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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 1 month

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Purchase Your Time (John Price x Escort!Reader)

Summary: Captain John Price ventures into unfamiliar territory by going on a blind date... with a sex worker.

AN: I've got a whole universe and timeline about these two in my head. But, instead of putting the pressure of writing a full-on series in chronological order, I want to have some more reader participation and write more of what you want to see!

If you want to suggest a scenario or a question about this universe, hit me up in my inbox or DMs and I'll write something in reply!

This is also an entry to the amazing @glitterypirateduck's writing challenge! I went for the "blind date" prompt with a twist.

Content warning: Sexual references, reader is a sex worker, so minors DNI/18+ only. 5k word count. Reader is gender neutral and no use of Y/N.

You could tell that your client was uneasy, despite the façade of seeming relaxed on his expression. The notches in his broad back beneath that suit jacket were taut like rope. Head on an axis, he was constantly checking the windows. You could see his eyes but no lower down his face as he did so, view blocked by the perspective of the booths. No doubt he’d spied your car by now and was waiting for you to step into the restaurant. Yet still you waited and watched from the seat of your car for anything else that would tip you off to what kind of man you were meeting for dinner. He scrubbed up well for a man wearing a basic navy suit. That photo he sent you – the selfie from an angle that was a classic indicator of a man who seldom opened the front camera – wasn’t a lie. He was very cute.

When you could no longer put off the date in favour of recon, you shot off a message to your friend to confirm your arrival and stepped out of your vehicle.

By the time you arrived at the podium where the hostess greeted you warmly, he was looking at you. Not quite staring, certainly not discourteous, he seemed more intrigued. There wasn’t much doubt as to why.

The hostess guided you over to the booth. Fun choice, since it would just be the two of you. He likely wanted to ensure no one would eavesdrop or be spotted by someone he knew. Many of your clients were the exact same.

“John Price?” You inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” He was already scooting towards the end of the cushioned seat – something else your clients didn’t consider. There was no graceful way to enter and exit a booth.

Once he was on his feet, you offered your hand to him and your name. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Worn and warm skin enclosed your hand, and immediately you noted the lack of a wedding ring. So he was either single or had the peace of mind to remove it prior to your meeting. Your brief handshake allowed you to take in the uncommon style of his facial hair, his close-lipped smile, the crinkles by his eyes that you could now tell were blue, and it all added to a beautiful portrait of a man you would be happy to entertain. Not that you were shallow enough to deny a potential client based on looks, but you were certainly enjoying the benefits of this man being a delight to look at.

“Can I get you anything?” John asked, looking once between yourself and the waitress who’d guided you to the table.

Ice cubes in his own drink were shrinking into the amber swirls of the crystal tumbler. You gave her your own order before you tucked yourself beside him, enough distance that you could reach out and touch his bicep in an act of reassurance should he need it. By the time you were comfortable, the appropriate time for the wait-staff to be out of earshot had elapsed, and you began your lackadaisical interrogation.

“How are you?”

“I’m well, yes. Thank you. Yourself?”

“Can’t complain.” Your hands folded on your lap as you twisted to face him a bit more openly,“So, the purpose of us meeting today is to see if this is something you want to pursue with me, if we suit each other. Nothing is going to happen today, and not until we’re both certain that this arrangement is going to be beneficial. I take it this is your first time doing something like this.”

Already, you’d made him smile. Not out of nerves, he’d shown no usual signs as such. It wasn’t with a hunger that couldn’t be sated by anything on the menu. No, this man was feeling some relief, the corners of his mouth creasing and quickly disappearing. You hoped it wasn’t triggered by some kind of saviour complex, preparing to get you out of “this lifestyle” – you’d find out sooner or later if so.

“Am I that easy to read?” John asked before sipping his drink.

“Perhaps. Am I right?”

“You are,” He admitted, though it wasn’t a self-conscious confession, “This is… completely new to me.”

“That’s why I like to discuss our options first. It irons out any wrinkles, soothes any first-time nerves. Plus you seem like the kind of man who can appreciate being as prepared as possible.”

“I take pride in it.” Ah, a large hint of his perceived worth.

Your drink arrived at the table, your fingertips delicately leaving prints in the condensation of the glass. As you turned back to John after thanking the waitress, you caught him staring at your thighs. You pretended you hadn’t so as not to dissuade him. This allowed him to collect his own drink and raise it close to you.

You both gave cheers to your meeting, glasses tapping together in a clear single note that sang until your lips pursed against the rim.

“Tell me about yourself then, John.”

In that deep gravel his register rested in, John spoke about the unpredictability of his work-life. Nothing in actual detail was given about what he did, but you gathered it was high intensity, high risk, high reward. Regardless of the wall of cement he was putting up with his vague details, the pride in his work showed through. You stored up all this knowledge to note down on revision cards later. Just a little something so that you could remember what was important to your potential client.

The third time it happened, you decided to track how often he touched his Windsor knot, and it didn’t take long to figure out that it wasn’t a tell of his lying. Otherwise, he would’ve told you more details - fabricated. Clearly, this man’s occupation was not a CEO of any kind; he worked without a suit (enough to not be used to it) and without visible security guards to check your pockets.

“Why don’t you take that off?” You extended your hand to touch the space on the table between you two, “It seems to be bothering you. I want you comfortable, John.”

As if he’d been waiting for permission, John Price ripped off the tie (it wasn’t a clip on) and stuffed it in his suit pocket, undoing his top button for good measure.

“Not the biggest fan of them, if I’m honest.” Double whammy: he’d confirmed your theory and revealed a few dark hairs on his chest in one go.

“I like honesty,” You replied. That seemed to spark something in his eyes.

“I can’t always be completely honest. My job doesn’t allow for it, or value it, mind.”

“I could tell.”

“But I will be transparent – as much as I can be – about when I’ll be away, how long that’ll be for. I think that’s only fair to you.”

You agreed just as your waitress returned to take your food order. Thank God John didn’t try to order for you. As per your own personal guidelines, you let him go first, matching your order with the price of his own. While passing over the menu, he asked about you with the self-deprecating comment that you were probably sick of hearing about him. You gave your standard issue reassurance before meeting him with similar defences that he would likely recognise: very little given away in terms of personal details but all reliable information that would help.

Concluding your latest hobby – an acceptable one for small talk - you asked. “What do you like to do with your downtime then?”

John blinked at you twice, “I watch football.”

“What team?”

“Liverpool. You?”

“Never played, never watched.”

“Well, I’m going to have to do something about that,” and he smiled.

At last, he was cracking jokes. You basked in the joy of getting him to loosen up – a challenge, unlike some men who came out the gate, blasting misogynistic quips. At least that came with the favour of being about to ditch their company as soon as you were safe to do so. This was not the case with John, despite the several times now you’d spied him catching glimpses at your legs.

