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dcxdpdabbles · 9 months

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Alfred's Boy Part 4

"Master Bruce, would it be alright if I had someone over?" Danny's soft voice breaks the chatter around the table. Bruce is honestly surprised to hear the boy speak up without prompting. It takes him a moment to answer how unexpecting the request is.

The boy seems to think his silence is an answer, for he ducks his head and brings up his shoulders. "Nevermind. It was stupid. I'll tell Clockwork to forget it."

"No. No. This is your house as well, Danny. You can invite any of your friends. I'm just surprised Clockwork would allow you to contact guests from your old home." Bruce assures. His eyes flicker to the rest of the table, showing how everyone is focused on their own plates, but all conversation has died.

He is sure half of his children are attempting to develop super hearing with how much they are straining to eavesdrop.

"He's not really a friend, per se." Danny pushes some of his food to one side of his plate. It's a nervous habit Bruce had realized he does when speaking of his old home. Not just food but anything he can fiddle with, as Danny seems unable to hold still when nervous. "Wes and I have....a history, you can say. Clockwork said that he was allowed to visit because he knew what was happening but wasn't too involved with the situation. Not like Sam and Tucker, my best friends, or my sister Jazz. "

A history? Oh no, was this "Wes" an ex?

Bruce looks again at his youngest and fights a wince at Damian's dark sneer as the boy stabs his broccoli. Please let Wes just be anything but an ex. He doesn't want to follow the other kid around to make sure he doesn't have to fight off his children from bringing him harm.

Dick speaks up, likely thinking along the same lines. "I'm glad you can still have someone to see you! When will he be here? Will he be alright with Gotham's....everything?"

A smile is fighting at the corner of Danny's lips, and Bruce swears he can hear his children's hearts shatter as the boy flushes slightly. "Trust me, Wes can handle a lot. Clockwork said he would let Alfred know the details if Master Bruce agreed."

The butler pulls out an old-looking pocket watch. After checking the time, Alfred snaps it close with an impassive smile. "Clockwork will have the boy here in three days. I believe Danny will have a few days off then to enjoy his company?"

It's not really a request, but Bruce still nods. "Of course."

Danny's entire face lights up. It's the most joy he's seen on the boy's face since his arrival. "Thank you, Master Bruce. Thank you, Alfred. Can you please excuse me? I want to prepare his room."

"Of course, dear boy," Alfred nods his head. Danny is gone in a flash, a secret smile pulling at his lips. He waits a few seconds, so Danny's footsteps can fade away before leveling a stern stare at everyone at the table.

Bruce straightens his back out of reflex when that all-knowing stare passes over him. He barely contains a sigh of relief when Alfred slightly lingers on him to transfer his gaze to Damian.

He feels terrible for his son but cannot step between the butler and him. Damian will have to fight this battle on his own.

"I trust everyone here will not give Danny or his guest any grief during his break." It's not a question. It's a camond. Everyone shivers slightly out of fear.

"No."

"You don't have to worry about me"

"I have some stuff to do."

"Of course not Alfred."

Alfred doesn't precisely threaten them, but he does make his eyes a little darker "Danny's guest will not find shadows following him."

A few of his kids look heartbroken, while Jason has an expression of manic glee blooming on his face.

The following night, Danny is asking for ideas on where to take Wes on his tour. Apparently, both are from a small town and are used to having fewer options for entertainment.

"Kids usually either went to the mall or the local burger place. The mall wasn't even that big too, so after a while it got boring" Danny admits.

"You have to take him to Batburger," Jason tells Danny. Bruce fights the urge to leap over the table and punch his child. Jason knows that Danny hadn't gone to the restaurant so a lot of his siblings had been dreaming of taking the boy on a date there.

He's just rubbing salt in the wounds at this point.

"I think I will. I'll take him to museums too. Wes loves history." Danny writes some ideas down in a little notebook. He's taken to carrying it around, brainstorming a perfect weekend there.

Bruce had glanced at it earlier that day, when Danny had been busy cleaning and had read, "Make out point- Dick said the stars are the clearest there."

He almost had a heart attack. For all that Danny was Alfred's boy, Bruce still felt very protective of Danny like his own. He did not want his somewhat son to be going to any place with the name make out point.

No one speaks after that- primarily due to his younger children trying to shift their sobs and the older ones trying to comfort them without letting Danny notice.

Eventually, Cullen gets up from the table, excusing himself with a half-baked excuse of needing to do homework, and Harper chases after him. The two are followed by Tim- whose eyes are glossy- Steph, who looks to be biting her lip. Duke, whose hands are curled into fists, and Damian, who stomps out like a bull about to charge.

Bruce leaps to his feet but is stopped by Dick, who pats his shoulder. "I got this."

"The plot thickens," Jason says before he, too, goes after his siblings. For all his teasing, his second oldest adores his brothers and sisters, so he'll be there in their time of need.

"Is something...wrong?" Danny asks after a moment of hesitation. "I can tell Clockwork and Wes not to do the visit."

"No. You have Wes over. We talk." Cass tells him, giving the boy a wink as she, too, steps away. "Tonight, all ice cream."

"Yes." Alfred sighs. "I do believe that would be best. A frozen treat to soothe the pain of heartbreak. I'll bring up the tubs for everyone in a moment."

Bruce fights the urge to bury his face in his hands as Danny spring to his feet offering to help with the ice cream, unaware he is the cause for the comfort food.

Despite the apparent tension in the manor, the promised weekend does arrive. Danny is beside himself with excitement. He's not wearing a suit for once- he's gotten to copying Alfred in a misguided attempt at a butler uniform- and is wearing street clothes.

Besides, when the first day, Bruce has never seen Danny in street clothes. He's surprised that Danny dresses like a punk rocker- complete with a black leather jacket, big combat boots, and various chains.

He looks like the type of person fathers warn their daughters away from. Bruce hates how that only makes more of his children bestowed.

Danny had given everyone a happy smile when Bruce handed him the keys to one of his sports cars- he saw no reason why Wes and Danny should take a bus to the airport when he had plenty of vehicles to lend him. Alfred had allowed the boy to go alone since Danny needed to go through a particular gate for Wes.

Apparently, Clockwork would be sending Wes on a private plane. It burned not to know who Clockwork was or what he did, but Bruce fought the urge to snoop to get Alfred to stop glaring at him.

"I bet you he's not even that great," Tim grumbles, stuffing a chocolate cookie into his mouth. "Bet you he's ugly."

"With buck teeth" Steph adds stealing her own cookie.

"He likely never even seen a sword," Damian spits.

"Come on guys, I know it sucks, but we can't just dis on Wes 'cause Danny likes him," Duke says though it's not very convincing, seeing as he dropped over the couch in a depressive slouch.

"Why are all the good gays taken?" Cullen sighs, ignoring the meta.

Bruce opens his mouth to offer some comfort or maybe lecture them, but the front door opens before he gets a chance. Everyone sits up only to slump down as Dick strolls in with a cheerful smile. They all glare at him, which makes Dick flauter in his steps for only a second.

"They're waiting for Danny," Bruce tells him. Dicks smile regains his cheer as the oldest throws himself on the couch.

"He's outside with his guest. Lovely guy."

"Is he ugly?" Tim asks hopefully. His dreams are dashed as Dick shakes his head.

"He could be a supermodel."

"Of course, he can."

Jason snorts from behind a book. Bruce knows he is not reading it, simply by the fact he hasn't turned a page in the last ten minutes- his son speed reads whenever he adores a book- and is likely enjoying the show.

The door opens again, this time accompanied by two sets of laughter. An unfamiliar voice wheezes "-Dash then reads out love poems he wrote about Phantom!

"No!" Danny gasps. "Not Dash Baxter. What did the other A-listers do in retaliation?"

"Nothing that's the crazy part. They had poems too!"

The two voices are carrying, so Bruce has a few seconds to prepare himself. So do his kids, who all sit up at attention, a few with not as welcoming expressions as he would like. The voices round the corner, and Bruce looks at Wes first.

Dick was right. He's a handsome young man with ginger hair and flickers of freckles. He is dressed similarly to Danny, but a little less black and slightly more burnt orange to add color to his punk look. A worn-out backpack is swung over his shoulder while the same arm is tugging along a suitcase behind him.

Wes is also holding Danny's hand with a free hand.

Damian makes a slightly wounded sound that digs a dagger into Bruce's heart. His baby's first heartbreak.

Danny looks surprised to see them all, seeing as the family usually prepares to go out as the Bats at this time- but he smiles widely after a moment. "Everyone I like you to meet Wesley Weston. Wes, this is my boss, Bruce Wayne, and his kids, Dick Grayson-wayne, Jason Todd-Wayne, Casandra Wayne, Tim Drake-Wyane, Stephine Brown, Damian Wayne, Cullen Row, and Harper Row."

Wes smiles at them, waving the hand he has interlocked with Danny. Bruce winces as most of his kids give half-hearted greetings. Thankfully Alfred is in the kitchen and misses their terrible manners.

Wes pauses and squits at the youngest of the house before he sighs. "Of course, it happens in this dimension too."

"What?" Danny asks confused

"Danny and I aren't dating," Wes tells the room, ignoring the startled boy he's launched onto. "Danny just needs to have physical contact for his mental health. So we hold hands. He also needs to have someone sleep with him. Otherwise, his core doesn't recharge correctly."

"Wes!" Danny protests. "They don't know about cores!"

"Oh," Wes shrugs, waving his hands at them, "Never mind. Processed as normal, Danny and I will cuddle in his room. Danny lead the way."

Alfred's foster son flushes a bright red but quickly tugs the guest away. Jason shakes from unrestrained laughter as Damian stabs the table on which he is sharpening his knives.

Bruce yells after the two boys.

"The door stays open, Danny!"

"Master Bruce, it's not like that!" Danny yells back, mortified, and Wes breaks into impish laughter.

"I hate him," Duke hisses, and Bruce gives in to the urge to bury his face in his hands.

It's going to be a long weekend.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Alfred's boy #Part 4 #Wes is just here for the cuddles #Yes Danny is from a different dimension in this.#Everyone from that dimension is hot #Bruce is trying to dad

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hopeluna-archived · 10 months

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Lay a little love on me! | Obey Me!

Synopsis: the Obey Me! characters when you're feeling needy

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Diavolo

CW: suggestive but no nsfw content

M.list

✘Lucifer

"Lucifer, are you done?"

The said demon sighs, with a hint of a smirk, when he hears your question. A question you had asked 10 times in the last 5 minutes.

"Just a few more minutes, darling"

"That's what you said a few more minutes ago...." Lucifer could hear you mutter under your breath with a pout. You didn't mean to be so....needy but what were you supposed to do when Lucifer had been practically ignoring you for the whole day and instead choosing to focus on his work.

Lucifer had to hold back a smug chuckle when you twisted and turned, all pouty and furrowed eyebrows as you scrolled away on your D.D.D. He wouldn't deny that seeing you like this, so starved of his attention, didn't make him feel cocky.

"Come here." A simple command, one that you followed hastily thinking it would be to help him with work, which would mean getting it done faster. What you didn't expect was for Lucifer to firmly, but gently, pull you down to straddle his lap. "Good now?" Lucifer smirked when you nodded, although surprised but happy, snuggled more close to him, his hand resting a little bit too up on your thigh.

He was definitely not going to get all his work done.

✘Mammon

Mammon almost jumped out of his skin in terror when you practically pounced on him as soon as he entered his room, latching onto him so close, hands ready to wander.

"M-MC, what are ye doing?"

"Missed you today" his face felt like it was burning when you started peppering kisses on the column of his neck, "so busy", a kiss, "all", another, "day", and again another kiss accentuated by every word. At that point, Mammon's head was surely going to explode at how lightheaded it felt when you whispered a 'need you' in his ear.

Mammon had been out all day today, courtesy of Lucifer making him work several shifts as a punishment and a way to pay back all the money he had spent away gambling the other week. You had been too busy at RAD with the student council too and so you couldn't even catch a glimpse of him properly without being swept away to look into another issue.

This had undoubtedly left you hot and bothered as it was rare to not see you two attached at the hip.

Mammon didn't say anything, instead choosing to lead you to the bed, falling over you with a grunt as he started nipping desperately at the crook of your neck. He could never say no to you now, could he?

✘Diavolo

You were slowly starting to get bored of the gala. The chatter of the people fading into the background as white music, the annoying kind of white noise. You would rather much have stayed in bed with Diavolo or maybe even a nice walk outside, the weather was certainly pleasant today.

Speaking of the demon, not that he had been neglecting you but he was defintely too preoccupied with his guests. Normally it wouldn't have bothered you, he is the future king of devildom, you understand that he has responsibilities.

Its the amount of women and men throwing themselves at your lover when you were right there, Diavolo's arm around you. All so eager to please the royal with their sweet complements and praises. All that Diavolo took with a smile, as he had to.

Your patience, which was already hanging by a thread, snapped when a certain demon was getting a bit too touchy to be considered appropriate. Taking Diavolo's hand in yours in a tight grip, you promptly proceeded to lead him away from the crowd to a quiet hallway just beside it.

"MC, are you alrig- " Diavolo was startled to say the least when you pulled him down to kiss you with such fervour. No matter how unexpected this was, he was definitely not complaining about the change of events, his face had already started to hurt from having to keep up a smile with even the not so pleasant guests.

When Diavolo pulled you more into him, the kiss getting deeper and more languid, you really hoped that somehow the demon from before had accidentally ventured out in the hallway to make it known to them who Diavolo really wanted.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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Family Affair

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, violence, humiliation, biting, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your sister surprises you with good news but you find it difficult to be happy for her. (older, short reader)

Character: Curtis Everett

Note: Happy Curtmas.

For @the-slumberparty Naughty or Nice Challenge.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Chatter buzzes from the front room as you brace the wall and lift your foot to unzip your wedge boot. You’re late and the guests are already in the throes of their celebration. You wiggle off both boots and set them amid the clutter of many. As you stand straight and gather up your gift bags and purse, you’re met with an unexpected sight.

You lift a brow, slightly confused by the unfamiliar man. He’s tall, his hair is cut short, and dark stubble adds definition to his well-formed jaw. His eyes are a bold shade of aquamarine but are glossed over with an almost indifferent gleam. He doesn’t say a word as your eyes meet and he just as quickly turns into the front room, hands tucked into the pockets of his black jeans.

It’s been a few years. You’re sure a lot has changed. You head down the hall, past the broad archway of the front room, and into the kitchen. As usual, your mother is there, readying another tray of finger foods.

She looks up from her intent work and gives a wide smile, “you’re here!” She chimes, “I was half-waiting for a call saying you wouldn’t make it.”

Her arrow hits the bullseye of your guilt. You haven’t been the most reliable. You can make excuses; the divorce, work, depression. None of that can assuage her.

“Sorry, mom,” you go to put the gift bags down and she stops you with a tut.

“Ah, ah, you go add those to the pile and say hello,” she demands, “you’re not hiding in here.”

You look at her, almost desperate. You love her but sometimes you wonder if that feeling is mutual. As much as she’s right, you hoped she might have some empathy. She’s been through a turbulent split, she’s had to start again, but she expects you to do it flawlessly. As she has anything else.

“Love you, mom,” you give a sheepish smile.

“Love you too, hon,” she goes back to arrange the spiral of cocktail weenies, “make sure you say hello to your sister. She’s so excited to see you.”

You nod and a real smile breaks through. That was the one light at the end of the tunnel. Your baby sister was always your favourite. Despite nearly two decades between you, she’s your best friend. In a way, you feel like a second mother, taking pride in her like you would a child of your own.

The front room is filled to the brim. Aunt Geri and Uncle Val sit on a sofa with their son, Miko. A cluster of similarly aged cousins stand at the edge of the couch chatting. Aunt Maureen argues with Aunt Kaya, and the latter’s husband stands by the window with a glass in hand and his mind a million miles away.

You always found yourself out of place at these things. When you were a child, you were the youngest one in the room. Too immature to understand the dialogue of your elders. As you got older, the other cousins came along and were too young for your angsty teenage self. Now, you’re caught in the desert between the eras; the retirees complain too much and the coeds talk too loud.

You peer around. A set of broad shoulders draws your eye in the corner of the room. It’s that same man you saw before. He has his back to you as he maintains a casual posture. As he leans on one leg, you see your sister, Adeline, gabbing to him. Oh, he must be with her…

As you drop your gifts under the tree, you mull the revelation. You suppose the assumption wasn’t obvious. At first glance, he’s older than her, or maybe he just looks it. She’s still a sophomore in college but you suppose that makes even more sense. These are the years she gets to figure it all out.

You face the room and stop as Aunt Maureen latches onto your arm, blindsiding you with Kaya as they close in like hyenas.

“There she is,” Maureen slurs.

“Not too good for us after all, huh?” Kaya challenges.

“What? No, uh, Merry Christmas–”

“Where’s Benny?” Maureen interrupts. You blanch, nearly choking on your tongue. The mention of your ex-husband has you breathless.

“Maur,” Kaya hisses, “remember…”

“Probably with his new girlfriend,” you say tersely.

“Oh my,” Maureen lets you go and slaps her forehead, “I’m so sorry. The wine…”

“It’s… okay,” you shrug. “Not talking about it won’t undo it.”

“He was such a charming man,” Maureen hums mournfully. You blink at her.

“His loss,” Kaya pats your arm gently, trying to clean up her sister’s mess. You know they all think the same. You had a good thing and you blew it. Even if you told them he fucked his co-worker, you’d be the one who threw it all away.

“Pity you never got a kid outta him,” Maureen sighs.

“Really, divorce has been final for a year, I’m good,” you insist and shuffle past them, “I’m going to make the rounds.”

“Don’t forget to have some wine,” Maureen calls after you, “takes the edge off disappointment, you know?”

You growl and shake your head as you stalk away. You wave hello to your other aunt and uncle, hoping to avoid a similarly humiliating encounter, and weave through the sea of guffawing cousins. You come out on the other side as Adeline beams up at her guest.

Her gaze is drawn by your movement and her face lights up. She bounces in place and throws her arms out. She rushes past the man and has you wrapped up in a hug. It’s kind of ridiculous how much taller she is. You’re supposed to be the bigger sister.

“You’re here!” She rocks you in her embrace, “eek! I’m so excited.”

You croak out a breath as she squeezes the air out of you. She releases you with a giggle, apologising as she steps back. She wears a long tulle skirt and a beaded sweater. She’s beautiful. You could never pull something like that off, even twenty years ago.

“Oh, oh, you have to meet Curtis,” she snatches your hand and tugs you over the tall man as he turns to face you. Those same vague eyes fall upon you, “Curtis, this is my sister!”

“Curtis,” you repeat, “it’s nice to meet you.”

You look between them with a brittle smile. He offers his hand as he returns the sentiment. You shake, his palm rough and calloused. Adeline vibrates with joy.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says.

