, gawking through an open doorway on the other side of Greg. “Oh, Jesus… Is that a fucking crib?”

Greg looks over her shoulder in the same direction. The room is… set up like a nursery, but if it had inside a crib that was… bigger than adult size, even bigger than like Greg-adult size, with a bottle and stuffed animals to match. “Uh, um… y-yeah?”

“You’re related to this man,” Tommy says, flattening her voice into a stern, quiet seriousness, as if this is now an interview for like maybe Dateline. “How does that make you feel, Ms Hirsch?”

“Like, um…” Greg takes a breath. “He isn’t over the death of his father?”

Tommy is silent a beat, then sucks at her teeth. “That is way too far down the rabbit hole for me. You were supposed to say he’s too bizarre to function.”

“He’s always been nice to me.”

Tommy scoffs against the back of her throat. “I’m not sure that’s a good metric.”

Greg offers a thin hum, looking over to Tommy, who is arguably in the same category of a bit weird, for sure, but generally good. “It’s been okay, so far?”

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, rolling her eyes, but somewhat abashed about it, so likely catching onto the implication. “Let’s try to find the exit to this Freudian nightmare and find a drink… that I hope isn’t dressed up in fucking juice boxes and milk cartons.”

Greg wonders if Tommy missed the swaddled champagne bottles at the entrance.

It takes far too long for Greg, between mocking Kendall’s choices and picking up party favors, to realize that Tommy is sort of acting like this is a date; she thinks, anyway, she hasn’t been on a date in a really long time, but it feels like it. She swallows her nerves and risks a grab for Tommy’s hand, at her next chance, as they turn a bend within the aptly named compliment tunnel. The whole setup visibly puts Tommy on edge, looking at every cheerful deliverer of a compliment through the decorated trestles with sneering suspicion, but Greg sort of likes getting told that she’s great – even if it’s just a weird party game.

Tommy doesn’t shake her hand off, though, which is even better. She actually tightens her grip, shifting her fingers to thread them through Greg’s clammy ones, as they slowly approach a roar and thump of music at the center of the party. She does let her go, as they pick up drinks at a bar along the length of the wall, head bobbing to the beat of the music, but she heavily leans into Greg’s side.

“Do you dance, Greg?” Tommy asks, her drink half gone, looking over with a slight cock of her chin.

Greg feels her expression twist and fold, glancing away from the bar toward the dance floor. “Not, like… really?”

“Too bad!” Tommy crows, as she puts her drink down, then reaches out with the same hand to wrap tight around Greg’s wrist in a tug. “Just think: you can’t embarrass yourself more tonight than the birthday boy.”

Greg bites at her lip and manages a weak shrug, as she’s yanked along into the shifting throng of other guests. She thinks she sees Shiv going a little nuts, a few meters off, but is promptly distracted from that when Tommy grabs at her waist and drags her into a sort of dance that… kind of lacks any rhythm. It definitely seems like Tommy doesn’t really dance, either, though it looks really good on her, but really, by this point in the night, Greg can admit that she might be biased.

The song shifts from on the stage to one at a slower pace, making Greg’s ears burn, as Tommy looks up at her with a slow blink and a smirk. It’s definitely a, like – yeah, she has stumbled into a date.

Tommy shifts forward, groping along Greg’s lower back, then sliding her hands up, and she’s nearly as tall as her with tonight’s choice of heels.

Greg does her best to answer the broadcasted kiss in earnest, worrying a little that it’s too dry, nose bumping in the wrong places, but Tommy doesn’t seem to realize it. She’s actually just grabbing at Greg more, tugging her in so she’s pressed all the way up along her body while they move with the music.

“I’m really glad Shiv called me,” Tommy says, grinning up into Greg’s face, fingers sweeping over her ears and down into her hair. “You look so hot on this dress I chose, you really do, but I’m fucking ecstatic I could get to take it off.”

Greg chokes a little on an agreeable hum, nodding with a hard drop of her head.

Tommy leans in for another kiss, a hand still wrapped at Greg’s jaw while the other roves down her body, then around to grip at her ass. The music drops into a heavier beat, surrounding them with heady, throbbing bass, and she grinds against Greg, thighs strong and thick, foot slotting against Greg’s instep, using a moment of shock to slip her tongue into her mouth.

It a little difficult for Greg to keep up with, mostly because she is so unfamiliar with this sort of club-esque writhing to the music. She lets a bit loose to grope her hands against Tommy’s ribs, holding her close and copping her own feel with a curve of a palm around a rounded breast and brushing a thumb down exposed cleavage. She flushes worse when Tommy moans approval against her lips, head tilting and tongue sweeping along the inside of Greg’s lip. It’s lewd and insinuating, making Greg burn with a startling want, arousal bolting to her groin, and she can’t help her own moan, loud enough, it seems, to earn an evident laugh against her lips.

The song jerks abruptly to a stop, and Greg is near panting, one hand having found it’s way to curl into Tommy’s palm and feel the soft thud of her pulse. She thinks Tommy looks breathless, too, but not in anyway that seems as embarrassing, but actually more attractive; her brow sweaty and her hair threatening to loosen over an ear.

A mumble comes from the stage that Greg only half hears, followed by a click and whine of speakers. The voice that replaces it is nothing like the previous performer, instead it is low, masculine, and horribly familiar.

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, voice pitching, turning tragically away from Greg to stare up at the stage.

Greg watches as Kendall begins to move up and down, attached to some apparatus, and between this and kissing Tommy, she’s no longer sure she’s awake. “Where… where do I know this song?”

“It’s Billy Joel,” Tommy says, lifting a hand to cover her mouth, theatrically aghast, wobbling backward on her heels into Greg’s arms. “He’s singing Billy Joel to himself for his birthday.”

“He, um – ” Greg manages, watching Kendall’s performance on stage; his voice isn’t bad, but the whole thing… is definitely still the CEO of Waystar Royco suffering some weird breakdown about having no closure with his dead dad. “He is sort of too bizarre to function…”

“Thank you, girlie,” Tommy says, glancing over with a quick bark of laughter, though the humor fades again into disbelief when she looks back at Kendall on stage. “I feel like I’m some lobster stuck in a pot while the cook croons above me.”

Greg huffs and shifts her palm to fully fold her fingers in Tommy’s against her hip. She hasn’t managed to say it, but she’s really glad she asked Shiv about dresses, too.

#tomgreg #obvs cred to neglectedtuesday and tinyufoboss transfem / nb greg content #hopefully this is an alright addition #cw rule 63 #wrote most of this in a fugue state by which i mean i started something else and it became this #so apologies to that fill #fuck i meant to put this in drafts for tomorrow #oh WELl

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