Another surprise arrived just after your food was served. You’d planned to begin edging towards the real reason most of your clients contacted you in the first place. However, John beat you to the punch after you’d shared the typical services you offered.

“And you’d be willing to…” He seemed to struggle with his words, though he could blame it on a tough bit of the steak if he wanted to.

You didn’t give him the easy way out, offering instead a raised eyebrow you’re your glass, “Yes?”

Realising you were gonna make him say it, John put on a sheepish smile, laughing at his own awkwardness before asking with a little more confidence, “Have sex?”

“If that’s something you wanted. Is it?”

His Adam’s apple gulped down a morsel from his fork – which remained poised in place the moment his lips touched the silver tines. There was a smouldering confidence hiding behind his eyes. You thought about why he might pretend to be nervous and act as such when he realised you caught him.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested.”

This is key to your vetting process. If your professionalism wasn’t reflected back by the potential client, too lost in their horny desperate disposition to consider boundaries, then they were struck from your list and forwarded to your friends so they could avoid them too. Handsome ones tended to throw the biggest tantrums over this. They wielded their wealth or insisted you not “spoil” the mood with talks of hard limits.

You maintained your composure, and, now that he’d gotten over that first hurdle of awkwardness, John resumed his own. You could tell, by the way his pupils blew out and his lips parted, he was definitely hooked. Naturally, you didn’t feel his polished shoe creeping closer to yours though. He’d never come across as that kind of man. Keeping you at that distance with his walls up meant discussing your hard limits and no-go’s was less awkward than it had been for other potential clients. Still, you sought to knock him off his balance again to see what he might do.

“Is it mainly sex that you’re seeking?” You asked as casually as you always did.

John’s head jerked to face you head on in mild but abject shock, “No. No, it’s not.”

“It’s ok if you are,” You said, still smiling calmingly.

Waiting for his reply, you watched John hover his drink in front of his lips before the last droplets slid down his throat.

Swallowing again, John gave his reasoning, “As I’m sure you’ve gathered, my job makes it difficult to maintain a relationship. I’m not able to… provide stability or consistency a lot of the time.”

Nodding sympathetically, you said, “I can imagine.”

“Also, there are… certain measures I’d want you to take for when we meet that aren’t really attractive to anyone, let alone a long-term partner.”

“That must be difficult for you.” You slipped your hand over his that was planted firmly on the table, feeling it tense then slack beneath your touch. Easily, you could empathise with the fact that he wanted to replicate the kind of life he couldn’t have. “Tell me about these measures. I’ve a few of my own.”

“You don’t tell anyone my name. You need to make sure you’re not being followed. If you are, tell me. Do you have your own driver?”

“It was a cab today.”

“I’d like to order your cars from now on.”

“Awfully protective of me already.”

Your blithe smile cut off at John’s reply, “Those are my terms and they’re necessary if I’m going to be using your services.”

There was not an inch of room in that statement for a joke. If you were naïve, you’d say he was taking this too seriously. But the balance you’d found within John and the tidbits of his life that he’d laid out for you sounded the alarm that these precautions might just keep you alive. Your job was also a precarious one; adding another layer on top of it might be beyond your comfort levels.

Then John asked you, with the same earnestness, “What about your safety measures?”

His question checked a hidden box in your head.

“Mine is that I’m available to be in contact with a colleague at all times. They’ll check in regularly to keep me safe when we’re together. I’ll tell them where and when we’re meeting and for how long.”

John nodded along, mirroring your body language as you leant just a little closer and continued:

“I also have a policy on mandatory aftercare for myself and my clients - so you. If this is going to work, we need to take care of each other and that courtesy extends until we’ve parted ways.”

“I understand.”

“And do you accept them?”

“I do,” and John lowered his voice a tad more as he implored for your answer “Do you accept mine?”

Your thumb rubbed over the hairs on the back of his hand once more before releasing him, “I do. I’ll add your terms to our contract and we can discuss any further details once it’s drafted.”

John raised his eyebrows, “Contract?”

“Of course,” You said, a hint of coyness slipping into the professionality, “Get it in writing, make it official and keep us both protected.”

“So that means you’d let me see you again?” The corner of John’s mouth betrayed him as it struggled not to smile.

“I would, John, I really would.”

With that decided, the pair of you clinked your newly topped-up drinks together.

Though you both decided against pudding, you stayed for another half an hour after your plates were cleared and escorted back to the kitchen. Of course John paid the bill too, left a tip, helped you into your coat and all, whilst you ordered a new cab to take you home – you insisted. John may want precautions.

“I’ll send you my details tonight so that we can arrange to get the contract drawn up and signed. Then the ball’s in your park to arrange our next meeting,” You adjusted your coat collar before cupping his elbow innocuously. “Thank you for dinner, John.”

“Thank you for meeting me,” He said

“My pleasure.” And, just as you were about to close the door, you added, “Look forward to hearing from you.”

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

While he did get back to you within the minute you sent across your further details, and even faster in drawing up and signing your contract , it would take John Price a month to request an official meeting.

“I’d like to book us a room and spend some time together.” That was what his newest message said.

Perhaps he’d been taken away by that busy, busy schedule. Perhaps he was just shy. Despite being able to read his surface level emotions, you found the man was like a safe inside a vault inside a sealed bunker when texting you. It was when you got this text that you realised everything you’d learnt on your date was likely a deliberate choice from John. Rehearsed and ready, just like you.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” You replied.

Unlike his previous messages, John took some time to respond with quite a short message: “Yes please.”

“Any requests for what you’d like me to wear?” You asked once he’d sent you the date and location.

You managed to complete a swift clean of your kitchen and make yourself a drink by the time you received your next text.

“Something that makes you feel good.”

Not a common request.

Even so, on the night of, you took extensive measures of preparation. Your outfit, to the untrained eye (so men), would seem like you’d just thrown on an outfit and effortlessly looked ethereal – and it was still something you picked based on what you thought John would like. Trousers and shirt cuddled your skin, neatly ironed even though it was likely to end up creased on a bedroom floor within the next hour.

He had sent two cars to pick you up and an encrypted, preplanned journey. One vehicle dropped you off at a random location that was noted with a giant red pin on the map; the second scooped you up precisely four minutes later. Nothing new, you’d been a mistress before and that came with similar routines.

A key was awaiting for you at the front desk once you had been delivered and the code word was shared.

You had the decency to knock three times before you slid the key card into the slot. Despite that minimal warning, the door jerked open with John at the handle.