“And I’ve heard nothing about you,” you grin at Adeline, “Addy?”

“I’m sorry,” she cups her cheeks guiltily, a sparkle on her ring finger. Your heart drops. “I didn’t know how to– the divorce and–”

“Ad,” you wisp and nearly sway on your feet, “what is that?”

You point to her hand and she quickly swipes it away, hiding it behind her back. “Nothing,” she gulps, the same way she did when she was a child and you caught her playing with your makeup.

There’s a tense silence as you gape in shock. Your mouth hangs open as you search for the words. Your eyes tinge with hot tears but you swallow them back.

“Congratulations,” you draw her into a hug, “really, I’m happy for you.”

She hugs you back, gentler than before. As you part, she looks nervous. Curtis clears his throat.

“Both of you,” you offer him a fragile smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little… shocked. Does mom know?”

Adeline nods as she clasps her hands together. You take a breath, and calm yourself. It’s not anything that she fears, you’re not jealous. You’re nervous, you’re afraid for her. It’s a big thing and she’s so young.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around to share the good news,” you say, “I’d love to help, if I can?”

“We got it,” Curtis insists.

“Oh,” you wince, “I didn’t mean– I could help with the planning or the engagement part–”

“We’re eloping,” he crosses his arms, “we’re not wedding people. Whole lot of money and fanfare for nothing.”

You nod, holding back your surprise as best you can. Nothing? It’s marriage. Even if they don’t want a big ceremony, it means something.

“I could help pay for the trip–”

“I got it,” he enunciates each word as he sidles over to sling his arm around your sister’s back. She looks away meekly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. She’s my sister, I just want to–”

“If you wanted to help, you would’ve been around the last two years,” he interjects.

Adeline’s head snaps around as she gives him a look. She nudges him with her elbow and whispers his name. He glares at you as you wilt. You’re not sure what you’ve done or said.

“Well, I think maybe me and Addy can talk about that,” you look at your sister, “when you have a chance, of course. I don’t want to spoil the holiday.”

“Adeline,” he corrects you, “Addy is so juvenile.”

The benefit of the doubt splinters as his tone cuts through you. You bite your tongue. Perhaps a twenty-one year old is juvenile to someone his age. You’ll talk to Addy about that too.

“Adeline,” you force a smile, “I… I’m going to go check on mom.” You show a palm in deference as you excuse yourself, “we’ll catch up later.”

As you back away, your eyes meet Curtis’. He watches you with a scowl. You are taken completely off balance. How could she end up with someone like him? She’s so sweet and he’s so scary…

Maybe she’s afraid too.

🎄

Christmas Eve ends much the same as you remember. The elders sit around the dining table to play cards as the kids, now adults, disperse in the living room or outside to entertain themselves. There’s a vague stench near the front door that no one will comment on but everyone knows what it is as it wafts in from outside.

You find yourself in limbo, once more caught in the in-between. You hole up in the kitchen, staring at the kettle as you wait for it to tremble. You won’t be missed if you take a tea up to your assigned room without a good night.

You lean on the counter and sigh, your finger brushing over the brim of the white porcelain cup with the hen on it. Strange how your mother’s house never seems to change but your life is inextricably altered. Your melancholy dims the cheery decor around you as you wallow away from the voices of the merry.

“There you are,” Adeline startles you as she sweeps in, “oh, is there any of the hot choccy left?”

You smile at her question. Everything about her reminds you of the time passed, of her newfound adulthood, yet she’s just the same little girl you always knew. You turn and pull the tin forward, “one packet left, just for you.”

You pull it out and face her again. She pulls out a mug from the cupboard and sets it down. The kettle hums between you as it heats up.

She exhales as you linger in a tense silence. You both have so much to say but neither of you know where to start. She finds her words first. Despite being younger, she was always the more outspoken.

“Do you like him?” She asks.

You poke your tongue into your cheek, “well, I’ve barely spoken to him. He seems to like you though.”

Her cheeks bulb as she grins bashfully, “I love him.”

Your chest seizes as you recognize that glimmer in her eye. She’s genuine, she feels that love so deeply it consumes her. It’s a naive love but real nonetheless. The sort you can’t see for what it is until it turns sour.

“I can tell,” you reach forward to fix the bow on her headband, “I’m happy for you. And my offer still stands. Maybe if it’s not the wedding, a honeymoon, or help with a house…” you wet your lips and steady your voice, “I only want you to be happy, Addy– Adeline.”

“Oh, he’s just… he’s like that. I can’t even call him Curt. He balances me out,” she beams.

“Yeah,” you say noncommittally.

“What?” Her voice dampens.

“Nothing,” you distract yourself with the variety of tea bags in the wooden chest next to the breadbox, “it’s… a lot. I’m surprised, is all. I just hope it goes well.”

She sniffs and lets her breath out long and heavy, “I’m sorry, I knew– he kinda said you’d probably be upset. After Benny–”

“This has nothing to do with him,” you narrow your eyes at her, a bag of chai in your hand, “this is about you. I only want what’s best for you.”

“He’s so good to me, you don’t have to worry.”

“I can worry, you’re my baby sister,” you insist, “and…” You shake your head, refusing to let the thought escape.

“And what?” She challenges, her pitch squeaking.

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me. I can always tell when you’re dying to say something. What?”

You shrug, “it’s just… how old is he?”

She scoffs, “wow.”

“What? I’m just asking.”

“It’s not like he’s old enough to be dad,” she pouts and crosses her arms.

“I know, I didn’t mean– Ad–Adeline, I just— you have time to figure it out. So I hope you’re not rushing this.”

“I’m not,” she snips, an uncharacteristic edge in her voice.

“I believe you… but what about him?”

She’s quiet as the kettle clicks, signalling the boiling point. You turn and drop the tea bag into your cup and pour the water. She tears open the packet and empties it into her own mug.

“Sorry,” you utter, “forget it. I… I don’t know him so maybe I need to get to know him. I’m here, Ad, and I will always be here for you.”

She nods and reaches for the kettle, not looking at you.

“Really, I trust you. I just worry about you,” you clap your hand on her shoulder, “you’re my lil teddy bear.”

She chuckles and looks down at you, your statement made absurd by the difference in your heights.

“And you’re the big grizzly, scaring off the wolves,” she kids back.

“Adeline,” the deep rumble thunders in ahead of the man, making both of you jump. You pull back your hand as Curtis strides in, “hey, I’ve been waiting on you.”

“Oh, sorry, baby,” she preens at him, “I was just–”

“You said we’d call my family after dinner,” he interrupts.

“I forgot,” she squeals, “oh, I’m so sorry.” She glances over at you, “I did promise.”

“Go on,” you try to smile but you’re not sure it’s showing.

She spins and flits over to Curtis. His eyes meet yours over her shoulder. His brows arch as his jaw is set in stone. A chill runs up your spine at the ice in his dark pupils. He grabs Adeline’s hand and drags her out.

You’re left in silence. You look over at the unmixed powder floating in the steaming water. You chew your lip as you stare at it. It’s just hot chocolate but there’s something about her abandoning something she loves so much for him. You try not to let your own failed marriage echo over her relationship, but it just feels off.

Well, Benny always did say you never did handle change very well.

🎄

The night before Christmas is rarely a restful one. Even without the childish belief in Saint Nick, you find yourself awake, anxious but not for presents. You keep replaying the night through your head; not the awkward interactions with aunts and uncles, or the silent judgment from the younger crowd, but Adeline and Curtis. Let it go, it’s none of your business.

You huff and roll on your back. Sleep eludes you. You sit up and bend over the side of the bed. You hold your head. You’ll sneak out the bathroom and hopefully an empty bladder will help.

You drag your feet across the floor, the legs of your pajama pants too long and trailing down your feet. You open the door and yawn as you enter the hall, only to collide with another unexpected barrier. Before you can react, you’re being forced back into the guestroom, stumbling as your fingers claw at the door frame and slip off.

A hand smothers your mouth, rough against your lips, as a foot kicks the door shut with a sharp click. You murmur into the calloused flesh as an arm loops around your back, trapping you as you’re urged further into the dark. You grasp at the cotton clinging to muscular shoulder. You’re kept off balance by your attacker’s certainty.

“I fucking heard you,” Curtis’ silty grit seeps into your ears, “you think I’d hurt her?” He snarls as he stops you at the foot of the bed. His shadow looms over you, breath puffing from his nostrils as he growls like a beast, “I wouldn’t, but I’ll hurt you.”

He pushes you back so your legs meet the side of the bed. You teeter and clasp your hand around his wrist, squeaking as he easily takes you down onto the mattress. He pins you, your legs hanging off the end, kicking weakly as his other hand curves around your throat.

He bends over you, straddling your chest heavily. You can’t breathe. Your heart pounds until your ears throb. Your temples pulse violently and your throat dries to a sandy scrape.

“Stay out of my fucking business,” he snarls, sliding down your body.

You whimper into his hand as he drops his knees off the bed, holding himself over you. He squeezes your neck, choking out your voice as he drags his hand from your mouth. He feels along your chest and flicks open the top button of your shirt. Your eyes wet in horror.

“Fucking show you…” he sneers as his breath scours over your flesh.

Another button undone as his lips tick along your shoulder. You squeak once more as he sinks his teeth into your flesh, biting a mean pinch until you spasm. The pain is unbearable. You feel the skin break as the hot flow of blood mingles with his spit.

He detaches only to bite you again. You can’t make a noise as his grip grows tighter on your neck. Even if you could scream, you’re too terrified and confused to understand what he’s doing. He’s like an animal tearing you apart.

He lays a tortured path down your chest, lingering on the rise of flesh, gnawing into the tenderness there. His nails dig into your side, pushing up your shirt as he scratches hot lines into your skin. You push on his shoulders desperately but he’s too strong.

“Stop filling her head with your bitterness,” he growls before he bites into your nipple.

You shake and beat on his head, shoulders, and back. You writhe and wrestle, trying to free yourself from him. He continues on, down your stomach, lingering on the soft flesh as his fingers hook into the elastic of your pants.

Your panic overflows with your tears. This can’t be happening. Why would he do this? He could talk to you? You would listen. You didn’t say anything wrong, you just want Adeline to be careful.

The very thought of your sister throttles you. Does he do this to her? Is this why she’s so defensive? The idea makes you sick to your stomach.

He lifts himself, his weight centering on your neck. You think he’ll crush your windpipe as he looms over you, snarling in the blackness. He pushes you higher onto the bed, forcing your legs open with his knees.

“Don’t make a fucking noise or I’ll make sure you can’t,” he threatens, giving a last squeeze before slowly slackening his grip.

You hold your breath. You believe him. Your body goes limp and you close your eyes. The bed shifts as he sits back on his heels. He pulls your pants down your thighs and you whine. He hushes you, a harsh tap across your cheek to get his point across.

You let your head drift to one side as you clench the blanket beneath you in tight fists. He keeps your legs trapped in your pants, knees bent as the fabric strains across his stomach. He tilts and movies around, his fingernails scratching the back of your thighs.

“Bet the husband couldn’t stand your fucking mouth,” he snarls as he pushes roughly against your cunt. “Didn’t know how to train you.” He jams two fingers into you, jolting your entire body, “dry bitch like you, he was probably thirsty as fuck.”

You seal your eyes tight, tears trickling through as a sob bubbles in your throat. You want to tell him to stop. You want to ask why. You want to scream. You can’t do anything as your body locks up.

He fingers you meanly, pulling his fingers out only to ram them in again, each time his knuckles hit you painfully. He keeps it up, growling with each intrusion as your muscles knots and pathetic noises rise from your throat.

He forces your legs higher, tearing his hand away from your pelvis. He adjusts his knees and you feel something else against your cunt.

“No…” you whisper right as he ruts into you.

He splits you apart around him. You let out a holler and he quickly silences you with a crack of his knuckles. The back of his hand snaps off your cheek and turns your head to the other side. You gulp and sob, choking back any noise that threatens to bubble over.

He holds himself as deep as he can. He puts his large hands on your shoulders and pins you flat. He bucks, agony rippling up your spine. He snaps his hips, again and again, each time harder than the last.

“This is what you need. So fucking jealous, aren’t you? Dried up old bitch,” he pumps into you as his breath picks up, “why kind of sister are you, huh? Fucking your baby sister’s man. Fucking slut.”

You cover your face and heave. You’re drowned in pain and humiliation. You’re disgusted with him for doing this to you; and yourself for letting him.

“You don’t wanna hurt her, do you?” He growls, “that’s why this is happening… cause you wanna keep her safe, right?”

He puts his hand against your head and pushes it down into the bed, fucking you into the mattress. The frame pounds the wall, matching his furious rhythm. You reach to brace his thick arm, begging silently for it to end.

“Oh, it’ll be over soon,” he rasps as his hand once more frames your throat, “fuck, you got me ready to blow quicker than I thought.” He puffs, each thrust rattling your bones, “I love how weak you are.”

#curtis everett #dark curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #one shot #snowpiercer #au #christmas #naught or nice

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sapphire-writes · 7 months

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Chapter 2: Curiosity Killed The Cat

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

summary ~ You begin to adapt to the unusual events of Harrenhal and your mysterious host. An unexpected guest arrives.

warnings below the cut for your convenience

warnings ~ spooky ghostly stuff, spiders

note: and so begins our spooky adventure! I hope you enjoy it!

banner made by the fantastic @ewanmitchellcrumbs, ilysm ange!

You lay in bed, tossing and turning for several hours waiting for another scream to inevitably pierce through the now silent halls of Harrenhal house.

Your eyes are too heavy, and you drift into a dreamless sleep. The belly full of tea must have helped soothe your nerves. Or perhaps it was more your time spent with the stoic head of the house.

It is Maelor’s cry that wakes you the following morning, rather than his mother’s, through the baby monitor on your nightstand. You hear his small gurgles as he wakes, hungry for his morning bottle. Grabbing the monitor, you jump out of bed to head toward the nursery.

As you walk down the hallway, the door opens and Jaehaera stands dressed in a pink dress, her hair done in two braids down the side of her head.

“Beat you!” she says, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“How’d you get ready so quickly?” you comment, smile slightly faltering, “And how did you do your h--”

“Come on Miss Gevie, breakfast is my favorite meal of the day!” she sings, brushing past you and towards the hallway.

“Jaeha--- um--- I have to get Maelor!” you call, as she disappears around the corner her braids swinging behind her, “Okay….you head down!”

The day starts with a simple breakfast of oatmeal and eggs--Jaehaera is first to inform you that the only way to eat eggs is sunny side up. Aemond joins you but only for a cup of coffee. You notice he prefers it black. He doesn’t speak to you, listening intently to Jaehaera as she chatters away. Then Jaehaera begins her morning lessons when her tutor arrives promptly at nine. A kind older woman who awards you a tight smile when she introduces herself.

You hold Maelor against your hip as he babbles, walking through the main foyer and toward the library. Several workers have arrived, and you’ve seen Aemond directing them to different areas of the house throughout the morning. He’s present in the library, sitting at the oak desk when you enter.

“Sleep well?” he asks, as he notices you enter the library. His eye flickers to Maelor in your arms.

Rising from his seat, he closes a folder of papers before rounding the side of the desk. He walks closer to you, lifting his hand toward Maelor. The baby grabs Aemond’s forefinger with his pudgy fist.

“As well as I could. I was nervous during the night,” you admit, cheeks warming, “Just in case anything happened again.”

Aemond hums, still watching Maelor who holds his finger hostage. The baby brings it to his mouth, gnawing on it with his gums.

“He’s teething,” Aemond comments, “Hopefully that won’t cause more late-night disturbances.”

“It’s alright. I know what I signed up for,” you assure him, as he pulls his hand away from Maelor, patting the baby on the head.

“I’m afraid you’ll get more than you bargained for,” he says, eyes meeting yours, “This is…a lot.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to decipher the emotions he hides. Trying to find some cracks in the armor he wears during the day. You saw some last night, in the kitchen. The walls came down, if only for a moment.

“You need help,” you tell him, “You can’t manage this all on your own. The kids, Helaena, the house…I’m here to help.”

“The children,” he clarifies, “You’re here to help the children.”

“And you,” you offer, “I mean…if I can be of help with anything I’m happy to do so.”

Let me help you, you silently beg. Someone has to.

Aemond hums once more, “You’re very kind, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Just doing my job,” you assure him, but your face continues to warm at his compliment.

You hold each other’s gaze for several moments before Aemond finally looks away.

“I have some work to do,” he tells you, and you take it as a sign to leave him be.

“Maelor is about ready for a nap,” you tell him, turning on your heel to go.

You shut the door behind you, neither speaking again.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” Aemond tells you later in the week during one of your late-night chats.

A cup of tea at midnight has become somewhat of a tradition for both of you. Helaena wakes nearly every night. It's always the same. Screaming for the son she lost. The green and purple cups are always waiting for you in the cabinet by the stove for your inevitable journey into the kitchen.

“Just tying up some loose ends in King’s Landing,” he assures you, “Helaena should be alright. I’ve spoken with her doctor about increasing her nighttime medication.”

“And if she isn’t?” you ask, unable to hide your nervousness at the thought of him leaving.

Aemond watches you for a moment, humming softly to himself. It does little to soothe your nerves.

Things go smoother than expected while Aemond is away. You fall into a gentle routine with Jaehaera and Maelor.

While Jaehaera is in her lessons you bring Maelor to Helaena. As Aemond had prepared you, Helaena refuses to hold him. She barely even looks at him. Her eyes instead are trained on your face, reading your microexpressions like the pages of a book. You and Helaena don’t talk much during these visits, though you attempt to engage her in conversation.

She always joins you for lunch, after you put Maelor down for his afternoon nap. Jaehaera comes fresh from High Valyrian and chats with her mother in their native tongue.

Then it’s time for Jaehaera’s afternoon lessons and you get some time for yourself as Helaena returns to her room like a bird returning to its cage.

Usually, you journey to the library, browsing through the collection of novels and trying not to snoop. Though you must admit, in an old house like this it's hard not to.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Advice you should probably heed. You glance at a desk in the library strewn with papers. Aemond has a private office, he’d told you as much when you arrived. Still, your fingers skim the papers, and you pick up a manila folder examining its contents.

Old documents, withered and yellowed nearly disintegrating from age. You can barely read the cursive ledger on the page. Squinting, you are able to make out the word Strong.

Satisfaction brought it back.

A loud thump causes you to drop the folder in surprise, sending pages scattering to the floor.

“Shit,” you curse to yourself, dropping to your knees and picking up the pages, putting them back where they belong.

You hurry over to the window, looking outside. A red Corvette is parked, its driver missing. The noise must have been the car door slamming shut. Dusting off your knees you hurry out of the library closing the door behind you. You quicken your pace down the hall and front steps as voices echo from the kitchen.