“Hi,” He said. Hair damp and sticking up at the back like he’d used his hands instead of a brush to collect it into some order, he’d clearly just finished trimming his beard – based on the occasional trimming on his white t-shirt. Jogging bottoms hid his lower half.

“Hello,” You smiled.

John looked you in the eye, then adjusted his gaze to look down at your outfit. Perhaps he didn’t like that you had hidden your legs beneath flared trouser because he stepped aside quickly and held the door for you to enter.

It was a cosy suite, boasting a quiet immodest comfort. Poncy art still hung on the walls, and it had all the hallmarks of a usual hotel room – little kettle, stack of teabags and coffee – were hidden behind a sliding cabinet door. You saw a duffel bag poking out the entrance of the wardrobe. Hanging above it across the railing were several dry cleaning bags. Had he even gone to his home yet?

“How’ve you been, John?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Well, thank you.” And you dropped your overstay bag beside his.

Followed your agreement to the letter, handing you a wad of cash that he didn’t mind you counting upfront. The total sum left you expecting this would probably be an eventful evening and you tucked it into your coat pocket for safe keeping.

“What would you like to do, John?” You pulled off your coat to hang it up.

When you returned to face him, you found John unable to break away from looking at your waistband, specifically the side of your shirt that you’d made the conscious choice to leave untucked. Whatever, you’d seen it somewhere and it looked good on the model so you tried it. The doubt that it just made you look a bit lazy left your head as John pinched the hem of it, his thumb rubbing the material.

“Could you…” John sighed as soon as he paused. His voice was still that low and sustained register. You wondered what he might sound like while you were taking care of him.

He’d said, when adding the fine print to your contract, that he was ok with you initiating touch. So, you were a tad surprised (though you hid it well) when he seemed unnerved at your hand finding purchase over his heart, fingers tracing over a large fold line in the fabric, that had been ironed in from a nap presumably – he seemed the type to know how to fold a shirt properly.

Your voice dropped to a hushed timbre, as if you were letting him in on some workplace gossip around the water cooler, enticing him to join you in this little game, “You can tell me, John. What do you want to do?”

How John’s eyelids twitched, you could tell it was working. A moth to a flame, you drew him in, but you saw how John’s frustration brewed in his tight jaw over how his words didn’t seem to want to climb out of his mouth. The first hurdle was always the toughest; once he got over this embarrassment, he’d be fine. You just had to coax him a little further, lead him closer to the water until he took the initiative to drink it.

Measured breathing took hold of his body again and he looked you directly in the eye, “Could you hold me? In the bed, please?”

“Of course,” You said in the same calming tone, taking his hands in yours to give a reassuring squeeze. This allowed him, spurred him perhaps, to lead you over to the Queen-sized bed, where the only blemish in its immaculate sheets was a dip on the edge that you could picture John taking up as he waited for you to arrive.

When you leant in that same spot he had and began to take off your shoes, John reached his hand out as if to stop your hand. It hovered for a split second before gesturing at you.

“Clothes stay on. Please,” He said in the same voice.

Both times he’d asked you for something, his manners seemed like an after-thought. You were reminded that his job likely meant he wasn’t used to having to be polite. Though it was the bare minimum, you appreciated it nonetheless. That confidence you’d spotted him hiding last time wasn’t unfounded. Here, it just was clearer that he found himself floundering and being uncomfortable with the very fact that he wasn’t able to sail smoothly through this interaction. You reminded yourself that he had wanted something akin to a romantic relationship, but you didn’t expect him to struggle with it this much. You’d have to be a lot more merciful with him then.

With your shoes off, but socks still on, you knelt in the centre of the shockingly plush mattress and reached out for him. Your coy smile warmed him up, his own sheepish one growing as he took your hands again. Balancing carefully, you pivoted your legs out from under you and lay back in the mountain of pillows. Your descent encouraged John to follow you, tuck himself up into you, rest his head atop your chest as you curved your arms to accommodate his giant frame. The instant he finally ceased fidgeting, you heard – and felt through the thread of your shirt – John taking a deep breath right where your collarbones kissed. The tension down his spine started to slouch its way out. You made a mental note to wear this scent around him more.

“Do you want to watch anything?” he asked, already holding the remote control.

“I’m not fussed,” You replied. It emerged as a half-whisper.

“I don’t know any of these, d’you?”

“All a bit rubbish, to be honest. Just gotta find you your type of rubbish.”

“Don’t have the energy right now, love. What’s your type of rubbish?”

You let him flick through the categories, none of these sparking hope. At last, the cursor landed on a safe option, a no-man’s-land of a TV show.

“There, that’ll do,” You said, pointing and wagging your hand over when John accidentally skipped past it, “It’s not mind-blowing, but it passes the time.”

“Good enough for me.”

And it was for you too. Quite a nice paycheck, all things considered. Not once did John’s hands stray down your body; one arm was tucked into his front between the two of you and the other crossed over your chest. Your shirt creased where his cheek pressed against your chest. He was like a heated, weighted blanket that smelt incredible and would occasionally make scathing commentary on the programme, making you chuckle. Among his other noises, he let out grunts of approval whenever your nails scratched up where his skull met his neck. The third was a little snore he let out whilst dozing – a few snorts pushing out his nose until he either woke himself back up or disappeared into deeper sleep. You yourself fell victim to the Sandman shortly after, but not before texting your friend that you were safe and sound with your burly customer as good as a lamb.

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

Beneath a throw blanket, you woke up at half past seven. There was no doubt in your mind that John had been awake for some time; he was sitting up beside you, pretending to watch the TV still, wearing the same clothes but evidently a lot less groggy than you were.

“Good morning, I wanted to order breakfast,” He indicated the menu he was reading, “Didn’t know what you wanted though. Didn’t wanna wake you either.”

Your elbow propped you up to say, “That’s so sweet of you.”

Clearly not used to a flattering remark, John turned his attention back to the screen with rosy cheeks, the menu held out to you, “Let me know what you want.”

How ironic, for a man who dictated the entire scenario but was still unable to confess outside of a legal setting that he wanted to fuck you, to ask you if how you’d like your eggs. Eggs you would not be ordering because of the awful breath it would give you.

You pushed up to sit beside him against the scarlet cushioned headboard. A few stretches resulted in a satisfied groan against the clicks of your back and you handed back the menu with your order.

Just like last night, John seemed to have trouble getting out his requests, which you interpreted as him wanting to ask you to shower with him. Instead, he offered it to you first, which you graciously accepted.

In your reflection, an imprint of a button winked faintly at you from your chest, right where John had rested his head. You touched over the impression before you set your shower up for a quick scrub. Yet you lingered in the stall for a few minutes longer, the water pressure and temperature pacifying the stiffness in your back.

Steam rolled out like fog over a lake when you opened the shower door. A complimentary robe transitioned you from your towel and kept you cosy as you began massaging lotion into your face, skin staying soothed in the circle you cleared of condensation in the mirror.

A chill reached your shoulder blades as John let himself into the bathroom, still in his clothes from yesterday.

“Breakfast will be here in about ten minutes,” He perched on the toilet seat.

“Thank you.” Continuing to make odd faces to ensure your lotion reached every pore, you took note of the intrigue with which he observed your routine.

You offered your hand out, two fingers wielding a healthy dollop of face cream. “Want some?”

Price looked down at it, instinctively leaning back an inch to decline, “No, thank you. You’re alright.”

You didn’t push it – his freckled skin seemed fine without your products – so you just let him watch you from his spot in the steam. In the reflection, you caught him smiling wistfully at you, though never initiating eye contact. Having gone off assumptions of contentedness when you cuddled him last night, you were glad that you could actually see John smile again.

Still, that wall, for your “safety” as he’d phrased it, was up.John sprang for the polite rapping at the door and was blocking you from the view of the visitor with both doors plus his own body. From that alone, he was clearly capable of taking charge in any situation. So why not this one? Why was he so obviously nervous when he’d been able to hide it in the restaurant? You wanted to find out. You wanted to break that wall down to see his reasons why.

Maybe next time you were together, once this routine became a little closer to his comfort zone, he’d be a bit more alright with asking for more.

As you exited the bathroom, you caught John and found him guilty of reorganising the trays, removing all signs of hotel logos from the plated food. Maybe it was to aid the pretence that he’d made you breakfast, an attempt to add to the domesticity of this rendezvous. Maybe he was just picky. Regardless, he met your eye with no shame of being found out.

You made use of the tiny iron (why did hotels always have such tiny irons?) to neaten up your clothes whilst tactfully ignoring the packet of condoms poking out of John’s bag. He must’ve noticed you noticing them however; he carefully nudged them deeper into his bag whilst retrieving a clean jumper.

His desires from your dinner still ringing in your ears, you tested the waters again and pointed to the smallest of creases at the cuff of the jumper, “Want me to press it quickly?”

For a split second, John looked at you with pupils blown and a firm grip on his clothing. Then he scoffed light-heartedly, “You’re not my maid.”

“I know. I’m offering.”

Though his smirk twisted into an appreciative smile, John still denied your request and disappeared to change in the bathroom. Yet his choice still quietly confirmed how your new client would veer more towards the domestic clauses in your contract.

Based on his reactions over the past twelve hours, you deduced he was not quite at the stage where you do his coat buttons up for him or adjust his beanie. You’d get there eventually. But he did let you do the little zip up on his jumper when it came time to part ways.

“I had a lot of fun, John.”

“You don’t have to lie just because I’m paying you,” He said, in such an earnest way that you knew instantly he wasn’t saying it to fish for compliments. Still, that underlying insult stung you.

Not wanting to let this become a habit, you forced him to face your stare with a hand on his cheek to keep him locked in place, “Do you really think I’m lying to you, just because you’ve given me money?”

How he observed you, his eyes travelling along where bones and tissue connected, over the valleys of blood vessels and stretch marks, you felt a slight chill. John was not scanning you to total your physical worth to him but genuinely deciding based on your behaviours, body language, if you were lying. Your morbidly curious mind leaned into the darkness of what might happen if he landed on a false conclusion and how often he came to those.

Remaining to be seen, John shook his head once, “No.”

“So, don’t be rude. I enjoy your company and it’d be a shame to ruin that with your assumptions,” You said, playfully whilst hoping he inferred your warning.

An exhale through the nose, John’s shoulders shrugged his body with a warm smile, “Sorry.”

“I forgive you.” Again, you spoke with a teasing tone over the layer of seriousness. It persisted as you wondered if he’d like a kiss goodbye. He was still letting you thumb over where his dimples were hiding from the daylight. If he wanted a kiss, would he want one on the cheek? The lips? The corner of his mouth to hide and save for his greatest adventure?

Not even the J.M. Barrie connection could soften your disbelief (which you really should’ve been adjusted to with this slow-release enigma of a man). John who opened up about wanting sex and more was the same man who wouldn’t even initiate a kiss. So your hand slipped down from his face and squeezed on his bicep instead, a tip at the end of your bill as you absorbed the strength he was capable of. John’s already straight posture adjusted underneath your gesture.

“See you again soon?” You prompted as you let go of him.

John confirmed, “I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

#john price x reader #john price oneshot #john price fanfic #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod oneshot #my writing #wc: 5k>#r: gn

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evelili · 1 year

Note

Could u draw some Sciset pls bc I love them?

Also your art is really amazing and I love the way you draw basically everyone. And The Twilight Effect fic was beautiful!

im glad you enjoyed the fic! heres a doodle of a scene from the epilogue, please look forward to it ^^

#its taking a while cuz my wc estimates r always wrong #“yeah itll b like 5k”#IM AT 15K AND ITS STILL NOT DONE KSDJSDF #mlp #mlp humanized #twilight sparkle #scitwi #sunset shimmer #sciset #eqg #equestria girls #my art #mlp requests #tte

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ooglybooglycomfortstories · 5 months

Note

Hi! I saw that you write for MHM/MBM and this fandom fr needs more fanfics, so heres my request :) I was wondering if you could do an Arata Usuba or Kazushi Tatsuishi x reader? Could be anything of your choice ofc

OMG So I love that you requested this because I have been wanting to write something for this for forever!!! I really love arranged marriage/forbidden love pairings <3 personally, I feel like giving Arata somebody to love because he seemed so upset at the end of the anime's first season :,( Thank you so much for being my first request!

I also totally did not proof read this LOL ALSO ARATA WITHOUT HIS GLASSES OMG <3 <3 <3

Purpose - Arata Usuba x Reader wc: 2k (I GOT EXCITED) tw: maybe a little angst if you squint, reader gets pretty sick, arranged marriage, female reader

Arata was no stranger to searching for a way to fulfill his purpose. He is a driven man, and most people knew that. However, he struggles to believe he will ever fulfill his purpose. Although a man of dignity, respect, and loyalty, he hides worry, concern, and shame. Well… that was until he met you.

It was an unusual turn of events when it was suddenly stated to him that he was to be married. He already had so much on his plate. Not to mention, the marriage came seemingly out of nowhere. It wasn’t unlikely for other people, but for him to be arranged in a marriage? Something had to be going on. Well he found out the answer to his curiosities the moment he met you.

Each of you had powerful families and you yourself did not possess spirit sight. This marriage was a means to gain security and leverage and in return, you would keep your head low and be a trophy wife. Despite your lack of spirit sight, however, you had to be the most beautiful woman that Arata had ever laid his eyes on.