A man stands in front of the sink clad in a three-piece suit, holding his cell phone to his ear.

“Tell Corlys…dammit, I can’t hear you,” he snaps, holding his phone in front of him, “Hello?”

The call clearly drops and he sighs, “Bloody service.”

You clear your throat, alerting him of your presence. He turns slowly, still looking at his phone as though he couldn’t be bothered with you being there at all. A lock of silver hair falls into his eyes as he leans against the counter. A ring on his hand catches the light. Like you’d need to see the Targaryen sigil stamped on the back. You knew he was a relative the moment you saw him.

Targaryens don’t camouflage well.

“Just a moment,” he comments, glancing up at you from his phone. He does a double-take, straightening up and slipping his phone into his back pocket, “Hello.”

“Sorry…I wasn’t expecting anyone,” you tell him, watching the corner of his mouth tick upwards in a smirk.

Aemond does that too.

“And I wasn’t expecting a beautiful woman to greet me,” the stranger says, “So I suppose we’re both surprised.”

Warmth floods through you at his flirtatious tone. He’s older--much older-- and an air of confidence encircles him like a veil of smoke.

“Daemon,” he introduces, extending his hand for you to shake, “And you must be the au pair.”

You place your hand in his, and he grasps it firmly. His palm is rough and warm; much larger than your own. Your lips part, you’re sure you haven’t taken a breath since he’s looked at you.

“Mhmm,” you answer, telling him your name.

Daemon releases your hand, shaking his head slightly as he chuckles to himself. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

“Something funny?” you ask, trying to keep the annoyance from your tone.

“No, nothing. I’ve found au pairs to be particularly helpful,” he comments, laughing under his breath as though he’d told a joke, “It just surprises me, is all.”

“Why is it surprising?”

“Aemond’s not usually the sort,” Daemon says, not clarifying any further.

You understand what he is implying, your cheeks growing hotter.

“Aemond and I have a strictly professional relationship,” you tell him, causing him to chuckle more.

“I’m sure you do. Aemond does value his professional relationships, doesn’t he?” Daemon says with his smirk growing, “All this talk of my nephew and I’ve yet to see the man. Where is he?”

“He’s not here.”

Daemon’s eyebrows lift toward his hairline.

“Not here?”

“He’s away on business. Won’t be back for a few days.”

“And he left you, all alone?” Daemon asks, taking a step closer to you. He reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t suppress the shiver that rolls through you.

“I can take care of myself,” you insist. Daemon’s scent floods your senses; teakwood, smoke, cinnamon. Intoxicating; it makes your head spin.

“I’m sure you can. My nephew wouldn’t have hired you if he had any doubts,” Daemon murmurs, dropping his hand, “It’s not the harmless nanny he needs to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

Daemon watches you like a cat toying with a mouse. His lip curls slightly, enjoying your discomfort.

“Are you aware of the history of this house?” Daemon asks.

“Yes,” you tell him.

“Well, there you have it,” Daemon says, walking by you, “Have Aemond call me when he’s returned.”

You can hear his steps echoing down the hall, followed by the slamming of a car door. You stand in the kitchen for several moments, trying to catch your bearings when Jaehaera runs in.

“Who was that?” she asks, throwing her arms around your waist.

“Just…nothing,” you assure her, stroking her hair, “How were your lessons?”

As Jaehaera tells you about her day, you focus on calming your racing heartbeat. You can’t help but linger on what Daemon had said.

What exactly was he worried about?

Helaena Targaryen loves arachnids.

This becomes apparent when a spider scurries across the floral picnic blanket you’d laid out for Jaehaera.

Maelor sits with his thumb in his mouth rocking back and forth as though a gentle breeze may knock him onto his back. Sitting up is quite new to him. The afternoon had been going quite well before the eight-legged monster descended on the tea party.

“Miss Gevie! Miss Gevie!” Jaehaera screeches, launching herself off of the blanket and into your arms. Her girlish scream echoes through the backyard and she trembles against you.

The arachnid freezes at her movements, eight legs tensed and ready. Maelor stares at his sister, violet eyes wide before they drop to the blanket. Helaena is seated in a chair a few feet away, the large sun hat she wears partially obscuring her face.

“The fresh air does her good,” Aemond had told you before he left.

Helaena dives off of her chair, knees crashing into the grass beside the picnic blanket. You comfort Jaehaera as Helaena dips her torso lower against the blanket letting her hand dance above the spider. She presses her cheek into the blanket as the spider curiously lifts two legs up toward her dancing fingers.

“Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs, touching the tips of her fingers to the spider's outstretched legs. She stays like that for a moment, a small smile appearing on her face.

Maelor watches his mother, his thumb falling from his mouth.

“Kill it!” Jaehaera demands as her mother scoops the creature into her hand.

Helaena rolls onto her back, the rim of her hat getting crushed beneath her. Her knees are stained green. Maelor claps his pudgy hands together letting out a gleeful squawk.

“Why?” Helaena asked, looking at the creature in her palm with the fondness she no longer gives her children, “For simply being here?”

“He’s ugly and I hate him,” Jaehaera insists, “Make her kill it, please.”

Helaena only hums, letting the spider climb down her arm. She sounds like Aemond when she does that. Warmth bleeds down your cheeks and onto your neck. You’d been missing him. The nights have been rather empty without your late-night chats.

Helaena turns on her side, ignoring her daughter’s pleas and releasing the spider into the grass. Once free, it takes off lost from sight almost instantly.

“There,” Helaena says happily, “No need for violence, byka jorrāelagon.”

“Kepus would’ve killed it,” Jaehaera says, with her lower lip jutted outwards in a pout.

There is a shift in the energy between mother and daughter.

“Why don’t you ask him then?” Helaena says, rolling onto her back once more and closing her eyes.

“Kepus!” Jaehaera says, pushing away from your arms and running toward the house. You watch her run, following her gaze up the stone steps until you meet Aemond’s eyes.

He’s back.

She throws herself into Aemond’s arms much like she did your own, and he reaches down, scooping her up in his arms and holding her against his waist. There’s a swooping feeling in your stomach as he approaches, the heat returning to your cheeks.

“How are my girls?” Aemond asks as he moves closer.

You move to the other side of the blanket, scooping Maelor in your arms as he begins to bang his fists on Helaena’s hat.

“We’re having a tea party,” Jaehara tells him, “Muña saved a spider. I said she should kill it.”

Aemond chuckles softly at her pointed tone.

“Your mother would never,” he says, setting her down on the blanket, “And you?”

You glance up at him, surprised he addressed you, “Me?”

Aemond nods, holding your gaze, “How are you?”

You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he continues to stare, piercing gaze never leaving your face.

My girls.

“I’m well,” you answer.

Aemond joins you as you sit back on the blanket, the spider no longer disturbing your peace. Jaehaera dotes on him, she loves her uncle dearly you can tell. You return Maelor to the bassinet as his eyelids begin to droop, rocking it side to side with your hand as he begins to drift off to sleep.

Jaehaera places a saucer on Helaena’s stomach before balancing a teacup on top of it. Helaena barely raises a brow as Jaehaera wedges a lemon cake onto the plate as well. Though she doesn’t thank her daughter, she brings a hand to the corner of the cake, tearing off a piece and placing it in her mouth.

Aemond sits straight up, balancing a teacup on his knee as Jaehaera stands behind him, combing her fingers through his long, platinum hair and twisting small braids throughout. You hadn’t realized how long he kept it, it’s usually in a bun when you see him, but now silver waves cascade down his shoulders to the middle of his back.

“We should head inside,” Aemond mutters, “The clouds are gathering.”

“A storm is coming tomorrow,” Helaena murmurs.

“How’d you know?” you ask and Helaena’s mouth ticks upwards. All Targaryens seem to have the same smirk.

“She always knows,” Aemond says, smiling softly as his elder sister.

In sleep, someone speaks to you. Whispers in your ear, breath hot like flames licking against your flesh words you do not understand.

A scream pierces through the night and you awake with a start. An ache begins behind your eyes and you press the heel of your palm against your forehead. You catch your bearing, sitting up and blinking as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Realization washes over you.

Helaena.

She’d been taking a second dose of her sleeping medication ever since Aemond spoke with her psychiatrist. Had she missed a dose this evening? You quickly rise from your bed, not bothering to grab your robe and flinging open your door.

The hallway is dark, and no moonlight spilling through the windows tonight. You reach out, holding onto the wall as a guide as you move further down the hallway.

A shuffling noise behind you makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Your breath hitches and you turn around, staring into the dark behind you. You can’t see anything, just pitch black. You should’ve left a light on in your room, something to anchor you. Your hands begin to tingle as adrenaline speeds the beating of your heart.

There’s nothing but darkness, you assure yourself, the dark can’t hurt you.

But you can’t shake the feeling that as you look down the hallway, someone….or something…is looking back.

You release a shaky breath, turning back around. Something moves toward you, this time you’re certain. And suddenly a hand covers your mouth blocking the scream that rises in your throat and slamming you into the wall. It's not too hard, just enough for your shoulder blades to make a solid thump against the wood.

Aemond catches your fist in his opposite hand as you attempt to strike him, pushing your wrist back against the wall above your head. Your eyes widen when you realize it's him, cheeks blazing with rage and embarrassment, your body sagging with relief.

His hand remains on your mouth, though for a moment you’re sure it’s your scream tearing through the halls. Your stomach drops at the agonized wail and you squeeze your eyes shut. Aemond’s hand slides down until your chin rests in the space between his thumb and forefinger. His fingers are pressed so tightly against your throat you’re sure he must be able to feel your fluttering pulse.

“Hela--,” you begin to speak but are cut off by the return of his hand over your mouth.

“Shhh,” Aemond insists, as your eyebrows crease with confusion.

You mumble incoherently against his palm, lips pressing against the calloused flesh. Aemond presses closer, his tall slender frame towering over you. You cease trying to talk, your thoughts muddled as the warmth of his body presses against you. Aemond dips his head so his lips rest against the shell of your ear.

“That’s not Helaena.”

It would be intimate, sensual even, if it weren’t for the words he spoke in that low whisper. A feeling of dread washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

“Shh,” he says once more, his lips grazing your ear, “Close your eyes. Stay very, very still.”

You don’t dare move, you don’t dare speak; you simply do as you’re told, squeezing your eyes shut. Trembling against him your fingers dig into his arm while the other remains trapped in his grasp over your head. Fear burns in your belly, so hot it's as though someone is stoking a fire right in front of you.

Aemond presses closer, your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest, nipples hardening at the stimulation through the thin material of your tank top. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so frightened. Your heart is beating like a rabbit’s foot, and you try to listen to the sound of Aemond’s breathing in your ear as some way of grounding yourself.

A groan echoes from down the hall.

Your grip on him tightens.

“It’s alright,” Aemond murmurs, his voice barely audible, “We’ll just let them pass.”

Your breathing stops.

Let them? Let what? Let who?

The heat intensifies around you, colors bursting behind your eyelids as though someone is shining a light on the pair of you, though you don’t dare open your eyes. You cling to Aemond’s command like a life raft despite your morbid curiosity.

You don’t know how long you stay like that before the light begins to fade, the warmth leached from your skin as whatever passed you moved on. The hall is silent, your ears are ringing and all you can hear is each shaky inhalation of your breath. It’s not enough. It feels like all the air has been sucked from the hall like you’ll never breathe again.

“Y/N.”

What was that?

“Open your eyes.”

His voice. Aemond’s voice. The only thing that makes sense.

You open your eyes.

The hall is dark and you blink, adjusting. Aemond releases your hand and your arm falls, slightly sore and tingling with pins and needles from being held above your head for so long. He uncovers your mouth as well, taking a step back.

“Are you alright?” he asks, the concern evident in his voice.

You don’t answer, frozen. Aemond cups both of your cheeks in his hands, thumbs smoothing away tears that fall. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. Aemond’s brows knit together and you bring your hands to his wrists.

“What was that?” you whisper, voice hoarse.

Aemond’s expression is pained.

“There are things I haven’t told you about Harrenhal,” he says softly, releasing your face.

“What kind of things?”

“Unpleasant ones,” he continues.

You hold his gaze. If there was ever a chance to run from the manor screaming, this was it. Aemond watches you as though he expects you to run, his hands clenched into fists at his side. You know him already, know that if you chose to leave he wouldn’t follow you. He’s used to doing things on his own. It’s all he’s ever known.

It’s your choice.

Aemond lifts his eyes to meet yours as you reach for his hand. His fingers release automatically at your touch and you weave them through your own, holding tightly, anchoring yourself to him.

“Let’s get some tea then,” you tell him, “I want to know everything.”

note: hope you enjoyed this chapter! as always, comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected (though you will receive a forehead kiss from me if you do any of them).

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#aemond x reader #modern!aemond #modern!aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fic #halloween fic #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #modern au #halloween au #aemond targaryen #aemond series #hotd series #fanfic series #halloween fanfic #aemond fanfiction

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highladyandromeda · 1 month

Text

Shadows of the Heart

Part 3

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions.

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: n/a

[Prologue], [Part 1], [Part 2]

She was going to need a very strong drink, Y/n mused, to survive this night.

Her magic, ever attuned to the world around her, picked up on the increasing hum of conversation from the floors below—a sure sign that Rhysand had summoned his entire family for a grand welcome. "He's always had a penchant for gatherings," she reflected with a half-smile, tinged with nostalgia, before an exasperated roll of her eyes. The temptation of the room's plush bed and soft sheets beckoned, threatening to pull her back into their embrace. It's almost unfair, she thought, how much more inviting the beds were here.

Pushing aside thoughts of luxurious linens, Y/n rises, confronting her reflection in the mirror. Her body still appears gaunt, her complexion a touch too pallid, yet there's a hint of vitality returning to her cheeks, thanks in part to the subtle touch of rouge she's applied. With practiced movements, she adds a dusty rose hue to her lips and frames her striking scarlet eyes with kohl, each stroke of makeup bolstering her confidence.

Her wardrobe, courtesy of Rhys, offers a variety of choices. From it, she selects a burgundy tunic adorned with intricate gold embroidery at the collar and sleeves and matching pants—a nod to her past, the garments echoing the color of her old robes and providing an unexpected solace. She tries not to think deeply about the cobalt blue dresses that called to her instead, remembering that she cannot stay in Velaris for long.

“And the guest of honor arrives!” Rhys’s voice cuts through the lively chatter as he spots Y/n making her entrance. Mor quickly springs into action, her enthusiasm undiminished as she loops an arm around Y/n’s, escorting her to a prominent seat at the table—directly across from—

“Lucien?”

“Y/n?”

The recognition between them sparks instantly, lighting up the room. “Mother above, Lucien! You’re alive!” Y/n couldn't help but exclaim, her surprise propelling her forward to clasp his hand across the table.

Lucien, taken aback by the fervor of her greeting, blinks in confusion. “I—uh, was there a reason you thought I wasn’t?”

Y/n's smile wavers, her impulsive action catching up with her fatigue. “Ah, well, I just, I uh—” She scrambles for an explanation that wouldn’t reveal too much.

Y/n thought fast, there was no way she could announce that the Prince of Vallahan once received a summons to funerals in Autumn, personally signed by Beron, and had tried to invite her. She always assumed that Eris would protect Lucien but after so many years, it was impossible for her to be sure.

“I heard rumors,” she finally said, settling on the vaguest of truths. The answer, unsatisfying and ripe with unasked questions, hovered in the air. Yet, she offered nothing more, only adding, “I’m glad to see you, though.”

“Likewise,” he responded, a warmth returning to his voice. “I’m sure Nuan will be thrilled to know you’re back.” An unspoken glance passed between them, with the promise to catch up later.

It was Nesta who broke the silence, her voice cutting through the tension with a clear, measured tone. "You two know each other well?" Nesta queried, her eyes darting between Y/n and Lucien.

Rhys, seizing the moment to alleviate the growing tension, clapped his hands together with a flourish.

"Well, Y/n's always had the most elusive of friendships.” he declared, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Let's celebrate reunions and new beginnings. To Y/n's return, and unexpected friends among us."

As the evening unfolded, Y/n found herself enveloped in the whirlwind of introductions and reunions. She sat in between Rhys and Mor and was properly introduced to the rest of them, Amren and Nesta’s sharp eyes causing the smallest tinge of discomfort before she was pulled into stories from Feyre and Cassian, her heart aching as they recounted the past years from under the mountain to the war with Hybern.

Azriel and as Y/n learned that night, Elain, stayed quiet, but that was a bit of a reprieve truly, among the strong spirits and personalities of the others. It was overwhelming to keep track of their enthusiasm, but Y/n didn’t let her exhaustion show. She had already slept for so long and she refused to let Rhys’s efforts go to waste, as she knew it was his way of showing her that she was still a part of his family.

Besides, although they were all excited, no one brought up her blood magic, or how exactly she and Mor ended up together, or worse, what she had been up to in her years away. She assumed they’d either been placated by a brief explanation from Mor or been warned off by either her or Rhys, allowing Y/n to enjoy a peaceful night before an onslaught of questions at another time. Judging by Amren’s, Nesta’s, and even Azriel’s stares burning into her, she could feel that it must have been the latter and that their self-control would only last so far.

She hoped they’d stay quiet for now, as she had no interest or energy to untangle the complicated…adventures of her past centuries. Especially with the joy and shock she felt when Rhys told her of Nyx and of the Trove. She’d never admit it out loud, but the joy gave away to such deep despair; of having missed these monumental moments in her dear friend’s life. Rhysand truly was the brother she never had, and although she was overjoyed that he’d found so many people to love who loved him back, she couldn’t help but feel sorrow for what was no longer hers.

Luckily, she was quickly pulled from those thoughts as small wisps of the night curled around her shoulder, the shadows' cooling touch almost seeming to comfort her. She noticed Azriel's subtle attempts to rein them in, a hint of embarrassment in his demeanor.

"Please, don't bother. I quite enjoy their company," Y/n reassured him softly, her words drawing a rare, soft grin from the shadowsinger, catching Cassian’s attention.

Smiling mischievously, Cassian takes the chance to ask Y/n about her recovery and whether she’d be up to join them in training tomorrow morning, dodging the glare Rhys sent his way.

Y/n couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up at Cassian's invitation, a lightness filling her despite the whirlwind of emotions she'd been navigating.

"I suppose I could use a bit of... physical activity," she conceded, her gaze flickering to Azriel, whose shadows seemed to dance with approval at the prospect. "Though I must warn you, I'm a bit out of practice."

Cassian's grin widened, his eyes alight with the challenge. "Out of practice, she says. We'll be the judge of that. Right, Az?"

Azriel merely nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, clearly intrigued by the idea of Y/n joining their morning routines.