You sat in the living room of the Usuba house, glancing around at the decorations and accessories adorning the home. You had been instructing by your parents not to speak unless instructed, as was the usual of your expectations when you left the house. You weren’t upset about it though. Your parents were very kind people and they had raised you to nurture your other talents since you lacked spirit sight. You understood the situation because you knew you could not do much to protect anybody against grotesqueries. Your parents had assured you that they picked the perfect match for you, a man who would take care of you like it was his job. You finally looked across to the other couch at the man in question, watching him speak with your parents.

“I will devote my life to protecting your daughter mister and misses L/n. You have my word”

Arata stands briefly to bow. He had a purpose finally. One to devote himself to you. Arata turned to look at you with such a determined expression on his face like he was pursuing a prize.

“Miss y/n, may I show you to your living quarters now?”

You responded with a silent nod and slowly and carefully stood up. You followed quietly behind Arata as he led you to the room where you would be staying. It was so luxurious and big. Sure your family was powerful, but your family was also humble and you were used to your fairly small traditional home. The room is not very decorated which confuses you. The rest of the house is so beautifully and delicately decorated but your room was practically bare. You supposed that they didn’t want you to steal or break anything.

“I know it’s not the most exciting room but I figured you would like to decorate it yourself to make yourself feel more at home”

Arata clears his throat after speaking. He was very subtly embarrassed. You may not see grotesqueries but you could see through people’s emotions like a window. You merely nod at his comment and look around at all the places you could decorate. The bed was huge and elegant, definitely different than your average sized bed at your home, well, old home now.

“What do you think of the room?”

Arata asks. Insecurity, you take note in your head.

“It’s beautiful. It’s just…”

You debate whether or not to mention your concern about the drastic difference from your home

“Just what, miss y/n?”

“It’s just… so big… I feel like all this space is such a waste for me… I’m used to a small bedroom…” Arata seems to knit his brows together at your concerned comment and nods in acknowledgment.

“I’ll see to it that the issue is resolved. How big would you like it?”

You look at Arata like he’s crazy for a moment then offer him a gentle smile, a soft chuckle following it.

“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll get used to it. I’m sure I can fill up the empty space”

You look at Arata’s face an he has his lips pursed

“Is something bothering you?”

You question, internally pinching yourself for intruding on his personal issues without being given permission to become involved.

“Yes actually…”

Arata’s response shocks you and you keep your eyes locked on him, your face radiates kindness and patience to him, wanting to hear what he has to say. Arata noticed your interest and shook his head.

“It is nothing that should concern you. Now, I have some matters to attend to so please make yourself at home and get some rest”

And that was that. Arata closed the bedroom door and you stared at it for a little bit. You told yourself it was none of your business but the conversation lingers in your mind even as you’re laying down to fall asleep.

The days of living in the Usuba house began to bleed together. Your routine was the same everyday and you always took care to be quiet and not bothersome to anyone. Weeks went by and eventually a couple months. This was nothing like those fairytail arranged marriages you had heard about. Neither of you really spoke to each other. You were simply just living there for your family’s benefit.

You had always been so cheery and hopeful. You had been so excited to be married but this was so lackluster. You didn’t feel loved. You wanted to be loved. You werent even sure if you loved Arata. I mean, how would you know if you were in love with him? You barely spoke. No matter. The day was coming to an end once again and you were preparing for bed. You carefully slipped into the covers and listened to the chirping of bugs outside as you drifted to sleep.

You didn’t sleep long though. A sudden rattle from outside of your bedroom startled you awake. You snapped your head toward the door to see if someone was coming in. When nobody came in you noticed that you had begun to sweat profusely when you had been sleeping. It took a few moments but eventually you realized how hot you felt and how your head ached strongly. You pulled down the sheets to cool off and laid back in bed, trying to sleep. Your effort was useless as the feelings only seemed to worsen as the night passed by and morning came.

Just like every morning, Arata came to knock on your door and tell you that breakfast was ready and that he was going out to run errands.

“Miss y/n, breakfast is ready and waiting downstairs and I’m going to go and run my errands. Are you awake?”

No response.

Arata knit his brows together in concern. He had figured out that you always woke up at 6 am every morning and you always answered him with a cheerful response. So he tried again. When he still received no response he made the choice to go into your room to check on you.

“Y/n I’m coming in!”

Arata carefully pushed the door open and laid eyes on your figured, strewn uncomfortably across the bed. He noticed your skin shining with sweat and hurried over. You must be sick. Arata placed the back of his hand to your forehead, your skin burning hot against his hand. You needed a doctor, quickly.

“Y’n, I’m going to call for a doctor… please don’t attempt to get out of bed, you seem very sick…”

With that, Arata rushed out of the room to get a doctor.

In the meantime, you shivered despite your body heat, your lower jaw trembling. You had never felt this horrible, you just wanted it all to be over. Your mind wandered to how worried Arata had sounded when he found you lying sickly in your bed and it nearly made your heart skip a beat. You replayed his tone of voice in your mind to keep yourself sane while he was gone.

When Arata returned, he had a doctor at his side. The doctor introduced himself but you were too dazed to care, and at this point, all of your reason was out the window. As the doctor examined you, you whimpered out Arata’s name. You wanted, no, needed comfort.

Arata stiffened slightly at the tone you used while saying his name. It was so desperate and filled with pain. It tugged at his heart and he swore he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Without thinking about it, he reached out and held your hand. He didn’t stop to think that you may have something that could pass to him, he just did it.

“I’m here…”

He assured you. His voice made your currently overstimulated self cry. Arata immediately worried he had done something wrong. The doctor pulled his tools away from you and put them away in his bag, ready to give a diagnosis.

“This is likely a strain of influenza.”

The doctor ripped a paper out of his small notepad and used a pen from his pocket to scribble down an address and a prescription medication.

“When you have time, go down to the pharmacy and get her that medication. It will bring down the fever. Make sure to keep a close eye on her.”

Arata nodded firmly, his eyes stuck on you after taking the paper. Without another word, the doctor left and Arata stayed by your side.

“Y’n… I’m going to go and get you this medicine… it will help you to feel better. I promise to be fast…”

In response, he was met with a whine and once again without thinking, he leaned over you, planting a kiss to your forehead. This action shocked him. He noticed the lack of thought he had given to holding your hand and now this. It worried him. He didn’t know why he was acting this way.

Arata made a point to hurry and acquire the medicine. As soon as he got home, he never left your side. He stayed there for weeks to bring you back to health from this nasty case of influenza. You were just now finally coming out of it, able to sit up in bed and speak at last. No chills or shakes anymore, just a minor fever that would surely be gone by morning. Yet here Arata was, still worried about you, insistent on hand feeding you your lunch. You had tried to protest at first but it had been no use, so you let him.