Rhys, though he had initially sent Cassian a glare for his untimely proposal, couldn't mask the warmth in his eyes. "It's settled then. Training at dawn. But let's not forget, Y/n has had quite a journey back to us. We'll take it easy," he added, a protective note in his voice that didn't go unnoticed.

As the evening drew to a close, Y/n felt a sense of comfort she had been missing since she left. Though she knew she couldn’t stay forever, her heart felt lighter than it had been in ages. With promises of tomorrow's training session hanging in the air, Y/n retired to her room, the night's whispers a comforting lullaby.

A/N: Ok, I promise that the next chapters will have more Azriel and reader interactions, especially with the upcoming training session!! Also, I want to explore a reader and Lucien friendship because I think that he's so underrated when in fact, Lucien has such interesting powers and is so well-traveled. For my tag list, I tagged everyone who asked and those who commented on the first 2 parts. If you'd like to be included, please just let me know. 💕

TAGLIST: @strangelygreat @enfppuff @trip-n-sal @inloveallthetime @annamariereads16 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @annblvd @ania-swissweet @yearninglustfully @sleepylunarwolf @quiettuba @gorlillaglue25 @lilah-asteria @naturakaashi @sillymercury @itsswritten @xlosttdreamss @kennedy-brooke @xyzmeh @lucky7rosie @copenhagenspirit @collide-with-the-music @starsinyourseyes @dianxiaxiexie @maybefoxysouls @golden-canyon @violet-potter

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar series #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x oc #rhysand #morrigan #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #lucien vanserra

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sin-djarin · 5 months

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hold tight

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Rating: Explicit. MDNI. This blog and its contents are 18+.

Word Count: 1k.

Summary: Tim is giving. And you're thankful. The holsters stay on.

Warnings: Established relationship, mention of food, unprotected PinV (don't do this, be safe), creampie, Tim Rockford's gun holsters, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n.

A/N: This was meant to be a drabble for Thanksgiving but it's a little more than that, apologies.

More Tim here.

“Just…fine. Hold tight.” Tim huffed down the phone to his colleague on the other end of the line. His large hands clenched into fists on the marble countertop beside you.

“Hold tight for me, okay?” He pleaded with you and pressed a kiss to your temple.

His brown eyes were soft and apologetic when explained why his seat at the table would be vacant on Thanksgiving. A few moments later, he pulled on his holsters and left as you awaited your guests alone.

Hold tight.

Tim’s words echo in your mind in the dining room, elbow to elbow with loved ones. They talk about everything and nothing as you stare vacantly at his empty chair. It's a shame he had to leave at such short notice, they say. All you can do is nod in agreement.

You idly push the rich food around on your plate. It’s doing nothing to satiate the hunger he left you with earlier, before you were interrupted by his phone ringing. You toy with it amongst the mindless chatter and clinking glasses until you can't stand it any longer and take yourself back to the kitchen where it began hours ago.

You squeeze your legs tighter to stave off the desire that bloomed and continues to swell. You recall the image of him shirtless in the kitchen with his sweatpants slung low around his hips.

The residual heat from the stove reminds you of the closeness of him as he stood behind you, peppering kisses across the nape of your neck and his fingertips drawing lazy patterns over your belly. All whilst you flicked through recipe cards and set timers for the next foil tray to go in the oven.

“Hold tight.” You mumble to yourself in the car, driving to the station in the dark.

Passing headlights are few and far between on the roads. Everyone else is at home stuffed, but there’s still something you crave after he left you simmering. You succumbed, losing the battle to suppress the urge.

A plate vibrates beside you in the passenger seat. Casseroles, pies, and slices of succulent meats spooned haphazardly onto the ceramic and saran wrapped. All of it is an excuse to satisfy your own hunger as much as it is a good deed.

“Hold tight.” Tim breathes, hurriedly ushering you into his office before poking his head around the door to check for passersby.

Thankfully, you two appear to be the only sign of life in the building. Satisfied you're alone, he turns back to you and you extend the heavy plate. His tongue runs slowly over his plush bottom lip. It's not a reaction to the food - he's quick to detect there’s hardly anything but silk underneath his own raincoat that you put on after pardoning yourself from the table.

With his hands on his hips, Tim rakes his eyes over your body, from head to toe. His gaze burns and does nothing but fan the flames he sparked this morning - knowingly or unknowingly. His eyes dart to your offering and back to your own. Far from a fool, he knows as well as you do that it’s a prop and the dimly lit room makes the smirk that creeps across his face all the more devilish. The sight of it engulfs you in another torturous wave of fire.

A silence hangs in the air before he speaks again. “Hold tight.” He repeats, the tone of his voice lower as he reaches out to shut the blinds and flicks the lock on the door without a second thought.

Tim strolls over to you, closing any remaining space and unburdens you of the plate. It just about lands on the chair he jumped up from at your unexpected arrival before his palms are pushing the coat down and over your shoulders.

He captures your lips and begins to walk you backwards towards his desk, his hardening length pressing into your stomach as your fingers tangle themselves into the salt and pepper waves of his hair. The familiar taste of him is better than anything you slaved over in his absence.

“Hold tight.” He growls into your mouth, pawing at the soft material that adorns your body with one hand to lift it higher around your waist, his touch now mirroring yours in its desperation. The other frantically pushes a mountain of files off his desk, sending loose sheets of paper flying to the floor before settling between your thighs that spread open for him.

“Hold tight.” He mewls into the delicate skin of your neck, dragging his teeth across your flesh as he speaks.

The scrape of them, the scratch of his bristled jaw and the warmth of his breath threaten to become overwhelming. He plucks his first moan from you at the collective sensation.

Your fingers make speedy work of the silver belt buckle and the zip of his dark slacks. His own are as fast in helping you to shove them down his legs.

“Hold tight.” He purrs, grinning slyly at your growing impatience when he runs the wide head of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal before pushing into you.

“Hold,” he says and stops moving.

Gently, he removes your hands from where they clutched at the edge of his wooden desk. Without breaking eye contact, he guides them to the black leather holsters that are pulled taut around his broad shoulders and back.

“Tight.” Tim instructs.

You do as you're told and your fingers grip the straps, rapidly turning white knuckled as he picks up pace again, able to drive deeper and harder. His desperation is more evident than before and the cries of euphoria it evokes from you are muffled by the strong muscle of his shoulder that's clad in crisp white cotton.

“Hold…tight.” He whines with tired lungs.

The monosyllabic words barely register over your heartbeat hammering against your eardrums when he begs you to stay still so he can feel the lingering pulses of your orgasm around him.

“Hold tight.” you whisper under his groan, soothing his stubbled cheek as he rests his forehead against yours both sticky with sweat as he spills into you.

You loosen your grasp on the leather but he leans forward to kiss you again. It's clumsy and languid, all teeth and tongue as you both come down from your feverish highs.

“Happy Thanksgiving” you sigh, finally satisfied.

“Well" he starts, almost breathless. "Hold tight because the day's not over yet."

#tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x female reader #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford fanfic

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nottragic-stilltoothsome · 7 months

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Astarion and Tav live post-Absolute in Baldur's Gate, with three cats, two named in true Astarion fashion, like Carnage or Bloodlust, and the third one, Scratch, a curious kitty that sometimes barks, but complies with the "no animals bigger than a peacock" decree (unless someone'd think to cast disspell illusion, but then, who'd be so ungrateful to pester the great defenders of the city like that).

Their home is somewhat peculiar, too.

A beautiful mansion gifted to the adventurers for their heroic deeds stands empty most of the time because of their travels, as if killings immortals and lifting centuries old curses weren't enough adventures for a lifetime.

The mansion seems very much lived-in, but then again, in a strange way. Even (or perhaps especially) on sunny, summer days the windows are closed shut and obscured with heavy curtains, forbiding any stray sunrays from entering.

"Curious", passing citizens might think, only to blame such habits of the residents on the nosy reporters of Baldur's Mouth, who wouldn't hesitate from peeking through windows, just to get a glimpse at the most popular baldurian couple.

If one of said citizens was invited inside, they'd be greeted by a big portrait of the couple (painted by *the* Oskar Fevras!, the guest might have fawned over the exquisite taste of their hosts) hanging right in the center of the hall, opposite to the door. As if instead of a mirror, that a guest'd instictivly look for in such a spot.

The guest would, perhaps, marvel at the unexpected dichotomy of decorations: what was clearly war-thropies, souvenirs from shadowveiled lands and cursed magic tomes, is presented right next to valuable art, gracious furniture and silverwear. Same sort of duality one could discover looking at the residents: battle scars surarounded by rich, silk fabrics and precious stones, golden goblets with fine drinks raised to lips used to commanding armies.

Astarion'd often mention, that everything tastes better from golden goblets and everything feels better in silk.

The goblets were yet another unusual detail: no matter the time of the day (or night, which appeard to be the preffered time the for masters of the mansion to receive guests), master Astarions' was filled to the brim with wine. He must have taken a liking to a particular kind, since it was always the same, crimson red and somewhat thick-looking.

The guest would be welcomed to a spacious living room, that was full of life indeed.

When the inhabitants stay at home interim their adventures, their house bursts with laughter and chatter and sometimes heated debate. From the Blade of the Frontiers to the High Harper, from the great Wizard of Waterdeep to the Paladin of Selune, from the one-horned tiefling to the githyanki with a silversword. The menagerie of powerful personage was never, however, received as guests, but rather as dearly missed family (although Master Astarion would not admit that under any circumstances, despite having made a significant improvement in the art of communicating in ways more genuine than through sarcasm). Their bonds, forged under the threat of the Absolute, were undeniable and lifelong.

Astarion and Tav often travel, not ready to hang their weapons on the wall just yet, but they both enjoy comming back to their own house, to rest and prepare for whatever the next adventure holds.

Astarion, somewhat reluctantly, became accustomed to being a hero, the good guy. He was relieved to discover that in the name of "goodness" he could unleash unthinkable carnage just as well as working with less moral goals in mind. And, in this case, people were certainly more inclined to part with their gold for his sake.

"Funny" he'd say, "I never pictured myself a hero". And after a short, thoughtful pause, he'd add "but it's really not at all suprising I'm amazing at being one".

Not all was always well, ghosts of the past lingering in the shadows of sleepless nights or in the nightmares he dreamt when he did fall asleep. It was a long process, the healing, because it was not only the body that had to heal - but at least at this time, it was demons of the past, not present, that troubled him and they got weaker with every passing day.

Sometimes, he was almost thankful for the destruction of the city, cause rebuilt, it didn't look exactly like the one where he suffered for so long, with Cazador's pretentious castle right in the middle, standing out, not at all subtle, forcing him to remember what he'd rather forget. Sometimes, he was almost thankful for the lack of reflection, for how he couldn't see the scars carved into his back starring back at him, for how he wasn't constantly reminded of everything that happend - and all the awful things that could have happend - anytime he looked at himself. The awarness that they are always there felt burning, burning along with every other memory of torture he had endured, that didn't leave a scar on his body, only on his mind. Some days, the presence of the scars was itching. Nearly painful.

And some days, they didn't matter at all.

They were merely a part of him, of his story, that he has left behide to live a new life.

As it often is, it depends on the day.

With Tav by his side and Cazador gone, even if still bothered by the past, he was truly happy. He was happy, when they slashed through enemy outposts, leaving behide gore. He was happy, when Tav sat in his lap in the morning (despite the fact that there was a perfectly good chair unoccupied right there, as he'd remark, feigning annoyance that he didn't feel and Tav didn't belive in), still in the nightwear, smelling of toothpaste and morning coffee, reading the newest edition of Baldur's Mouth.

He can't walk in the sun, no.

But he was truly free. Truly happy. And whatever the future holds, he knew it was going to stay that way.

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reyla-the-black-wolf · 20 days

Text

My heart speaks for you (Part 1)

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Pairing: Eris x f!reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: a bit fluff, slight angst, no other that I could think of

Summary: Y/n is the youngest child of the High Lord of the Night Court and lives a slightly different life than the rest of her family. But what happens, when an unexpected visitor enters the stage and decides to completely change her life?

Part 1 ⎮ Part 2

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The festivities were in full swing. All the guests wore breathtaking ball gowns and suits in every colour imaginable. And the shooting stars above us glistened like jewels from some long forgotten treasure.

It was Starfall at the Night Court and our High Lord and his High Lady had worked hard to prepare this stunning ball. This year they wished to open Velaris to everyone, so all the other Courts were invited to enjoy this magnificent night.

I stood on one of the many balconies at the House of Wind, gazing up at the wonderful night sky above me. The stars seemed magical as they came down one by one to greet us like old friends. I closed my eyes to worship this moment. The chatter of our guests echoed up to where I leaned against the marble railing. It cooled my skin, which was still hot and sweaty from all the dancing earlier. The sound of glass clinking, as people toasted each other. Sweet smelling pastries and other delicious treats hovered in the air. My mouth instinctively watered and I subconsciously smiled.

A lovely fresh spring breeze made my black silken dress swirl around my ankles. My hair stood on end at the sensation and I shivered. Taking a deep breath, I let the night-chilled air fill my lungs. I never wanted this tiny fragment of life to pass, as I enjoyed it to the full. Letting it sink into the deepest parts of my soul and surround me like a thick, cosy blanket. I could feel a warmth spreading all over my skin.

The fabric of my dress caressed my legs, as the wind brushed past it. It accentuated my body in all the right places, from my legs up to my hips and to my breasts. A silver necklace curled its way around my neck with a moonstone in shape of a teardrop set in the centre. It shimmered so brightly as if made of a star itself. To complete my look, I´d chosen some silver earrings. Also with a little moonstone.

The Cursed Princess of the Night.

That was my title. At least, that’s what other Fae called me.

I opened my eyes only to pull back suddenly, as a tall, red-haired Fae stood beside me, watching the Starfall. Apparently I must have been under some kind of spell, as I didn’t hear the man approach me from behind.

He was at least two heads taller than me and wore a dark crimson tunic with golden embroidery and a creamy white linen shirt underneath. The vest looked like it was made out of blood and the linen shirt perfectly showed off his toned muscles on his arm and chest. A few gold rings curled around his long, slender fingers. And his hair. I almost forgot how to breathe. His hair was a kaleidoscope of fiery colours. A blazing fire of red dawn and golden sunset. Neatly brushed back. He smelled of fresh parchment, rain and red wine. A warmth enveloped him, spreading until I could feel it shiver over my hot skin.

I knew exactly who was standing before of me. The short, flaming hair. The lean figure. His exquisite attire. Standing beside me was the heir of the Autumn Court.

Eris Vanserra.

Apparently, I had let my eyes roam over his form for too long, for when I shifted my gaze to look at his face, he was staring right at me. I´ve never felt so exposed in my entire existence. He watched me as if he could peer straight into my very soul. I was in a trance, an comfortable feeling settled in my stomach. Cauldron! He looks like as if he was carved out of fire itself! All I could do was stare at him in awe. His handsome features. The sharp jawline and his amber eyes. A mischievous smirk played across his full lips, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. Blushing, I looked down at my feet.

„What is a beautiful lady like you doing up here? Shouldn´t you be dancing with your family or perhaps with the guests?“ His voice sounded like a stream of molten gold. Delicate and charming, but with a hidden danger to it. I wanted to answer him. I really did. But… I just couldn´t. The words in my mind, but my mouth frozen.

When I didn´t respond, he tilted his head to the side. Like a fox staring at its prey. Something flickered in his eyes. Was that curiosity?

„Pardon me, where are my manners? I´m Eris Vanserra. Heir to the Autumn Throne.“ He threw an elegant hand gesture in my direction and bowed his head. A few strands of his bright red hair fell loose across his forehead, giving him a cheeky look.

„And you´re the Princess of Night, I suppose? Y/n, right?“ It was nothing but a statement. Of course he knew who I was. Not sure what to do, I just nodded quickly.

Gathering some strength, I looked him right in the eye and then leaned back on the balcony beside him. My eyes were on the city below us. Velaris. He simply hummed at me, his eyes also sweeping over the City of Starlight.

„It´s beautiful“, he commented, „but nothing compared to the view next to me, of course.“, his voice smooth as silk. I´d never met the Autumn Court heir in person, but I knew of his reputation. It was said he was a cruel and arrogant man. There was no trace of it now. Still I couldn´t help but smile shyly at his compliment. Daring a glance in his direction, I blushed uncontrollably. He stared at me again, a shameless grin on his face. What was going on? Normally, I´m not one to be flattered easily. Must be the alcohol…

I smiled and nodded gratefully at him before turning my gaze back to Velaris. Enjoying the view of the city. My home.

„Can you keep a secret?“ A hint of humour flashed across his face. I looked at him with big doe eyes, waiting for him to continue. „Starfall looks lovely, but in my opinion, it´s nothing compared to the Autumn equinox.“ A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. „You should visit it one day. Definitely worth it.“ He stared off into the distance, as if lost in a memory. He then began to tell me about the autumn equinox, about his brothers, growing up in his fathers Court. If anyone else had seen us, they probably would´ve mistaken us for old friends. Was I genuinely surprised that he shared such private details of his life with me, a complete stranger? Yes. Did it bother me? No, not in the slightest.

I could feel myself relaxing as he spoke and Eris clearly didn´t care that I didn´t answer. He simply went on sharing his life with me. And I listened carefully to every word he said. Something about it felt quite intimate, as if he trusted me with his very soul. The man next to me, was the complete opposite of what others said about him. A ticklish feeling crept its way into my chest and somehow I knew he needed… this. Just two strangers standing on a balcony at the House of Wind. One talking, the other listening. He needed this as much as I did.

We remained like that for a while. Just the two of us, Velaris below and the stars falling upon us. Now surrounded by a comfortable silence. Eris decided to break it first.

„I´ve heard tales about you, you know? The cursed daughter.“ A pause. „Some say the Cauldron is to blame for your inability to speak.“ I stiffened at his unexpected honesty. „Why is it you can´t talk?“ A thousand questions sparkled in those beautiful eyes of his. It was nothing new for people to have questions about what was wrong with me. They made up all kinds of tales and theories. I was used to them talking behind my back, but I hadn´t expected him to bring it up. Always at ease with my condition, I was surprised, when something felt out of place. A sensation that had changed. But why? I didn´t even know him. Why would he elicit such a reaction in me?

Feeling his eyes burning into my skin, I looked up at him, longing to say: I wish I could answer you. I truly want to! But I can´t…

Another expression slipped into his honeydew eyes. Sympathy. As if to tell me: I understand.

My eyes watered, but I didn´t mind. I felt completely lost in those cascades of liquid sunlight. Framed by his long lashes and fine wrinkles. Some others wouldn't even have noticed them.

My star, where are you? Your mother is worried about you.

The voice of my father echoed in a corner of my mind, jolting me out of my trance. I blinked a few times, glanced at the door behind me and back at the man by my side with something, others might have called a pleading look. I have to go.

Eris understood and gave a deep bow. „It was a pleasure to meet you y/n. Princess of the Night.“ Something about the way he said it didn´t make me dislike that title.

I curtsied and spun around on my heel, sensing that this wasn´t the last time I would run into Eris Vanserra.

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I spent the rest of the night with my family. Mor had a bit too much to drink, but so had her friend Viviane. They sat on the floor with Amren and Varian on velvet cushions, eagerly talking about some event, that happened recently. Cassian and Nesta were leaning on the great balcony, enveloped in each others arms, enjoying their togetherness. Uncle Az was watching the place, searching for any threats, as always. My father had told him, he had the night off, but why break with old habits. And then, there were my parents. High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. Their crowns shone beneath the chandelier. Made of the most precious diamonds. Currently they were engaged in a lively conversation with Helion and some other Fae. Nyx, my older brother was next to them, holding a wine glass. His wings properly tucked behind his back.

I stood silently in a corner, observing the room. Every detail. The glittering embroidery on some of the ball gowns. The crystal glasses and the way the light was refracted in them. A scent from the pastries caught my attention and I took a deep breath. They smelled incredible. I was caught up in a maelstrom of iridescent colours as I watched the dancing guests. A whirlwind that carried me away and consumed me. A feeling crept over me as if something was watching me. Or rather, someone was. I scanned the hall, but found no one.

Then a deep, nocturnal laugh snapped me out of my thoughts. My father's laughter. Seeing him and my mother so happy, made me smile to myself. I loved them dearly. But every time I saw them like this, something stirred inside me. A familiar feeling tugging at my heart.

Silent as a shadow, I sneaked out of the hall and headed up to my chambers. It was another wonderful Starfall, no doubt, but right now I wanted nothing more than to sleep. To swallow those rising emotions and banish them for the rest of the night.

I quickly changed into something more comfortable and lay down on the large bed. Burying myself under the sheets, I soon drifted off into a deep sleep.

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Grey rain clouds darkened the sky and a sharp wind tore through the treetops. Loose, broken leaves were blown from the muddy ground. I felt a piercing cold creep up my bare ankles, like a dead hand reaching for me. My tangled hair fluttered around my face as the panic trapped within my chest threatened to burst. Breathe! Breathe! My heartbeat rose higher and higher. I was dressed in nothing but a white linen dress, which swirled around my hips. The first drops of rain trickled down my pale cheeks. The wind grew stronger by the second, howling like an ancient spirit.

Breathe and open your eyes! My body screamed at me, but I wasn´t listening. Everything felt too much, when suddenly something soft brushed my thigh and the world stopped spinning for a moment. The gentle thuds of paws and a faint squeak could be heard. Slowly, I opened my eyes, only to be met with a fox sitting a few steps away. His thick, orange fur swirled in the breeze and his big, smoky eyes glistened with curiosity. He certainly was adorable with his black socks and the fluffy fur, his ears twitching. Squeaking again, he started running away from me. My body began to wake up, my feet stepping forward on their own.

I followed the little creature through the forest, trying not to loose him. Water splashed onto my legs, as I ran through some puddles. Fern leaves got stuck on my dress. The world around me, began to blur into a stream of pastel colours. A chaos of moss and olive-green leaves. Of grey sky and dark raindrops. Mixed with the scent of petrichor. The fox then slowed down and hid in a dark, narrow tunnel, waiting for me to follow. I took a few steps and stood at the entrance. My hand darted towards the shadows, but before I could to step into them, they consumed me. Suffocated me. Stole my air. My vision. And then slowly sunk into my very being…

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Sunrays shone down on my face. They tickled a bit and I scrunched my nose. A fresh breeze blew through the open windows and filled the room. The fine silver curtains swayed. I pulled the covers over my head, not wanting to stay up. But the birds chirping outside had other plans, so I kicked off the covers and got up.

As I was getting into a pair of black trousers and a bell-sleeved top, the entire house trembled beneath my feet. The birds were startled and fluttered away. What was going on?

I quickly threw on some shoes and almost ran out of the room. Perhaps it was an earthquake? Hopefully nothing too serious.

Moments like this made me wish I had inherited my father's wings.

Hurrying down a long corridor, I made a sharp right turn and nearly stumbled down a flight of stairs. As I was about to pass another staircase, a certain darkness caught my eye. It spilled out from under a double door, which was decorated with intricate silver carvings.

The conference room.

Oh, yes. My mother had told me, that there would be a meeting with the other High Lords in the morning to discuss some new arrangements regarding the import of certain materials into the other courts and the continent. It didn't appear to be going well.

An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. As I walked towards the door, a low growl reverberated through the walls. Father.

„Rhys, let us talk about..“ My mother was cut off. „No! I demand to hear it from him! Who is it?“ His sombre voice was full of wrath. What could´ve possibly made him so upset?

I stepped closer, not sure if I should knock and disturb them. You could literally feel the tension.

„Rhysand, this is a business council. We´re here to discuss other matters.“ I believed, that was Lord Thesan´s voice speaking. A pregnant pause followed. I could almost see my father glaring at him. „Y/n. It's Y/n.“ I couldn't identify the voice. Someone was gasping for air and mumbled something incomprehensible. After that, no one dared to say another word.

Why were they talking about me? What was going on in there?

„You are not worthy of her.“ He practically spat out the word. My father´s sudden change of demeanour sent a shiver down my spine. „That decision is not yours to make.“ Heavy footsteps echoed across the room. „Call off your dog, Rhysand.“, Cassian snarled as he was addressed like that. „No need for hostility.“, the voice sounded as nonchalant as it could be.

Eris.

The darkness around my feet grew thicker. With no clue what had gotten into me, I grabbed the door handle and entered the council room. Not a single person noticed me. Just as I was about to close the door and step into whatever situation awaited me, glass shattered on the wooden floor.

„She is my daughter. You are not entitled to her!“ I could do nothing but watch the scene unfold. „Rhys, you don´t understand. Y/n is my mate. You can´t keep her away from me.“ The air was practically charged with lightning. A tingling sensation, that…

Wait what?…What did he just say?… I´m his.. his mate?

The room seemed too small now. Time stood still. Even the dust in the air had stopped moving. I inhaled sharply. My thoughts were racing. Pieces of memories flashed my mind.

Last night on the balcony.

His cheeky grin.

Mor, a dancing flash of red.

Stars sparkling above our heads.

A full moon shining as bright as ever.

My parents holding each others hands.

The stories Eris had told me about his childhood.

I must´ve heard this incorrectly. We hadn't even met each other until yesterday. But now it made sense, why he acted so.. so vulnerable in my presence. I was his mate. He was my mate. I had a mate. This one sentence repeatedly ran through my mind.

Unconsciously, my foot took a step back at the realisation and one of the planks creaked awkwardly. As if slow motion, all faces turned to me.

„Darling, I´m so sorry. This wasn´t meant for your...“, my father stuttered, but I couldn´t hear him anymore. His Apology ended in a swirl of pure silence. All I could do was stare at him. Eris. And he looked at me. Straight into my eyes with a shocked expression on his face. „Y/n, I..“, he tried to step forward but Cass stopped him immediately. Someone then gently grabbed my arm and pulled me along. Away from this moment, that just put my entire life upside down. A familiar scent flooded my nose and golden brown hair waved in my vision. The last thing I remember, was the doors closing behind me, as my mother winnowed us to the living room.

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#acotar #eris vanserra #eris x reader #acotar fanfiction #slight angst #part one

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dc-and-arfrona · 9 months

Text

First Glance - Batboys Headcannons

BatBoys! x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 2.4k+

Masterlist

Summary: What was it like at first glance?

—

Batman / Bruce Wayne

Bruce Wayne stood at the edge of the ballroom, his presence masked behind a facade of confidence and charm as they surveyed the guests mingling beneath the dazzling chandeliers. Another night in Gotham City, another charity gala to attend. The dark shadows of their past lingered in the depths of their eyes, hidden from the world, but ever-present.

As they took another sip of champagne, their attention was abruptly drawn to a figure entering the room. Y/N had just arrived, and an inexplicable magnetic force seemed to pull Bruce's gaze toward them. The room faded away, the noise of chatter and laughter melting into the background, leaving only Y/N in their sight.

Y/N exuded an air of elegance and grace that was unmistakable, their every movement commanding attention. They were dressed in a stunning evening gown that accentuated their natural beauty without being ostentatious, and Bruce found themselves mesmerized by their understated allure.

For a moment, they almost forgot their identity as the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne and the dark vigilante Batman. In that instant, they were merely a person captivated by another person who stirred emotions they had long thought buried deep within them.

Bruce felt a tug at their heart, an unfamiliar sensation that made them feel vulnerable and exposed. Their life had been one of secrecy and isolation, driven by a solemn mission to protect Gotham from the darkness that had claimed their parents. Yet, here was Y/N, unknowingly threatening to breach the fortress around their heart.

As Y/N moved gracefully through the crowd, Bruce found themselves unconsciously stepping forward, drawn to them like a moth to a flame. They wanted to know more about Y/N, to understand what lay beneath that composed exterior, and why they had this unexpected effect on them.

As luck would have it, fate intervened, bringing them together in the most unassuming manner. They found themselves side by side at a charity auction, both bidding on the same piece of artwork. The tension was palpable, but Bruce sensed an unspoken connection between them.

They decided to take a risk, abandoning Bruce's usual playboy charm, and engaged Y/N in genuine conversation. They talked about the art, the charity event, and as the night progressed, they touched on deeper topics that revealed their shared values and beliefs.

Bruce discovered that Y/N was not just another socialite or guest at the event. They were driven by a desire to make a difference in Gotham, just as they were. Underneath their poised exterior, Bruce saw a passion that matched their own for justice and redemption.

In that moment, Bruce felt a glimmer of hope. They realized that maybe, just maybe, they didn't have to walk this dark path alone. Perhaps Y/N could be a beacon of light in their life, a counterbalance to the shadows that threatened to consume them.

As the night wore on, Bruce found themselves unable to tear their gaze away from Y/N. They were both exhilarated and unnerved by the emotions Y/N stirred within them. The walls they had built around themselves were cracking, and they didn't know whether to welcome the change or retreat into their familiar solitude.

By the time the gala came to an end, Bruce Wayne knew that their life had been irrevocably altered. Y/N had entered their world like a shooting star, and they couldn't shake the feeling that Y/N was meant to be there.

Little did they know that this enigmatic encounter would be the catalyst for a profound transformation, one that would forever change both Bruce Wayne and Batman. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, Bruce dared to hope that they might find solace and companionship in the presence of Y/N.

---

Nightwing / Dick Grayson

Nightwing, also known as Dick Grayson, glided across the rooftops of Gotham City, the night air swirling around him like a familiar embrace. The city below was bustling with the usual chaos and crime, and he was on patrol, keeping a watchful eye on the dark corners where danger lurked.

As he leaped from one building to another, a soft sound caught his attention. A rustle in the shadows that seemed out of place amidst the usual background noise. Nightwing's instincts kicked in, and he moved silently toward the source of the disturbance.

There, in the dimly lit alleyway, he saw them. Y/N, a figure shrouded in mystery, was standing their ground against a group of muggers who were closing in on them. Y/N's face was obscured by the hood of their jacket, but Nightwing could sense the determination radiating from them.

He watched as Y/N deftly dodged a swing from one of the attackers, moving with an agility that suggested they were no ordinary civilian. In the dim light, Nightwing caught glimpses of their swift and calculated movements. They were holding their own, a skilled fighter in their own right.

Intrigued and impressed, Nightwing hesitated for a moment, debating whether to intervene or allow Y/N to handle the situation on their own. But his training and sense of responsibility won over, and he decided to step in, leaping into the alley with a graceful somersault.

"Need a hand?" Nightwing's voice was firm, offering assistance while simultaneously letting Y/N know he was there as an ally.

Y/N turned to face him, and even in the darkness, Nightwing could feel their surprise. He noticed the way their eyes flickered with recognition, though they said nothing. There was a momentary pause as the muggers sized up the new threat that had appeared before them.

With Nightwing's arrival, the odds tipped drastically in their favor. Together, they fought seamlessly, each anticipating the other's moves as if they had trained together for years. It was as if they were two halves of the same whole, united by an unspoken understanding of each other's abilities.

As the last mugger slumped to the ground, defeated and disarmed, Y/N turned to Nightwing. Their eyes met, and a silent communication passed between them, acknowledging the unspoken connection forged during the heat of battle.

"Thanks for the help," Y/N finally said, their voice carrying a hint of gratitude.

Nightwing nodded, his admiration for Y/N growing with each passing moment. "You held your own pretty well back there. Ever consider joining the fight against crime in Gotham?"

Y/N smirked, the corner of their lips curling up slightly. "Maybe I already am," they replied enigmatically.

Nightwing was intrigued by Y/N's response, a sense of curiosity building within him. He knew there was more to this mysterious figure than met the eye, and he couldn't help but wonder what secrets they held.

As the night continued, Nightwing and Y/N found themselves working together more frequently. Their paths seemed destined to cross, and each time they fought side by side, their partnership grew stronger.

In Y/N, Nightwing found a kindred spirit—a fellow guardian of the night, dedicated to protecting the innocent and upholding justice. And in Nightwing, Y/N discovered a trusted ally who could match their skill and determination.

As they continued to patrol the city together, their bond deepened, and they forged a partnership that would become legendary in Gotham City—a duo that struck fear into the hearts of criminals and brought hope to those in need.

Little did they know that this chance encounter in the shadows would mark the beginning of a partnership that would stand the test of time, with Nightwing and Y/N becoming an unstoppable force for good in Gotham's ever-encroaching darkness.

-----

Red Hood / Jason Todd

The neon lights of Gotham's infamous nightlife illuminated the streets as Jason Todd and Roy Harper, also known as Arsenal, found themselves at a bar. After a particularly grueling night of crime-fighting, they needed to unwind and let off some steam. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air as they navigated the crowded establishment.

In a corner of the bar, amidst the lively atmosphere, Y/N sat alone, nursing a drink and observing the bustling crowd. They exuded an air of mystery, their eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and caution. Y/N seemed to blend into the background, but something about their demeanor caught Jason's attention.

With a nudge from Roy, Jason's gaze shifted to where Y/N sat, and his curiosity was piqued. There was something captivating about the way they seemed detached yet aware of their surroundings, as if they were silently assessing everyone they laid eyes on.

"Hey, check out the lone wolf over there," Roy remarked, his voice laced with mischief.

Jason smirked, intrigued by the challenge of approaching someone who appeared so enigmatic. "Let's go say hello," he suggested, sliding off his barstool.

As they made their way toward Y/N, Jason couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen them somewhere before, but he couldn't place where. Nevertheless, his instincts told him that this meeting was far from ordinary.

"Mind if we join you?" Jason asked, his voice casual yet tinged with genuine interest.

Y/N glanced up, their eyes meeting Jason's, and there was a flicker of recognition in their gaze. "Sure," they replied, a hint of a smile gracing their lips.

Roy took the seat next to Y/N, and the three of them fell into easy conversation, discussing everything from their lives as vigilantes to mundane everyday topics. Despite the contrasting worlds they came from, there was an undeniable chemistry that sparked between Jason and Y/N.

As the night wore on, the bar's atmosphere grew livelier, and the trio found themselves laughing and sharing stories as if they were old friends reunited after years apart. Jason was drawn to Y/N's mysterious aura, and the more they talked, the more he wanted to unravel the enigma that surrounded them.

In Y/N, Jason found someone who mirrored his own turbulent past—a past that involved pain, loss, and a relentless pursuit of justice. He sensed that Y/N was no stranger to darkness, yet their strength and resilience resonated deeply with him.

As the clock struck midnight, Roy excused himself to hit the dance floor, leaving Jason and Y/N alone for a moment. The air between them crackled with unspoken emotions, and Jason felt an unexplainable pull toward Y/N.

"I feel like we've met before," Jason admitted, breaking the silence.

Y/N's gaze softened, and they nodded. "We have," they confessed. "A long time ago."

Jason's mind raced, trying to recall where he could have possibly crossed paths with Y/N before. But before he could press for more details, Y/N touched his hand gently, the contact sending a jolt through him.

"Some memories are best left in the past," Y/N said cryptically, a glimmer of sadness in their eyes.

Respecting their boundaries, Jason didn't press further. Instead, he allowed himself to be drawn into the present moment, savoring the connection he felt with Y/N.

From that night on, Jason and Y/N's paths intertwined in unexpected ways. They became inseparable, understanding each other's demons and finding solace in one another's company. Their bond grew stronger with each passing night, and together, they discovered that sometimes, healing and redemption could be found in the most unlikely places—like a chance meeting in a crowded bar in Gotham City.

-----

Red Robin / Tim Drake

Tim Drake, also known as Red Robin, had always been a dedicated student, excelling in academics with a keen mind that was always hungry for knowledge. He attended Gotham Academy, where he sought refuge from his life as a vigilante and relished the chance to be just a normal teenager.

One ordinary school day, as Tim was engrossed in his studies during lunch break, he noticed a new student sitting alone at a nearby table. Y/N had just transferred to Gotham Academy, and they looked a little lost amid the bustling crowd.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Tim decided to approach Y/N. He walked over with a friendly smile, hoping to make them feel more at ease in their new environment.

"Hey, I'm Tim Drake," he introduced himself, extending a hand in greeting.

Y/N looked up, their eyes meeting Tim's, and a warm smile graced their lips. "Hi, I'm Y/N," they replied, shaking his hand.

From that moment, a friendship blossomed between Tim and Y/N. They spent their lunch breaks together, sharing stories about their interests, hobbies, and aspirations. Tim discovered that Y/N had a creative flair and a unique perspective on the world that intrigued him.

As the days turned into weeks, Tim found himself looking forward to seeing Y/N at school. Their presence brought a lightness to his otherwise serious life as a vigilante. With Y/N, he could temporarily forget the weight of his responsibilities and enjoy the simple joys of being a teenager.

In turn, Y/N appreciated Tim's intelligence, kindness, and unwavering support. Tim was always there for them, offering a listening ear and thoughtful advice. They felt understood and valued, something they hadn't experienced with many others.

In their time together, Tim and Y/N explored the city, taking advantage of Gotham's eclectic cultural scene. From museums to street art, they embraced the beauty and diversity the city had to offer, deepening their connection.

As they grew closer, Tim began to trust Y/N with the secret he had been carrying—the identity of Red Robin. He confided in them about his nighttime escapades as the masked vigilante, something he had never shared with anyone outside the Bat-family.

Y/N listened attentively, respecting Tim's trust, and they admired his bravery and dedication to making Gotham a safer place. They didn't judge him for his double life; instead, they became a pillar of support, someone Tim could lean on when the burden of being Red Robin became too heavy.

The more time they spent together, the more Tim realized that Y/N had become an integral part of his life. They had seen each other through both challenging and joyful moments, and their bond had grown deeper than either of them had expected.