“Arata…”

You begin speaking in between bites and he pauses feeding you to listen to you.

“Yes?”

He gives you a look of questioning.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me… and for that kiss…”

Arata’s cheeks flushed and he seemed to swallow hard at the memory. He had almost forgotten about it.

“Yes… well… it would be a shame if you had not made it through… I admit we have barely spoken with each other since you arrived here.”

You nod and smile, admiring his embarrassment.

“I would love to spend more time with you… but I understand you must be a busy man”

Arata shifts uncomfortably in his chair that he had seated next to your bed.

“I admit… I am not actually overwhelmingly busy. I have been avoiding you because this was simply a marriage of opportunity, I didn’t want to force anything to happen between us”

You laugh at his words and quickly stop yourself, apologizing.

“Sorry- I just think it’s funny because I would prefer if you treated me more like a wife than assuming that I want nothing to do with you… You know where I think a good place to start would be?”

Arata looks at you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“This…”

You move your hand to his cheek gently, pushing a couple stray hairs out of the way and pressing your lips to his forehead. His cheeks suddenly burn bright red and he almost seems like he’s glowing.

“That’s a thank you… for the one that you gave me…”

Arata sat, star-struck by your boldness. He looked at you with such a curious and tender expression this time. You know what? He could live with this whole arranged marriage situation… You were more than just his purpose now, you were his reason.

#my happy marriage #arata usuba #arata usuba x reader #my happy marriage x reader #mhm x reader #tiny bit of angst #it's not that bad #honestly almost made this 5k wc #I love arata sm #anyways can't think of anything else #enjoy :p

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merthurglompfest · 19 days

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Title: Whispering Wings By: Loopstagirl Gift for: Alehalebane Rating: General Word Count: 4,386 words Warning(s): None Summary: Merlin couldn't leave Aithusa in the forest. But where in Camelot was he supposed to hide a baby dragon?

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54357235

#merthur #merlin #merlin fanfic #merthur glompfest #merthur glompfest 2024 #type: fanfic #rating: general #wc: 1 to 5k #glomper: loopstagirl #glompee: alehalebane

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doobea · 4 months

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my biggest flaw is not knowing when to stop adding lore because why is this megumi fic almost 3k and i still need to add relationship lore, toji lore, and like two more scenes before they finally get together...

#doobea talks °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･#honestly i feel like all the milestone fics will hover around the 4k-5k wc #because for some reason i cant feel satisfied w them unless i write more dumb internal dialogue and other side character relationships #and currently developing a habit of making all my yns suffer at the hands of gojo satoru in my jjk fics

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euphor1a · 3 months

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Hi, choose the first enhypen fic you want to see from this blog?

#ʚĭɞ :: polls 📊#i think it’s a shame that my enhypen masterlist is so empty. hopefully 2024 can change it up a bit #i’m giving these two options because they’d be a good starting point to join the train ykwim.#both are one-shots. estimated wc under 5K. both have a bit of plot and a ton of p*rn aksfhdfhg.#but the genres are vastly different (obviously)#i’ll post both of them eventually but the winning option gets to be the first one #i.e i’ll focus on it more to get it done sooner #enhypen smut #adding a tag for more visibility 👍🏼 euphor1a’s engeneblr debut is coming 🗣️#*24hrs

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junietuesday · 10 months

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literally just posted the first part i know but take a snippet of the sequel to the revalink fic

#june speaks #my writing #THIS SHOULD BE SHORTER. im thinking it’ll be around 4-5k.#although w my track record of almost doubling the original wc for the first part who knows maybe itll end up fucking. 9-10k or something #god i hope not. no i joke but i enjoy writing these guys a lot so if it blows up thats just more revalink for me <3

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ekingston · 7 months

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For the word ask game: blanket

yes! from the upcoming (final truly) chapter of Soup:

#‘a short chapter’ she said #let’s see how far i can cut it down from its current 5k wc #WIP keyword ask meme #anonymous #TSOS

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taekookseasons · 2 years

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japanese denim

But Taehyung wants Jungkook to stay for a little while longer.

(A long, long while would work, too.)

—

Author: shejustwantstowrite Link: https://ao3.org/works/14534670 Word Count: 1,233 Rating: Teen & Up Tags: College AU, Friends with Benefits, Fluff

#S2 #Rating:T #WC:<5K #taekook

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 2 years

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Sunflower (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader) Smut

Summary: The second Bridgerton boy occasionally needs to be reminded that he is, in fact, desired very much by his wife-to-be.

AN: This one’s for my gal @ifyousawthisnoyoudidnt <3 and based a wee bit on Sunflower Vol. 6. I love this wee speech of his, and so I was inspired by my friend to write Benedict being inspired by her too.

Masterlist // 1st POV on AO3

Content warnings: public sex, P in V sex, second person

Your name: submit What is this?

This season was yours for the taking. True, you were not the Diamond this year but fortunately that absolved you of dealing with the many unsuitable suitors that flocked like gulls to a picnic, uninvited and obnoxious. It was at last your opportunity to feel some control over your destiny. You could harness all my wiles into finding yourself a worthy husband. Except you were still waiting for that future husband to admit he would like to be so.

It wasn’t a secret Benedict Bridgerton and you had been courting for the majority of the season - only missing out on the first few days to keep the man on his toes. Evidently you’d tipped him off his balance after your awkward promenade yesterday though, or rather your father did with his cutting words and turned-up expression. An expression that Benedict was mimicking now that he had spied you at the centre of Lady Danbury’s ball and dancing with a man that was not him.

As he leant over to murmur to his brother Anthony, you assumed their conversation was about you and grinned at Baron Sinclair, who had agreed to your little plan. He was such a loyal friend, anyone else would think you were romantically involved but no, your hearts belonged to others and your minds were too alike. No, you belonged with Benedict and you thought he knew this already. In his absence, you vowed to no longer remain passive whilst he decided if he wanted me or not. The former would push him to prove his affections and the latter would cause you to stop chasing a man you had been chasing half your life.

The bonus was the dance itself. Baron Sinclair was marvellously graceful and it had been too long since you paired together for a romp about the floor. Your conversation was light and scandalous with your scheme, along with the news that he may begin courting despite it being late in this season.

Mid spin, you caught Benedict shaking his head and it was definitely aimed towards you. His eyes remained downcast after a brief moment of eye contact, and your own gaze shifted back to Baron Sinclair who grinned at what you’d been caught doing. Your mild embarrassment only led to a giggle which perpetuated the charade until the end of our dance. Perhaps you were being less subtle than necessary, but given how vexing the situation was, you thought you could be granted a little leeway.