Through Y/N, Tim discovered a sense of peace and acceptance he had never known before. They became the anchor that kept him grounded in the chaos of his dual life, reminding him that he was not alone in his struggles.

In Y/N's presence, Tim found solace and a rare sense of belonging. And in Y/N's eyes, he saw a reflection of his own strength and resilience. Together, they navigated the challenges of adolescence, school, and superheroics, knowing that they had each other's backs.

Their love story may have started at a school lunch table, but it would continue to grow and flourish, a testament to the power of finding someone who truly understands and complements you. And so, in the bustling halls of Gotham Academy, Tim Drake and Y/N found not just friendship but a love that would stand the test of time.

------

Robin / Damian Wayne

The moon hung high in the Gotham City sky, casting an eerie glow over the dark alleyway where Y/N found themselves trapped. They had been going about their usual business, unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, a sinister figure known as the Black Serpent had set a trap, targeting innocent civilians to lure out Batman and his allies. As the villain's henchmen surrounded Y/N, their heart pounded with fear, realizing they had stumbled into something far more dangerous than they could handle alone.

Just as the situation seemed hopeless, a flash of movement and a gust of wind announced the arrival of a new player. Damian Wayne, the fierce and enigmatic Robin, descended from the rooftops with grace and determination.

Without hesitation, Damian engaged the thugs, taking them down one by one with calculated precision. His combat skills were unmatched, and he moved with the efficiency of a well-trained warrior. Y/N watched in awe, grateful for the unexpected rescue.

Once the last thug had been defeated, Damian turned his attention to Y/N, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice surprisingly soft for someone known for his stern demeanor.

Y/N nodded, trying to steady their breath. "Thanks to you, I am," they replied, still in awe of the young hero standing before them.

As Damian stepped closer, Y/N took in his appearance—the striking green eyes, the determined set of his jaw, and the unmistakable symbol emblazoned on his chest. He was Robin, the formidable ally of Batman.

"Do you need any further assistance?" Damian inquired, his tone businesslike but tinged with genuine concern.

Y/N hesitated, considering the offer, but ultimately shook their head. "I should be fine now, thanks to you."

With a nod, Damian turned to leave, but something about Y/N's presence made him pause. He wasn't accustomed to interacting with civilians, but there was something about them that intrigued him, a spark of bravery and resilience that reminded him of his own journey to become Robin.

"If you ever find yourself in danger again," Damian said, his voice firm but sincere, "don't hesitate to call for help."

Y/N smiled, touched by the unexpected kindness of the young hero. "I'll keep that in mind, Robin," they replied.

As Damian vanished into the night, Y/N couldn't shake the encounter from their mind. They felt a strange connection to the aloof hero, and a part of them hoped they would meet again.

In the days that followed, Y/N found themselves keeping a closer eye on Gotham's news, searching for any sign of the mysterious Robin. They wondered if he would remember them or if their brief encounter was just a fleeting moment in his life as a crime-fighting vigilante.

Little did they know that their paths were destined to cross once more. As fate would have it, Y/N's life would become intertwined with Damian Wayne's in ways they could never have imagined, as they both learned that sometimes, the unlikeliest of encounters could lead to the most extraordinary connections.

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undertalethingems · 2 months

Note

Will there be anything after unexpected guests? Like a continuation or aftermath things, etc? Or when it ends must we simply salute the legend and say our goodbyes?

well, tbh, once I'm done with unexpected guests I'd like to take a break from big fandom projects, ahah :'D

But, there's still a fair bit of this chapter to go, and then there are indeed several loose ends to tie up afterward; the main thing is that I haven't decided how many of those will be comics vs. fic chapters. So, it won't be over anytime soon, even though we are approaching the end of the story.

I also have other UT stories I want to work on, so even when unexpected guests is done, that probably won't be the last you hear from me XD

#Undertalethingem chats #Unexpected Guests chatter

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noirsfantasy · 5 months

Text

On the first day of Christmas...

𝔄 𝔇𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔬 ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Actor!Michael B Jordan x OC!Naomi Samuels

𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Fluff

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 ➛ 4.2K

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ➛ Returning home for the holidays, 29-year-old successful artist Naomi Samuels from New York finds her trip taking an unexpected turn. Things take an exciting twist when her brother Daniel arrives, accompanied by none other than the renowned actor Michael B. Jordan. As the next few days unfold with this unexpected guest, Naomi's holiday promises to be anything but ordinary. What adventures await in this unexpected reunion?

𝔞/𝔫 ➛ I'm gonna be honest, this story has me really excited. When I tell you I love Christmas, it's real. I want y'all to know that I fully intended this story to sound a bit hallmarky, so please bare with me. It gets good ;)

12 Days of Christmas Masterlist

Part 2 Here

The Samuels family's Christmas is always a hit. Family comes from all over down to the small town of Leavenworth, Washington just to gather together for this holiday. This is where my grandmother and mother lives, keeping the roots strong. Although, we haven't really had a big family Christmas since before COVID hit, so this one is bound to be special.

Just a week ago, I completed a project for a high-paying client, affording me the luxury of having the entire week before Christmas off. Usually, I am booked up to my ears at this time, so I am grateful for the vacation. I got to the house late last night, and so far, only a handful of aunts, uncles, and a few younger cousins had arrived. As the sole young adult present, I find myself shouldering the full force of our family's 'charm'.

I wake up early this morning in my old bedroom, starting my day with a warm shower. Once I'm dressed and freshened up, I head downstairs, hearing some chatter. I greet my grandmother, who is on the couch, watching her shows. She is always excited to see me.

"Good morning, Grandmother." I say with joy as I give her a warm hug.

"Oh, my beautiful Mimi." She calls my childhood nickname, her hand reaching out to cup my cheek with a gentle tremor. "You are turning into such a beautiful and remarkable woman. I can't tell you how proud of you I am." Her eyes reflect pure love, and I can't help but return her smile. The connection between my grandmother and me is unique, given that I am her first granddaughter.

"Thank you, Grandmother. I'm so happy that I could get to come see you. I know I haven't been around as much since I moved to New York for work," I admit, a twinge of guilt behind my words.

"Don't you worry about that, dear. You're here now, and every moment with my grandbaby is a blessing," she reassures me warmly. "I think your mom and aunts are in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Why don't you go in and see how you can help?" She suggests.

With a nod, I rise from the couch, placing a tender kiss on her cheek before making my way into the kitchen. As I enter, the lively banter of my mom and aunts fills the air, mid-gossip in the midst of breakfast preparations. I'm embraced by the scent of bacon and brewing of coffee. The women pause their gossip for a moment, shifting their attention to me.

"Well, look who decided to get up bright and early!" My mom exclaims, giving me a quick embrace. "Here, you take over the bacon for me. I need to get started on the pancakes," she adds, directing me to her spot at the stove. My aunts greet me with a cheerful "good morning" before seamlessly resuming their conversation with my mother.

The kitchen was bustling with activity, filled with the savory aroma of the many dishes being cooked. The Auntie's hands are kept busy as they catch up on the latest gossip and I snicker to myself as I focus on my task. The house starts to wake up as I hear my little cousins stomping down the stairs, their childish giggles over the chatter of the rest of the family.

I'm lost in my thoughts when my attention is abruptly diverted by an unexpected question from Aunt Pat, who's currently cooking the eggs.

"So, Naomi, you got a man yet?" The other ladies in the kitchen fix their gaze on me, awaiting my response. I stammer for a moment but then decide to keep it light.

“Well, no. I’m not really focused on that right now,” I reply with a shrug, hoping they’ll drop The subject. They don’t, of course.

“Come on now. You not getting any younger.” Adds my aunt Tina. My mom gives them a disapproving look as she closes the fridge.

“Y’all, leave my baby alone. It is too early for this.” Mom defends, but they roll their eyes.

“We’re just chatting, Angie. Besides, don’t you want some grandbabies?” Tina asks, Aunt Pat nodding in agreement.

"Naomi can wait for the right man as long as she needs. Better that than popping out babies without a ring," my mom subtly throws shade, her lips pursed. Aunt Pat raises an eyebrow.

“You tryna say sumn, Ang? Cus' whoever I think you're talking about has definitely gotten married since.” She says matter of factly. My mom ignores her.

"And Tina, don't start on Mimi, what about Ashanti? She still don't got a man either. And she 'bout the same age as Naomi." My mom adds.

"My Ashanti is a famous and successful model. She is busy building her life right now and taking care of her business. Besides, she's seeing someone," Aunt Tina states, turning her nose up. Sensing that my mom is about to say something else, I decide to intervene.

"Let's all calm down. I don't have a man, so what? It's not the end of the world. And, for the record, I have a successful career as well," I declare, raising my hands in defense. Aunt Tina's comment lingers in the air like a passing storm, briefly unsettling the familial calm.

"Just saying, you're almost thirty. Time to settle down. And I'd hardly call those cute little drawings you do a successful career," she persists, earning a disapproving look from my mother. I clench my jaw, determined not to let the remark sting.

"But we'll drop it," Aunt Tina announces, attempting to change the subject. The kitchen regains its lively atmosphere as they return to their culinary duties. My mother shoots me an apologetic glance, understanding the delicate nature of the topic, but I reassure her with a soft smile. I've grown accustomed to my family's concerns about my love life, even if their ideas of success differ from mine.

"Where is Teresa, anyways? And James? I saw the kids last night, but I haven't seen them." I ask, looking at my Aunt Pat.

"Oh, they're upstairs sleep. They really got a handful with them kids." She explains, shaking her head. I laugh a bit.

"Well, it seems like I'm not the only one who needed this vacation. Hopefully we will all get to relax." I let out a sigh.

"Well, don't you worry, none. Ashanti will be here any moment! I know y'all always have a good time together." Aunt Tina says. I look at her out of the side of my eyes and give a fake smile.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll have lots of fun." I respond, trying to hide the sarcasm in my voice. As they chop, stir, and laugh, I find myself wondering what's to come of this trip. My thoughts go back to what my aunts said about my love life.

Even though I'm almost thirty, I've never been one to go searching for a man, much less settle for less than I deserve. My art, my "cute little drawings," as Aunt Tina put it, is not just a hobby—it's my passion. And while it may not fit the conventional definition of success in their eyes, it brings me fulfillment and joy. And I want that when it comes to love as well.

As I plate the last pieces of bacon and turn away from the stove, my phone rings. It’s my brother Daniel.

“Hey Danny.” I greet as I walk out the kitchen.

“Naomi! You already at mamas?” He asks me.

"Yeah, flew in last night. We're about to have breakfast," I reply.

"Bet, well, I'm on my way there, about nine hours out. Been on the road for a while. Just calling to let you know I'm bringing a guest." My interest piques, and I raise my eyebrows.

“Oh? Is it a girl?” I tease. I can almost feel him rolling his eyes at me.

“No, it’s not. It’s one of my colleagues who needs a place to be for Christmas, so I offered to let him come.” Daniel explains.

“Oh, okay. Just a heads up, the aunties are already in my business so make sure you got your shit together.” I share a laugh with him and, over the sounds of the road in the background, I can barely make out a second laugh. I choose to ignore it.

“Who knows, maybe my guest can help you get your shit together if you, uh, catch my drift.” He teases. I roll my eyes in return and give a sarcastic laugh.

“This is not about to be you tryna hook me up with one of your friends again. We both know how that ended up last time.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry, it’ll be none of that, I promise. But don’t tell anyone I’m bringing someone. I want it to be a surprise.” He tells me.

"Sure, secret's safe with me," I respond, curious as to who he could be bringing.

"Alright, I'll catch you when I get home. Hopefully, everyone will still be up." He chuckles and I laugh along as well.

"Yeah, we'll see. Drive safe. See you when you get here." I say, before ending the call. As I hang up with Daniel, I can't help but wonder about the mysterious guest he's bringing. Returning to the kitchen, I start setting up the table as the delightful aroma of breakfast fills the air. Yet, my thoughts persistently drift back to the impending surprise.

A rhythmic knock echoes through the house coming from the front door, which promptly swings open.

"I'm hereeeee!" All of us in the kitchen pause to glance toward the entrance as my cousin, Ashanti, strides in. Draped in a fur coat and chic heeled boots, she's come with numerous bags.

Smiles light up the room, and everyone rushes to welcome her with hearty hugs. I hug her as well, but it's a bit stiff. Shanti and I grew up together and we used to be very close. But somewhere along the line, she started competing with me and it put a rift between us.

Amidst the flurry of greetings, I catch a glimpse of Ashanti's perfectly styled hair and the air of confidence she exudes. Despite the awkwardness between us, I manage a genuine smile, hoping that the holiday spirit will bridge the gap that has quietly settled over the years.

As the family gathers around, Ashanti unveils a cascade of presents from her bags. "Gifts for everyone!" she announces, and the room erupts with excitement. The children eagerly approach, but she urges them to wait their turn. The tension between us momentarily fades as the joy of the holiday season takes center stage. The gifts she gives are lavish and luxurious. As everyone gets their gifts, she saves the last one for me.

"And last, but certainly not least, this is for you, Naomi." Ashanti hands me a neatly wrapped gift. I smile and open it, eager to see what is inside. While I had no specific expectations, what I got is far from what I had expected. As I tear away the paper, I find myself holding what appears to be a Dollar Tree sketchbook, lacking the quality I might have hoped for.

"Oh, a sketchbook..." I attempt to conceal my disappointment, realizing she intentionally chose a less-than-impressive gift.

"No need for thanks! I just knew you'd love it. You know, with your little artsy thing you got going on. I figured it would be a perfect gift," she says, offering a feigned smile and a hug. Despite having plenty of similar sketchbooks, I decide not to grant her any satisfaction, accepting the gift graciously.

The room is still buzzing with the cheer of the holiday festivities, and as I hold the seemingly ordinary sketchbook, I take a deep breath, reminding myself that the value lies in the gesture rather than the material itself.

I manage a polite smile, masking any traces of disappointment, and reply, "Thank you, Ashanti. It's thoughtful." She beams, seemingly content with her choice of gift, and the tension between us lingers beneath the surface.

The following hours whirl by in a flurry of activity. I spend most of the day hanging out with my younger cousins, keeping them occupied while everyone else relaxes. It's a great feeling to be home and around my family once again, no matter how old I get.

There are a couple gifts beneath the tree and the fireplace blazes brightly. Grandmother, nestled in her recliner by the fireplace, skillfully crochets a blanket and my uncles huddle around the TV to watch a football game. Mom has just set out hot chocolate for the kids, while the aunties are talking with each other in the study. Ashanti is upstairs, probably on her phone or something. Meanwhile, I find myself on the couch, sketch pad in hand, allowing my creativity to flow.

The sun has dipped below the horizon and a flurry of snow blankets the world outside. I glance toward the window, crossing my fingers that the roads won't freeze over and that Daniel and his mystery guest will arrive soon. The children steal the TV, watching some cartoons while a few of my uncles head onto the porch for a smoke. This calm is one I've longed for over the years—it gives me a sense of nostalgia, sending me back to the carefree days of my childhood.

My cousin, Teresa, who was asleep all day, comes downstairs and sits beside me. I smile as I look up from my sketches at her.

"Hey, cuz!" She says, giving me a hug.

"Hey, you slept good?" I ask, giggling a bit.

"Girl, yes, it was MUCH needed. You really don't understand how much you miss naps until you have children." She sighs heavily and I nod sympathetically.

"Yeah, I figured when I saw James come down here and not you, you were still getting your rest." I say teasingly. Teresa rolls her eyes.

"Hey, those beds are comfortable." She retorts, defending herself.

"Well, at least now you get a break, right? You got some help." Teresa sits back and nods.

"I'm so glad to just be here. It's been a while since we were able to take a trip like this."

"Something tells me that this trip is gonna be one to remember." I say, mostly to myself.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see." Teresa says, before standing up and heading to the kitchen.

As time goes by, I hear the doorbell ring again. I remain seated, engrossed in my drawing. Mom answers and her sudden loud exclamation echoes through the house as she lets the visitors in. Intrigued, I look up from my sketches, wondering who it could be. I get up and walk over to the door, first seeing my big brother standing there. He's smiling widely as he sees the shocked look on Mom's face. However, as I approach, I see who she's really screaming about.

There, standing beside Daniel on the doorstep is none other than famous actor Michael B. Jordan. My jaw drops in astonishment as I can't believe my eyes.

"Danny, what is this? You didn't tell me you were bringing a guest!" She exclaims, the unspoken emphasis being, 'You didn't tell me that you were bringing Michael B. Jordan!'

"Just thought I'd surprise you, Ma. And Michael, here, didn't have anywhere to stay for Christmas. So I invited him to stay with us for the week. Is that alright?" He asks, sporting a sheepish grin. My mother stammers for a moment, caught off guard by this surprise. She glances at Michael, who presents her a giftwrapped bottle of expensive-looking wine, flashing that gorgeous smile of his. Still in shock, she stammers as he hands her the gift.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Samuels. I hope I'm not intruding too much." He gives her a hug, giving her a squeeze. My mother, still processing the surprise, hugs him back, her eyes gleaming with disbelief.

"Oh, you're not intruding at all! Well, welcome to our home, Michael!" She starts as he lets go of her and stands in the doorway. "We're honored to have you join us for Christmas."

"The honor is all mine." He responds. By now, news of Michael's arrival has spread through the house. Danny brings him in, brushing snow off of himself, and I catch his eye. He winks at me knowingly as our family rushes to greet Michael and take pictures. I smile and shake my head at Daniel. It seems his "colleague" was quite the understatement. My little cousins jump excitedly at meeting the man who played Killmonger and my aunties and uncles are chatting to him loudly, talking over one another.

I watch all the commotion with a smile, when I lock eyes with Michael. He looks as if he is gonna approach me, but he's stopped by Ashanti.

"Hi, my name is Ashanti! You look like you need a drink." She says, before grabbing his arm and leading him away from the lively group. I suppress a sigh of awkward disappointment as she shoots me a mischievous glance over her shoulder. Just then, Daniel drapes an arm around my shoulder, steering me toward the study for a chat.

"Daniel!" I exclaim in a hushed tone as a cheeky grin plays on his face. He simply shrugs, not making a response. "Daniel!" I repeat, this time playfully socking him in the arm with an excited smile on my face.

"Surprise?" He offers, having anticipated my reaction.

"How the hell did you manage to get Michael Bakari Jordan to come to the Samuels household?!" I try to contain my excitement, but my words come out with an unintentional squeal. He laughs, feigning pain as he clutches his arm.

"It's like I said. He didn't have anywhere to be for Christmas. I didn't tell y'all, but this last project I was working on was with Michael and it was set to go into the Christmas holiday. Luckily, we ended up finishing early. Michael had tried to plan ahead and sent is parents and siblings on a Christmas cruise so they'd still have a good time. Well, during the project, Michael and I talked frequently and he mentioned not having anywhere to go, so I invited him to come here." He explains. I'm still in disbelief.