As the quartet ceased their string stroking, Baron Sinclair and you found ourselves at the farthest end of the room and your back to where your future betrothed had been standing. Couples bowed and curtsied to one another before dispersing.

“I hope our plan works,” Baron Sinclair whispered before walking from you.

With a satisfied sigh, you strode across the room to find your bashful bloke. But where you had last seen him met you with a table with glasses of lemonade atop a pressed cream cloth. Not one Bridgerton was in sight, least of all the one you sought after. Your expression fixed itself on neutrality lest Lady Whistledown was watching - and she was always watching. As a new song began, you hunted for him amidst the dancers in case he had copied your scheme. But no, he was nowhere. You did however spy your mother scanning the heads of the party - most likely for you - so you ducked into the adjacent hallway and flattened yourself against the wall in a pretence of taking a breath.

“Miss L/N.”

Fuck. Caught, and by Colin Bridgerton of all people, leaning against a wall opposite and nursing a drink you could smell was alcoholic from here.

“Mr Bridgerton,” You lifted away from the wall (but still used it as a shield), bowing your head though you offered him no more politeness than required. “Might I ask where your brother is?”

“Which one?” The same joke, every time, and every time you still asked the same question and was provided the same answer:

“The second one.” You said it without the usual jest.

With an exaggerated shrug, Colin replied, “I’m afraid I’ve no clue where Benedict is.”

“Well, enjoy your evening.” And you quickly moved on.

Your eyes and ears surveyed every room twice more before leaving for another. But he was nowhere in the house from what you could sense. Unless he was hiding in the bathroom, but you would wait for proof on that before becoming disgusted at such a cowardly - and frankly gross - avoidance.

A fruitless search really soured your mood. You did not consider your plan working so well it drove him away. The dances were starting to irritate you with all the happy couples swaying around and everyone else staring either pleased to see someone they knew matched or alongside you with your ugly envy.

Cool crisp air bit into the bare skin of your chest and arms once you stepped out of doors. That disgusting heat of the ballroom was stifling, and your chest relaxed once more. Tuberose bloomed through the gaps in the stone staircase’s balusters. They reached for you as you dropped down each step with a pout on your face, wanting to promise you that things would work out better. And you knew they were right, but that didn’t negate the fact that right now everything felt a little bit worse.

A chill of goosebumps suddenly prickled on your neck. But the night was still, no breeze on any side of your body. You touched the sensitive spot with your gloved hand before turning to their source of strife.

On the terrace above, looking down, a glass in his hand, was Benedict. His position was central in the gallery of windows that the house held. His face was thrown in shadows but you could still make out the slope of his nose, and you could feel his fixed stare still holding you in place. How could you have been so stupid to forget the terrace? There was little hope for him not seeing how flushed you were - even from that distance - but you had one thing keeping me the executive of this dance he’d extended from the ballroom: you stared right back, allowing soft blinks only to change about how you looked up at him.

“There you are, dearest!”

You blinked away from Benedict’s stare. Mother was approaching with her arms wide open; they turned you about on the spot when she reached you before ushering you in the direction of the carriage.

She reinforced her gesture, “Come, it’s time to go home.”

A glance over your shoulder revealed Benedict moving back inside the house. His glass was left on the balcony, a few droplets remaining inside. Your elbow lifted from your mother’s grasp.

“One moment, Mama, I have yet to say goodbye to Eloise.”

You fled back to the house before she could protest and catch you. Once inside, your feet moved deliberately with your chin up high, acting as though everything you did was completely correct and without haste. Your skirts were lifted to ascend the stairs. Your head searched left and right before your left wrist jerked away from you, dragging you down one of the empty corridors until you collided with a hard chest. As you were straightening up, your search ended.

“Benedict,” You cleared your throat, “How opportune, I was just looking for you.”

“And I you.” But the dance continued.

“I think you’re lying; your avid interest in avoiding me since the start of this week can’t have changed as suddenly as it started.”

That certainly caught him off guard. Before he only looked a little flustered. Now he looked agog. Though he shouldn’t have been. Your bluntness was a staple of your relationship.

After a moment’s quiet, he spoke, “I apologise for my absence. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Such as?”

“My art school application, my elder brother’s most odd behaviour this season, your father’s unveiled threats, and the fact that you are dancing around men who don’t deserve to think of you.”

“What about what I deserve? Not a word for a week from you, after five of making your intentions explicit! Am I worthy of such confusion?” You said, the sardonic tone ladled on a tad thick, but Benedict’s wide eyed reply was just as you wanted.

“No, of course not.”

“Then what?”

Benedict was not a poet. So it was natural to see him struggle with his words. However a spike of concern reached your heart when you saw that he was genuinely becoming upset over this. He brought a fist to his mouth, his family crest embedded on his ring, to muffle his words as he blurted out:

“God, I wish I could capture you. Then I could get all my thoughts for you onto a canvas and hang it in a museum, muse about it with my peers over its true meaning then forget as I move onto my next piece. But you were never made to hang on a wall or to be still long enough for me to get some interpretation of your being in paint so that I might know you better.”

“What is it about me you wish to know, my Lord?” You asked slowly, trying not to wobble under the weight of his implications.

“I want to know your feelings towards me.”

“I have been very transparent with how I feel about you. Not once have I tried to hide it, nor will I ever attempt to.”

“Unless you decide to dance with another man.”

Your hand shot up between you, a fingertip hovering an inch over his lips, “You wish for me to give myself over to you, you do not interrupt me again.” Once you had Benedict’s seal of approval and or his mouth, you continued with a little more openness in your voice: “Benedict, I feared that I would wait forever for you to tell me that you loved me just as I love you. So forgive my impatience and garish speech, but I had to spur you into a decision because it is both our futures that your inaction will affect.”

“I doubt your father will let me ask for your hand.”

“I did not realise you were marrying my father instead of me.” Unfortunately, you could not stop that one slipping past your notice.

Benedict rolled his eyes, though his grin still broke through before he could mask it again. That eased your nerves a little. Just a hint of that glorious beaming smile crinkling at his eyes made you feel all the better. At least you hadn’t put him off completely with your little rebellion.

But to play on the safe side for once, you continued with sincerity, “He cannot force me to marry someone I do not love, he should know this by now. Besides, if you were to remain resolute and stand up to him, he might respect you more than if you were to cower away from one verbal altercation.”

Sighing, Benedict smoothed back his hair and said sarcastically, “How was I so blind? He is where you get your talent for frustrating me from.”