"This is insane. I never expected you to actually bring him. And he's staying until Christmas?"

"Yep, so he gets the full Samuels family experience for the holidays. But, you should go out and meet him yourself, Mimi. Knowing Ashanti, she's probably talking his ear off by now." He pats my shoulder, and I take a deep breath before stepping out of the study.

My heart is racing in my chest as I walk towards the kitchen. I've been a fan of his for the longest and now he's in my house. I'm trying to think of what I'd say to him. I find myself, instead of going to meet Michael, pacing around the dining room away from everyone else. I'm not usually this nervous or shy. But something about this man just makes me go crazy.

"Come on, Naomi," I say to myself, rubbing my palms on my jeans. I pace a bit more before I shake my head at my ridiculousness. With another deep breath, I head out of the dining room and towards the kitchen once more. There Michael and Ashanti are sitting at the bar, engaged in a conversation. It looks as if Ashanti is just talking about herself and her many accomplishments while showing him her photos. As I get closer, Michael glances over and notices me, giving me that famous smile again.

"Hey, Michael..." I start, and he watches me, waiting to hear what I'm gonna say. I decide to just go for it. "Mind if I steal you away for a bit?" I bite my lip, avoiding Ashanti's eyes as she glares at me. The corners of Michael's mouth turn up as the sound of my voice reaches him.

"Well, actually, Nao-"

"Yeah, I don't mind." He interrupts Ashanti as he stands, grabbing his glass . "Thanks for the drink, Ashanti." He says, but she rolls her eyes as she watches us leave. We make our way to the upstairs common area and sit on the couch. Michael sits a bit close to me, draping his arm along the back of the couch as he gets comfortable.

"You know, I was just looking for an excuse to take a break from her," He says, leaning into me. "Thanks for rescuing me." I laugh a bit at his words.

"Well, I'm happy to help. I'm always willing to answer the call of a damsel in distress." I joke, trying to break the ice. He chuckles a bit.

"It looked that bad, huh?" He replies and I nod, overexaggerating it a bit. "Well, then I guess that makes you my knight in shining armor." He grins charmingly and I have to stop myself from melting.

"Ah, where are my manners. I'm Naomi, Daniel's sister. I would've introduced myself sooner, but you seemed a bit busy." I laugh nervously, struggling to sit still under his gaze.

"So you're this troublesome Mimi I've heard so much about?" Michael questions and I freeze, blushing in embarrassment. There's no way Daniel really told him about my nickname. I regain my composure and clear my throat.

"First of all, I don't know where this troublesome idea of me came from, cuz it's definitely not true." I retort, playfully turning my nose up.

Michael grins, his eyes filled with amusement. "Hmm, I don't know, Daniel talks about you quite a bit and based on his stories, you seem pretty troublesome to me." He leans back, a playful glint in his eyes as he observes my reaction. "But don't worry, I'm all for a bit of trouble."

I chuckle, feeling a bit more at ease with his easygoing demeanor. "Well, if that's the case, I hope you're ready for the full Samuels family experience. We're a handful, but it's all in good fun."

"So, Naomi," Michael begins, his eyes gleaming with curiosity, "Aside from being a troublemaker, Daniel tells me you're an artist."

I playfully roll my eyes at the "troublemaker" label. "Oh, yes, it's my favorite thing to do. I love to draw, paint, you name it."

"What would you say inspires you?" He asks, his expression showing genuine curiosity.

"I just feel like art is my way of keeping some semblance of sanity in this chaotic world, you know what I mean?" I explain.

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean." He says, nodding his head. "It must be a nice escape from the chaos of the world to be able to express yourself through art. I love listening to music; it helps me find clarity when my thoughts get too messy."

"I completely get that. And it's just a plus that I get to do it for a living." I say with a content smile.

"So being an artist is your full-time job?" he questions, his tone laced with intrigue.

"Yeah, at first it was a hobby, but it got so successful that I was able to quit my other job and do it full-time."

"An artist, huh? Anything I might've seen?" he asks, genuinely interested. I shrug casually.

"Possibly. I do commissions for all types of people, I've got a few pieces in the Brooklyn Museum, I also run an art page on Instagram, so maybe you've seen some of my art." I pull out my phone and show him my page. He takes the phone from my hands, scrolling and raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"These are amazing," he says quietly, clearly impressed. "Do you draw from real life often? It's so realistic and…detailed" He continues, running his fingers along my phone screen lightly.

"I'm experimenting with some other media forms, but yeah, all of these I painted from real life. Some of them even went for really high prices. My most recent piece went for $3,000. But I've been working on that one for months. It was a commission for the governor of New York."

"Wow! It's amazing. You got some serious talent girl!" He praises, giving me a high five. I laugh, blushing a bit as he compliments me. He hands me my phone back and pulls his out, going to my account on his Instagram and following it. It takes everything within me not to scream.

"Thank you. Art is just a huge passion for me. I love to make other people happy with it as well." I admit. Michael notices me blushing when it sinks in he just followed my account.

"Well, you've got a new fan." He says with a sly grin, leaning against my shoulder. "I might have to use your services sometime." He says, his gaze lingering on mine.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm down to make anything you'd like." I blurt out, before realizing what I'd just said. "I... didn't mean it like that." I let out a sheepish laugh and clasp my hands together. Michael laughs as well, but he really is just enjoying himself.

"How about you make a portrait of me?" He suggests, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

"When? Right now?"

"I'll leave it up to you. We got the next couple days." He reminds me with a wink.

"Okay, but you'll have to be on your A-game this whole week. Are you up for the challenge?" I question, matching his tone.

Michael leans in, his voice low and teasing. "I'm always up for a challenge, especially if it involves spending more time with someone as captivating as you."

I feel a flush of warmth, and I playfully roll my eyes. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Jordan."

He grins, unfazed. "Is that a promise, Ms. Samuels?"

"Absolutely," I reply, laughing a bit and enjoying our banter. Even though we've just met, it feels like we've been friends for a while. Michael takes note of the easy chemistry that we have, and that chemistry sets the tone for a vacation filled with shared moments and the promise of a memorable Christmas.

"Any other hidden talents I should know about, Naomi?" He questions me. Somewhere in our conversation, we've gravitated so close on the couch that there's no space between us. Yet, the proximity feels comfortable now, and any initial nervousness has dissipated.

"Well, you'll have to find that out, won't you?" I respond with a sly smirk.

"Oh, she wants to be mysterious now?" Michael chuckles, his dimples showing as he smiles at me.

"She does indeed. As you said, we've got these next few days. You'll just have to see for yourself," I reply, glancing at the clock to realize how late it has gotten. Most of the children have already fallen asleep, and the aunts and uncles have retired to their rooms. It appears that the family is settling down for the night. Michael and I exchange glances, acknowledging the quieting atmosphere around us.

"I guess it's time for us to call it a night," Michael suggests, a yawn coming from him. I nod in agreement, feeling a sense of contentment in the air.

"Yeah, it's getting late. Goodnight, Michael." I say, rising from the couch. Michael follows my actions and stands up.

"Goodnight, Naomi." He pulls me into a brief hug, and I reciprocate, my arms instinctively wrapping around his waist. After a moment, we separate, and I turn to make my way to my room.

"Uh..." Michael utters softly. "Which way is the guest room?" He asks. I smile and chuckle.

"It's down the hall, second door on the left," I reply, pointing him in the direction.

"Ah, okay, goodnight again." He says, before walking towards his room.

"Goodnight," I say softly, heading into my bedroom and getting ready for bed. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stare for a moment. Out of nowhere, I break out into a victory dance and squeal silently. I still cannot believe that Michael B Jordan is at my house, or that he's going to be staying here for a week, or that he might even like me! I take a deep breath and compose myself once more, worried I might wake someone.

As I settle into bed, the tranquility of the night wraps around me like a warm blanket. Reflecting on the unexpected turns of this day, I realize exactly how crazy this whole day has been. I can only hope that this isn't a dream. With a contented sigh, I drift off to sleep, eagerly anticipating the things to come these next few days.

To Be Continued...

#fluff #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x reader #Black reader #black reader fluff #Black oc #oc x character #noirsfantasy #12 days of christmas #christmas

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arundhatimorningstar · 9 months

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maid of honor | bradley bradshaw

The pre-wedding dinner for the groomsmen and bridesmaids was in full swing, and the lively chatter of guests filled the air. Y/N, adorned in a sundress, was helping with some logistics when Y/F/N, the bride, approached her with a mischievous grin.

"Y/N, I have a surprise for you," Y/F/N said, excitement dancing in her eyes.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A surprise? What is it?"

Before she could receive an answer, Y/F/N turned towards the entrance of the hall and called out, "Bradley, come here for a moment! I want you to meet someone special."

Bradley, the best man and one of Bob's closest friends, looked puzzled but followed her lead. Bob was a friendly and easy-going guy who had always become friends with all of Y/F/N's friends, and Y/F/N had befriended all of his as well.

Moments later, Bradley entered the room, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. Her breath caught in her throat as she locked eyes with him after all these years. Bradley's surprise mirrored hers, and they stood there, momentarily frozen in time.

"Bradley, meet Y/N Y/L/N, the maid of honor and one of my dearest friends," Y/F/N introduced with a genuine smile.

Y/N's heart raced as she tried to regain her composure. She wasn't prepared to face Bradley again, especially not in this unexpected manner. The memories of their high school days flooded back, both sweet and bittersweet.

Bob, who had walked over to his fiancèe, seemed to sense the tension between Y/N and Bradley, but he played it off as excitement for the wedding. "Now, let me introduce you to Bradley," he said, turning to Bradley. "Y/N, this is Bradley Bradshaw, one of my closest friends and the best man."

Y/N's eyes darted between Bob and Bradley, and she managed a slightly nervous smile. "Hi, Bradley. It's nice to meet you again."

Bradley's heart pounded in his chest as he replied, "Hi, Y/N. It's been a while."

Bob and Y/F/N excused themselves, citing "important engaged people business", leaving the two of them standing awkwardly in each other's presence. It was as if time had transported them back to their high school days when shyness and unspoken feelings stood between them.

Y/N decided to break the ice, feeling the need to say something. "So, you're the best man? That's a big responsibility."

Bradley chuckled softly, relieved that she initiated the conversation. "Yes, it is. But I couldn't say no to Bob. We've been friends for a while, and, to be honest, no one can say no to Bob." His smile widened at the giggle he elicited out of her.

Their conversation flowed more freely after that, a mix of nostalgia and curiosity about each other's lives after high school. They talked about their studies, careers, and the various experiences that had shaped them over the years.

As the night wore on, Y/N and Bradley found themselves gravitating towards each other, drawn by an inexplicable connection that time hadn't erased. The shock of their unexpected reunion was slowly replaced by the comfort of familiarity.

Bob and Y/F/N watched from a distance, exchanging knowing glances. They had sensed the unspoken feelings between Y/N and Bradley, and they couldn't be happier for the possibility of something rekindling between them because of the two of them.

In that moment, Y/N and Bradley realized that fate had brought them back together for a reason. Their hearts, though hesitant, had never truly let go of what they felt all those years ago.

As the night progressed, they found themselves stealing glances, laughter shared, and subtle touches that spoke volumes. It was a dance of emotions, with both surprise and delight intertwining in their hearts.

Little did they know that this wedding celebration, filled with shock and surprise, would mark the beginning of a new chapter—a chapter where love would find its way, breaking through barriers, and leading them to a love that transcended time and distance, a love that was truly meant to be.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick

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miseries-mistress · 1 year

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THE WAY YOU LOOK TONIGHT | COMMANDER CODY

This fic is for the @cloneficgiftexchange , my story is too @chicknstripz based of the prompt "Do you think they saw us sneak off?"

Synopsis: Galas have never interested you. Dressing up, smothering makeup on, and entertaining people who attended for appearances alone is pitiful as well as painful, but an unexpected guest turns the dreadful night around.

Warnings: female reader, fluff, kissing, no spice, happy fucking ending bc he deserves one. W/C: 1225

Notes: i know you said fluff, but i had to add a pinch of sadness. i actually can't help myself! I hope you like it!

star wars masterlist

You'd rather be anywhere but here. No matter how the senators framed this gala, it was nothing but an excuse to garner support for the Republic and funds despite the invite plastering "charity" over the heading. Being an advisor to the Republic, you often attend such events in a dress worth more than most Corosants residents' paychecks. It's a requirement for someone working so in-depth with Jedi and clones alike, no matter how entitled you feel and far from the comfort of your uniform when you step into the building.

Soft classical music floats out the grand doors, and the troopers you pass by nod respectfully after noticing you from your many appearances through different battalions. You could easily be picked out among the rest, whether it was how uncomfortable you looked or the dress that didn't fit quite right, you didn't know. You offer them a smile before turning back to polite chatter barely above the melody. Maybe you would have enjoyed this more and soaked in these rare pleasantries if tomorrow's work hadn't hung over your head so dauntingly. Working with the 501st never bothered you. In fact, you got along well with Rex and his men, but pursuing any diplomacy with Anakin present is nothing short of exasperating, so much so that you find it hard to believe he holds the rank of a Jedi.

"Well, don't you look lonely?" the man behind you asks. An unmistakable husk to the teasing lilt in his voice prompts your head to jerk in surprise. You turn, caught in Cody's gaze, while the confidence slowly drains from his eyes the longer you hold it, finally noticing the front of your dress dripping down your curves. There's something inexplicable in his stare, the way it slowly slides down your body, an emotion you could only compare to ravenous enlarging his pupils.

"You look…" he trails off, his Adam's apple bobbing as his irises find their way back to yours in an attempt to formulate the words congealed in his throat. "Really nice."

He bites back a wince. That's not what he wanted to say.

Your chuckle does little to settle him, his mind rushing with possibilities of how you interpreted his complement as your hands run down his suit lapel, and he tries to straighten himself, maybe to seem presentable in front of you. Even after all the battles you've witnessed together, Cody still makes an effort to look like what he feels is a "real man." As if there was such a thing.

"And you cleaned up nicely." He did. He really did. Cody looked almost...regal in the tailored black suit, rippling with lean muscle accentuated by the hugging fabric. Heat rises to your cheeks the longer you stare, and you clear your throat, forcing yourself to concentrate on what you're saying. "Well, I didn't expect you to show up tonight, not that it's unwelcome."

You offer him a smile, understanding his flushed expression as thinly veiled embarrassment, removing your hands from his chest. A look of longing flashes across his honeyed irises before he clears his throat, his hand rubbing sheepishly at his nape.

"Yeah, well, I usually see you before you're sent elsewhere. Besides, certain clone commanders were invited to showcase ourselves to members of the Senate…something about seeing us in person." He huffs, clearly disgruntled. "Not that it matters. It won't change their opinions of us."

You nodded. You've been around your fair share of senators throughout your career. But, being one of many ambassadors in the military and traveling across star systems to quell conflict in the people, senators often discarded them. Tossing their opinions forged from many years of training aside from the preconception that comes with the name. Seeing the hatred clones face is one thing, but witnessing how deeply it affects them is another.

Cody avoids your regard, searching for anything else to latch onto besides the raw emotions crackling in the air.

"Hey." A finger taps against his prominent jawbone, drawing him away from his thoughts. "Not right now. Let's just make the most of this time."

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers and giving the rough skin a squeeze, calluses digging into yours. Loud laughter slices through the air, and your attention shifts to the group of aristocrats loudly talking among themselves, glasses of alcohol swinging loosely in their hands. You wince, the environment you created fleeting from your grasp just as Cody leans in, his mouth a hairsbreadth away from your ear, and a raspy breath accompanied by a hum is enough to have you hanging off every single word. "Let's get out of here, yeah? Make the most of our time?"

You can only nod, the words caught in your throat as the familiar warmth ignites in your stomach, spreading throughout your limbs until you're giddy with the implications of what comes next.

Knowing the layout better than you, he leads you by hand down the hall, passing guards in a hazy blur, your head reeling at the point of contact. The mysteriousness, the longing, the desire to be closer than you could have ever imagined has your breaths coming in shallow pants, desperate for some reprieve from the shared ache between you two.

Finally, the door slides open, the night air kissing your cheeks with a chilliness you feel under your skin. The soft shut of the door behind you and his face in front of yours allows an unprompted giggle to slide past your lips, stealing a glimpse of the door before peeking back at him.

"Do you think they saw us sneak off?" His lips twitch into a ghost of a grin, stepping towards you. You feel like teenagers, too wrapped in the moment to consider the consequences and everything that could crush what you've constructed into thousands of pieces, absorbed in the thrill of secrecy to consider your lives outside this instance. Not Republic members fighting for a better tomorrow, just lovers.

"You worry too much for your own good." Cody slides a hand up your cheek, and you can feel the pulse in his fingertips, the quickness of his breath. He seems nervous, debating the action before pressing his lips to yours in a tender cling. It's cliché the way it steals your breath away as you melt into him, and the hands that shift from your cheeks to shoulders and then slide painstakingly down your back are filled with tender warmth. You feel aware of everything at once, the pressure of his mouth, the taste of your kiss, the ardor of his hand cascading down the knobs of your spine, and the texture of his slightly cracked lips.

He holds your mouth captive so he can feel every place where they touch and every place when they pull away. You can't help but savor the air you share in seconds afterwards as you slip your nose across his, the instant too intimate to be painted by words. Even your breaths sync together while you stand there.

Cody's fingers drift to your hips, pulling you flush to his chest in a swift movement. Gentle hands draw circles along your covered skin, pressing a kiss next to your ear. His voice is husker than usual, mysterious, and inviting.

"But I wouldn't have it any other way."

#commander cody x you #commander cody x reader #commander cody fanfiction #commander cody x female reader #commander cody #cody x reader #cody tcw #tcw commander cody #tcw cody #star wars tcw #tcw #x female reader #clone wars #starwars the clone wars #tcw fanfic #CFGE23

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cheezbites · 7 months

Note

Hi can you do a Chris McLean x Short!Reader?

Chris McLean x Short Reader

✎: MY FIRST EVER REQUEST I’M SO GEEKED RN. Thank you guys, keep these requests coming!! 💓🥲

♡Summary: Chris McLean dating someone short.

Bf!Chris always attended press conferences and award ceremonies where crowds towered over you, which was nothing new. He insisted on guiding you through the hordes of people with his hand on your shoulder or waist.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"What, is that Ruby Rosewood?" someone in the crowd exclaimed.

"Wait, where is she? Chris, lead us to her. Oh my god, I need to see her," you held onto his guiding hand resting on your shoulder.

He acted like a GPS tracker, swiftly locating her, and you enjoyed a short and sweet conversation with one of your idols.

Bf!Chris appreciates your shorter figure. Despite his past relationships with taller women, often models who added onto their height with expensive heels, your height, ranging from 5'0 to 5'4, actually makes him appear much taller when photographed or standing together. How could he not love that?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The event was busting with activity; flashing cameras, chattering voices, and a sea of well-dressed attendees. Chris, dressed in his tuxedo with a charming smile, navigated through the elegant crowd.

You, stood by his side, unbeknownst to the unique effect your presence had on Chris. He couldn't help but beam with pride as photographers captured the two of you together. You had a way of making him appear even more tall in comparison to you.

As you mingled with the guests, you picked up on a hushed whisper across the room, "Isn't that Chris? who's the lady with him?"

A nearby couple overheard and joined in, "That's his girlfriend, the one who makes him look even more impressive."

Chris, overhearing the conversation, couldn't help but chuckle.

Bf!Chris hired security guards for you with his immense budget, they followed you around everywhere. Even at times when it seemed a bit redundant.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Your chauffeur was driving you around the city as the security guards were sitting around in their own seats, making small talk with one another. You were texting Chris on your way to run errands:

“You sure I need the guards to go shopping for groceries?”

“Yes. Anything can happen, remember what happened on the news?” he replied shortly after seeing your message, you chuckled at his response. Chris was a bit paranoid at times, but maybe it was for the best.

Bf!Chris had to lean over to kiss you, which was one of his favourite aspects of the kiss.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Chris leaned over to meet your lips, and that simple act added an extra layer of sweetness to the moment. It was one of his favorite things about your kisses – the way he had to lean in to reach you.

As your lips met, you both felt the electric connection that never decayed. In that tender embrace, you shared a kiss that spoke volumes without words, reaffirming your love in the most beautiful way.

Bf!Chris was your weighted blanket at times; instead of you cuddling up to him it would be the opposite. He wouldn’t put his full weight on you; but enough for you both to be comfy.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

A cozy blanket draped over you as you both lounged on the couch. Chris had a mischievous glint in his eye. He shifted his position slightly, and before you knew it, he was gently draping himself over you, like a living weighted blanket.

You giggled at the unexpected move, making him grin down at you, his arms propped up, supporting his weight just enough to make you both feel snug and comfortable. You settled into the embrace, feeling the warmth and security of his presence.

Bf!Chris is the human trash can of the relationship. If you both went out to eat, he finished your leftovers you couldn’t finish.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You sat in a cozy corner of your favorite restaurant, savoring a delicious meal with Chris. The plates were stacked with delectable food, but as always, your eyes were bigger than your stomach.

Chris, on the other hand, seemed to have an appetite when it came to your leftovers. With a playful smile, you pushed your plate toward him, knowing he'd happily accept the offer.

He chuckled between mouthfuls, "Someone's got to make sure nothing goes to waste,"

As you continued to eat together, you couldn't help but appreciate how Chris's appetite perfectly complimented your tendency to order more than you could finish. It was just one of the many ways your relationship seemed to fit together seamlessly, like a jigsaw puzzle.

Bf!Chris often gave you piggyback rides at concerts, convinced that you'd struggle to see anything. You didn't mind at all, secretly enjoying the elevated view for your Instagram story. After all, it was a win-win – a better view and a cute moment to share with your followers.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The concert’s music thumped through the air as the crowd around you jumped and swayed to the beat. Chris, always attentive to your needs, leaned down with a grin.

"You ready?"

You reached for your phone and nodded, "Absolutely!"

Without hesitation, Chris knelt down, and you hopped onto his back. He effortlessly lifted you, and you clung onto him as he stood up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

The stage came into view, the lights and the artist gracefully performed around you.

You couldn't help capturing the moment. You snapped an Instagram story, the music pulsing in the background, while the crowd's energy surged around you. You couldn't resist but to feel grateful for Chris's thoughtfulness and the incredible view he provided, both in real life and on social media.

Bf!Chris took notice of your affinity for high-heels. Either in your online cart or when you’re window shopping, you were undoubtably drawn to them. It wasn't solely because of your height, although that might have played a role in your heel obsession. You simply loved the feeling they gave you – They were so simple yet so feminine. So expensive, too.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Close your eyes, love," he cooed playfully.

Curiosity piqued, but you complied, covering your eyes with both hands. You could hear him moving about the room, and a sense of anticipation built within you.

"Okay, you can open them now,"

As you removed your hands, you were met with the sight of a beautifully wrapped box with the ANAPHORA etched onto its elegant surface. Excitement and surprise washed over you as you carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside, you discovered a pair of exquisite high heels, the same pair that’s been sitting in your online cart for a few months now.

"Oh my God... Chris, you didn't have to!" you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with gratitude.

Chris grinned and replied, "Well, now you don't have to tip-toe as much," he teased, alluding to the times he had to adjust his height difference with you.

Bf!Chris noticed you taking his over sized t-shirts from his cupboard, he was used to your thief antics and so he let it slide. But on your figure, they looked like flowy dresses.

Bf!Chris loved when you asked him to get something out of your reach for you, it made him feel useful in a way.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You stood in the kitchen, eyeing a high shelf where your favourite cookbook was. The shelf was just out of your reach, and you knew exactly what to do. With a playful grin, you turned to Chris,

"Babe, could you do me a favor?" you asked, your tone sweet and soft.

He looked at you with a quirked eyebrow, a smile playing at his lips. "Of course, what do you need?"

You gestured to the cookbook on the shelf. "Could you grab that for me, please?"

His smile widened, and he sauntered over to the shelf, breezily retrieving the cookbook. As he handed it to you, he couldn't hide his sense of fulfillment. "Here, anything else?"

You chuckled, touched by his eagerness to help. "No, that's perfect, thank you."

A/N: Thank you so much (again) for requesting!!! This was very fun to write <3

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Text

A Birthday to Remember

Summary: You're birthday celebration is crashed by an unexpected guest. (Steve Rogers)

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, fingering, flirting, public canoodles

Note: @punishmepunisher said Evans was rocking a suburban dad who drinks applebee's margaritas and listens to Jimmy Buffett so this happened.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think. Please also reblog because it's a lot longer than I intended.

You laugh over the rim of your appletini. The overly sweet drink goes down too easy as Charlotte calls for another round. It’s not exactly the thirtieth birthday you dreamed of, but you can’t complain for the company.

It’s almost fitting as you enter your third decade, the downhome atmosphere of the Applebee’s; the staticy classic rock buzzing from the speakers, televisions playing sports games over the bar, where men in golf shirts and khakis nurse Heinekins and cheer on their favourite batters. The old jokes don’t stop as Charlotte and Tatiana hide behind the few months until they cross the line of the big three-o.

“You think you can handle another round, grandma?” Tat giggles as she looks around for the waiter.

“Shut up,” you grumble and roll your eyes, “just you wait, you’ll regret it.”

“She’s getting cranky in her old age,” Charlotte cracks and drains the last of her pina colada.

You harrumph and cross your arms as you sit back against the plastic cushion. The waiter stops by as Tat calls for another order.

“I shouldn’t have trusted you two with planning this,” you bemoan, “I mean, really?”

“Oh, come on, you said no clubs,” Charlotte taunts, “so we went with something more your speed.”

“Let me guess, we’re hitting the funeral home next?” You scoff.

“That’s next year,” Tat cackles.

You shake your head and sit through their roast, the waiter bringing you a second appletini as you thank them. You’re gonna need at least half a dozen to get through the night, especially with these two.

The bright green liquid dwindles as you gulp it down eagerly, listening to Charlotte chatter about her new Tinder match. A cute redhead she claims. You haven’t had much luck on the app despite her many flings. You feel as if you’re doing something wrong and Tat is once more in her on-and-off hookup with her old college roommate.

As you’re ready for a third, pondering changing up the flavour, a sudden lull goes up as the crackle of a sparkler breaks the din. Several waiters approach singing happy birthday as you cringe and sink down in your seat. Charlotte and Tatiana join in out of tune, drawing out the song annoyingly as the cake is placed on the table before you.

You growl before you blow out the candles and the servers proclaim you next drink on the house. You smile and thank them, holding back your humiliation and ordering one of the blue drinks on special.

“Right,” you say as you’re finally left to wallow with your so-called friends, “I’m gonna break the seal.”

“Already? Oh, shoot, there goes her bladder, we should’ve brought the depends,” Tat jokes and you give her another snarl.

You leave them to their laughter as you climb down from the booth and head towards the signs beside the kitchen. You take your time, hiding in the stall as the alcohol flows into your veins and gives a bit of a tint to your vision. You wash your hands and stare at your reflection.

You don’t look older. You don’t feel it either. Thirty isn’t so bad. Give it a couple years and your few strands of grey will be streaks. You twist off the tap and yank out some paper towel to dry off.

It’s a bit louder as you come out into the restaurant. The bar’s growing raucous as bottles clink onto the wood top and the avid ball fans cheer for their team in the ninth inning. As you pass behind the stools, a body stumbles into you as he slides off a tall stool.

A large hand catches your lower back, steadying you before retracting abruptly.

“Oop, sorry about that, I didn’t see ya there,” the man takes a step back, resting his hand on the leather of his vacated seat, “oh, you’re the birthday girl, huh?”

“Oh, uh,” you glance over at Charlotte and Tat as they speak over the table, slurping from their thin straws, “yeah, my friends are a bit dramatic.”

“Here, let me buy you a drink,” he offers.

“Oh, no, no, that’s fine. It’s nice of you but–”

“I insist, come on,” he waves to the bartender, “what are you drinking?”

“Really, I can’t, I gotta get back to my friends,” you insist.

“Bah, make them wait, they don’t seem to miss you,” he peeks at them over his shoulder, “Steve, by the way.”

You nod, uncertain about the man. He’s older than you. Forty at least judging from the patches of silver at his temples that weave back into his golden hair. Even so, he’s not bad looking.

You return your name, another wary look to your table, and you fold your hands anxiously.

“Another margarita,” he orders over the bar and turns to you, “well?”

“Um, vodka soda,” you say, sticking to the same liquor. If you don’t feel your age, you definitely feel the alcohol.

“Here, all yours,” he pats the stool and steps away as the bartender begins his mixing.

“No, it’s fine–”

“I insist,” he points to the seat, his voice firm, fatherly almost, “sit.”

You hold back a sigh and step on the crossbar and haul yourself up. He stands beside you, his elbow on the bar as he digs out his wallet. He pays as your drinks are set down and tells the bartender to keep the change.

“You’re too nice,” you say, “buying a complete stranger a drink.”

“Stranger? I know your name, you know mine,” he says smoothly.

“Right,” you put your fingers on the cold glass, “I guess.”

“So, how old are you now? Wait, wait,” he raises his large hands, “let me guess,” he taps his chin as he thinks, eyes roving over you, “twenty-three?”

You nearly choke as you suck on the straw and scoff, “try again.”

“Hmmm, up or down?” he asks. You point at the ceiling and his brows shoot up, “oh, I see, aging gracefully.” He pauses to drink from the tall green neck of his beer bottle, “Twenty-five?”

You shake your head and give him a doubtful look, “you don’t have to lie, it’s not working.”

“Twenty-six?” He tries again, the same glower aimed back at him, “no? Shit, uh,” he hooks his thumb in his belt and hovers his glass before his lips. He squints at you and takes a slow drink, popping his lips off the rim as he thinks, “don’t tell me you’re thirty.”

You nod, “yep, thirty.”

“Jeez, well, you look good for thirty, trust me, I know,” he chuckles, “damn, I’m old.”

“Are you?” You wonder.

“Take a guess,” he leans on the bar as he crosses one foot over the other.

“I don’t want to,” you say, “I wouldn’t want to offend you.”

“What? Come on, I can’t look that old, I’m sure you can get it.”

“Steve,” you pluck his name out of your mind after a moment of grasping, “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he goads.

You press your lips together and take another sip. You peer over at Charlotte and Tatianna. They’ve noticed and they’re watching none too subtly.

“I should get back to my friends,” you say again.

“You guess my age and you can go,” he says, “so?”

“Uh, I don’t know… thirty?” You utter weakly.

He laughs, “be serious,” he slides closer, brushing against your legs.

“Forty,” you resign in a stony voice.

His cheek ticks, “warmer.”

“Okay, er, forty-two?”

“Getting there,” he tilts his head.

“Higher or lower?” You ask impatiently and slide to the edge of the stool, wanting to get back to the table.

“Higher,” his tone rolls in his throat smokily.

“Um, forty-five?” You bluster helplessly.

“Bingo,” he wiggles his glass at you, “fifteen years, huh? Not that much but enough.”

“Sure,” you say, confused, “well, I–”

“Hey,” Charlotte interrupts, “hate to butt in but we were getting a bit antsy so we cut the cake.”

“Here,” Tatiana hands you a plate with a slice, then offers another to Steve, “we figured we bring you some.”

“I’m coming back, it’s–”

“Thanks,” Steve takes it and sets down his drink, “you guys have some wild plans for the rest of the night?”

Tat gives a prolonged glance in his direction before her and Charlotte share a coded look, “well, that’s the thing. I have a girl waiting for me at my apartment and Char here has a guy blowing up her phone, but our friend, single as the day she was born.”

“Tat,” you hiss under your breath as Steve laughs.

“And she’s thirty. Tick tock,” Charlotte adds, “she won’t be able to score a sexy older man for much longer.”

“Shut up,” you growl.

“So, we’ve had our cake and ate it too,” Charlotte smirks, “so the table is all yours.”

You blink at her as you try not to seethe in anger.

“Go on, enjoy the rest of your birthday, babe,” Tat adds as she adjusts her purse, “we’re just gonna share a cab.”

‘I hate you,’ you mouth over your glass before you take another drink.

They giggle and give a wave, “see you later, you can tell us all about it tomorrow,” Charlotte chimes as they strut away.

You gulp down the last of the bitter vodka soda and place it on the bar, “well, that was not uncomfortable at all. I’m gonna go grab my things and disappear.”

“Wait,” he says as you drop off the stool, your plate nearly toppling out of your hand, “you gotta have your cake. It’s your birthday.”

“I… guess,” you bite your lip, “but you don’t have to–”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that I want to,” he says, “so?”

You feel bad saying no, even if you’re uncertain about him. He’s friendly enough but you don’t exactly go for the suburban Applebee local. He did buy you a drink though so the least you can do is be polite.

“Sure,” you say, “I can’t eat all that cake alone.”

He grins and turns back for his margarita. You lead him to the table and sidle onto the bench. He slides in beside you to your surprise as you set down your plate. He’s close as he sits next to you and settles in.

“I prefer vanilla,” he says as he jabs his fork into the chocolate sponge.

“I don’t mind either,” you say as you mirror him. This is going to be an awkward night. Charlotte and Tatianna are going to pay.

“So, you must be from town?” he asks before taking a bite.

“Yeah, east end,” you answer.

“Ah, I live up in Chester,” he swallows, “pretty tame over there.”

“That’s close,” you say awkwardly, never very good at the whole conversation with a stranger thing.

“I look like the type, eh?” He glances down at his striped golf shirt.

“I didn’t think about it,” you lie, focusing on your cake as sweat beads on your scalp. He smells like bergamot and citrus,

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he says as he stretches his arm behind your head, his fork clinking against the plate.

“I’m not,” you reach for the forgotten blue cocktail you ordered before your venture to the toilets, “really.”

“So what do you do? You seem like a teacher type.”

“I do? Didn’t you think I was twenty-three?”

“Well, now I know you’re not. Maybe you’re a lawyer? You like to argue.”

“I’m not arguing,” you stop yourself, leaving the last bit of your slice untouched as you twirl your fork nervously, “I work in curriculum development. Not quite a teacher.”

“Ah, I knew it was something like that,” he puts his fork down on his empty plate and takes a napkin to wipe his lips, crumpling it up and tossing it with the silver. “You must work hard, no time for guys?”

“Just haven’t gotten to that,” you shrug as his arm falls onto your shoulder. You wriggle and try to shrug him off, “it’s warm in here,” you fan yourself as the fork shakes in your hand.

“Well, you’re damn hot, aren’t you?” he purrs as he leans in.

“Wha– I– Can you back up?” you choke out, “please.”

“Come on, baby, just a little fun for your birthday,” he turns towards you on the seat, blocking out the restaurant with his shoulders.

“Okay, no, you’re too–”

He shoves his hands between your legs and you gasp, clamping your thighs around his fingers.

“Hey,” you grab his wrist, “don’t do that–”

He curls his arm around your head and smothers your mouth with his other hand. You murmur into his palm as he forces his hands up to the seam of your leggings. Your eyes round as heat surrounds the pressure of his rough touch. His breath fills the tight space as he pulls your against him.

You’re almost in his lap as he places his chin on top of your head, hugging you to him as he rocks his hand. It’s painful as the coil winds within, the weight of his hand against your clit twists it tighter and tighter. You garble as he shakes your whole body with his rhythm and hushes you.

“Doesn’t that feel good, honey? Hm?” he keeps two fingers against your folds as he presses the heel of his hand against your bud, “fuck, I feel you getting wet through these things.”

You whimper as you latch onto his thick forearm, his scent drowning you as the alcohol laces through your hazy mind. He moves his fingers up and down, tracing the seam and pushes on the stitches with his nail. The fabric split and he tears the hole a little at a time.

You tremble as you claw at him, begging him in muffled sniffles to stop. He feels along the edge of your panties and inches them aside, delving between your wet lips. You bat your lashes in horror as he coos at you under his breath.

“Fuck, you are wet, honey, hm? You like being my little slut. With all these people around too…” he dips his fingers into you, wiggling his hand against your clit as he curls his knuckles, “yeah, you’re gonna cum already, aren’t you?”

The noise all around blurs; voices, the radio, the television, and the clatter of plates from behind the kitchen doors. You suck in air as your eyes roll back, the tingle spreading across your thighs as your hips rock without thinking. He squeezes as the fire bloom and smatters across your pelvis, an orgasm spiking against your will.

You puff against his hand as you squeeze his wrist and shudder through your climax. He eases you through, your walls twitching around him in rebellion. Slowly, he slips out and lets you go. You pants as you brace yourself against the cushion as he untangles his arm form your neck.

He puts his elbow on the table and admires his glistening fingers. You reach between your legs to feel the tear in your leggings, your cunt tender to the touch. He winks at you as he licks his fingers and pushes them into his mouth with a hum.

He pulls them out in a deliberate motion, “tasty,” he smirks and turns his hand, checking the time on his watch, “damn, I told the wife I’d be home at ten.”

You gape at him as he takes a deep swig from the curved glass and slides off the seat. You quiver as you sit up, watching him dumbly as you try to understand what just happened.

“See ya, honey,” he waves with the two fingers he just fucked you with, “happy birthday.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #one shot #maybe?#mcu #marvel #au #captain america #silverfox au

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