Your tensions were now placated as you shared a quelled laugh. You did deserve that dig, but he would not love you so much if you did not keep him on his toes lest he need to sprint to your aid. Any other lady here would keep him on the heel, ready to back away from a dance he was wrangled into by a mother - his or the lady in question. No disrespect to them, but you were a better fit to the second born Bridgerton now more than ever, having literally chased him down. And now he should know that he was the best for you, capturing you unchaperoned in a whirlwind.

Unknown footsteps echoed from the left. Benedict swiftly whipped aside a nearby curtain and you both ducked behind it. Its length kept everything down to your shoes hidden from the pair passing by. Your chests held your breaths long after they left the corridor,

Your profiles were framed by a glass canvas that showed the gardens. The buttery glow of candlelight against the night’s darkness through the other windows stretched out over the lawns, contrasting the stillness with new shadows popping in and out alongside the party’s hubbub. But the gardens did not interest you in the slightest. You were too busy looking at Benedict’s arresting eyes to bother with the risk of your circumstances.

“You are rather too good at pulling me into hiding spots,” You whispered, “One might think you’re trying to keep me for yourself.”

A glint sparked in the corner of his cornflower stare, “That’s exactly what I am doing.”

“My mother is waiting for me in our carriage,” was all you could profess to counter with.

“You should leave then,” Benedict replied, the lilt in his voice finally giving you that teasing you’d been waiting for all week.

With a smirk, you shook your head, “No.”

Your body was pressed against the cool glass, trapped between an artist’s hands as he moulded you against his mouth. You let him paint inside your mouth with the brush of his tongue against yours mixing new creations into being. A short prayer flitted across your thoughts that no one should enter the garden until you were satisfied. You did not linger on it to ensure the Lord heard me, for Benedict was far more worthy of your time and worship.

Looping your leg over his buttocks, you felt his stiff cock beneath his breeches press against you. Both of you dared to moan together, a forbidden harmony that would ruin you should someone else tread this corridor. But, as Benedict’s kisses travelled down your jaw, you could not find it within you to care.

“What do you deserve?” His lips buzzed on your neck with every word, and as his hands pulled from your waist, you heard the faint click of his belt, “You deserve the world, and I shall spend my life providing it.”

“Is that a promise?” You teased.

No more words followed. Benedict ripped up your skirts in so deranged a manner that you almost worried he would tear them. But no, he was too careful for that. Even when his large hands found your bare thighs beneath the layers of fabric and hoisted you up, you knew he would never harm you. Hurt, maybe, but not harm.

Your clumsiness brought on by tantalising delights fumbled to bring you two together, keeping you open for him and guiding him over your cunt. Clearly he wasn’t letting you get off so easily with your recent behaviour. Or maybe he was rewarding it, because the way he rubbed you was more intoxicating than any cocktail. Your voice had a hard time staying in your throat, but Benedict could feel how your breath shuddered and stopped at his touch, so it only motivated him to trust his process as well as drive him to push further.

The moment you felt him enter you, you knew you’d experienced something close to Heaven. No wonder it was so scandalous before marriage, you felt such a naughty enchantment in Benedict’s prowess that you would love for all of the ton to know, to resent you for capturing his heart and his cock. But as he kissed you deeply, grasping at your legs to fit a better angle, you knew that it would be your best kept secret and one only married couples would get a hint of gossip about. He was made to fit inside you.

Vulgar noises trembled on your tongue. Every noise made, the slap of your skin, the delight his cock met your cunt with, was hiding beneath the muffled orchestra beneath the floor.

There was nothing to hold but your Benedict. Your arms were folding behind his neck one moment then your hands were sliding down to tug on his hair the next. His fingers dug purple blemishes into your skin, the warmth of his ring promising to leave the biggest mark. A cross worth bearing if it kept you here. Plus he might have ruined your hair if he was not occupied pinning you to the window.

His every movement brought your pleasure, building upon the last before it faded, and bouncing into you, kissing and missing until your lips were bruised. Your head knocked against the glass as you whimpered for him. You knew you would not last, but you were reassured by the fact that he would not either - if the state of his hips’ pace was anything to go by. How easily you took each other apart, the knowledge of your partner stoked the fire and burnt the kindling that was your fulfilment until you knew nothing but the space between curtain and window.

His face was in your chest, kissing what little of your breasts he could reach in this dress while you pet his hair. In your lust, I almost damned what scandal would follow and demanded he rip the bodice from your body and ravish you once more. But as he licked the sweat off your neck and the clock chimed nine, you knew you would have to part now.

As you slipped down the window back to your unsteady feet, your skirts falling back into place like nothing had occurred, the fogged up panes steamed around a silhouette of your sin caught your attention.

“Did that capture me long enough for you to understand?”

“Not as long as I would have liked,” Benedict said with a slight tilt of his head, “But long enough, yes.”

“You could pick me back up.”

“Temptress, you would have my sore arms and later your mother to answer to.”

You both set about wiping it away, the smudges at least removing some of your evidence before Benedict thought to use the curtain as an extra measure. You daintily knelt down on your still shaking legs to catch the remaining spots. A thought crossed your mind to undo his trousers for him, but the satisfaction of your love making plus his reminder of your mother had both sated and spoiled your sordid mood. Your hands met at the last of the condensation, and Benedict helped you to stand.

“I will call on you tomorrow,” He said, linking your fingers together, “And I shall ask your father for your hand. We will start our new life together, and I will have all the time in the world to know you.”

Though his sincerity moved you, you still had just a little left in you to rag him: “But only if I accept.”

“Will you?”

“I do deserve the world, Benedict. Because you are my world,” and you kissed his hand in yours, “Yes, I will accept.”

And he smiled at you. All my life you would want to see that smile at minimum thrice a day: when you woke in the morning, over lunch or a reunion in the mid afternoon, and just before you went to sleep. You would relish in its warmth and unabashed joy

Mother found you at the edge of the ballroom, having not found Eloise after all but staying “for another dance”, hence your flustered appearance. She ushered you into the carriage and you set off immediately. Through the window, you could see him once again on the terrace whilst your horses pulled away from the party. It was impossible for him to have seen you and at this distance it was hard to tell, but you could picture his face. It was etched onto your mind as you drifted off in your bed.

He kept his word, arriving post breakfast with a bouquet of tulips. You pretended not to suspect a thing as he requested a lone audience with your parents and - once they had returned to the drawing room - with you. And if you saw the bulge in his pocket that would be the approximate size of a ring box, then all suspense was stolen in favour of planting seeds of what your marriage would look like. His proposal watered those seeds, and his smile at your unhesitant acceptance was the sunlight.

#benedict bridgerton #Benedict bridgerton fanfic #Benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfic x reader #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #smut #my writing #wc: 5k<#r: female

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