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pt2change · 4 months

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new beginnings ; jeon jungkook

[gif source]

pairing: biker!jungkook x bartender!yn

genre: typical ‘let’s kiss at midnight on new years’ au, except they’re complete strangers, fluff, i think that pretty much sums it up

word count: 1,381

↣ bts masterlist

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the weekends were always a hard shift

everyone would go out and get extremely wasted

and yeah, your job didn’t make it easy to tolerate with drunk assholes, but you didn’t mind, in fact, you sometimes found it funny

you opened the door to the bar you worked at and walked straight in, going to the small space in the back where staff would go before opening

you quickly walked over to the small locker you were assigned to when you first started

you took your jacket off and began to put all your belongings inside, grabbing your name tag and clipping it onto your shirt

it always surprised you how many people would show up to a bar on new year’s eve, making it the busiest day of the year aside from christmas.

it’s typically couples that come in to have a drink and share a kiss at midnight or multiple groups of friends would come in to party

“you’re spending new years the same way i am?” your middle aged co-worker, sarah, asked you

“oh yeah, sitting around and watching movies.” you chuckled, putting on the apron that started at your hips and ends at mid thigh

you used to hate wearing it, but all the staff members do, so you don’t mind it that much anymore

sarah laughed, she walked out from the back, and began playing music from the jukebox that sat in the bar.

you sighed as the music began to play throughout the small building

it did help calm you down and prepare you for the long night ahead

you walked to the front doors of the bar and unlocked the doors, you also grabbed a blackboard sign with prices and details about drinks, and placed it outside

you looked up to see the christmas lights that hung around the building, and all other light from different buildings too

you smiled to yourself as you watch the snow fall from the sky, settling softly into the ground

this was your favorite time of year

you walked back into the bar, looking at sarah, who was wearing glittery glasses that read ‘happy new year’

“i’m not wearing that.” you shook your head and chuckled, making your way behind the bar

sarah smiled at you, “i know. so i got you this instead-“ and pulled out a simple black and gold headband that read ‘2024’ and places it on your head

you nodded your head, walked over to the jukebox and turned up the volume

you started getting to work as the bar slowly began filling up with people

it was almost completely full, and you and sarah rushed around, getting drinks to everyone that asked for one, it was just you two working the bar, but you wouldn’t have it any other way

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"god, it's freezing…" a man said as he rubbed his two hands together, blowing into them for heat, his feet trailing through the snow

every single bar he passed, the music was blasting out of them and they all seemed full and warm

he walked by and spotted one in the corner of the street, it looked inviting

i mean, he didn't even care if he was by himself, he just needed a drink

he walked into the bar, mazing through the groups of people

he sat down on a stool at the bar, looking at the two girls working behind it, this was definitely one of the busiest bars in the city

"what can i get for you?" sarah smiled, leaning over the bar and smiling to him.

"a shot of whiskey.." he smiled to her politely, handing her the money

"coming right up." sarah smiled, taking the money and putting it in her apron for the time being

"there you go…" she said placing the glass down, "have a nice night." she smiled, moving over to attend to another customer

jungkook was rarely in bars because he enjoyed the comfort of drinking inside his home

but he felt he needed some cheering up, and that’s why he ended up stopping at the small bar on his way back home

he was spending another new years alone. sure, he’s had his fair share of relationships, but he just couldn’t stay committed.

this time of year was filled with couples kissing left and right, which only made him realize how lonely he was.

“is something wrong with your drink?” you asked him, wanting to make sure all your customers were satisfied.

jungkook looked up, and paused when he looked at the person in front of him

your eyes innocently staring back at his, your cute smile was doing something to him

you were perfect.

“n-no it’s fine” jungkook smiled at you.

“are you sure? i can get you something else if you’d like.” you looked at him, gesturing to the variety of drinks behind you.

“if you insist,” he chuckles, “can i just get a glass of beer?” he smiled at you.

“yes sir” you smiled at him, grabbing a new glass to pour the beer in. after pouring it, you walked over to him and placed it neatly in front of him

you leave the glass of whiskey too, in case he decides to drink it after all

“thank you.”

“so are you here alone?” you leaned over the bar just a little bit

“yeah..” jungkook nodded, grabbing the glass in his hands.

“okay so let me guess,” you started, “you’re children are driving you insane, so you told your wife you needed to buy something last minute, but in reality you just came here? or new years makes you feel a bit lonely and you came here to see if it would cheer you up?”

jungkook chuckled, “the second one sounds about right.”

“i thought so.. i guess that makes two of us” you said, letting a small laugh escape from you. “enjoy your beer.” you smiled at him before walking away, and began taking orders from other customers

he watched as you walked away, he’d never seen someone more beautiful

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a few hours had passed, and there was 5 minutes left until it was officially new year’s day

you had been exchanging smiles with the same man at the bar, switching from his beer (and whiskey that he did in fact drink) to something non alcoholic, getting smirks from him

you weren’t usually this comfortable with men that came to the bar, or ones that looked at you and tried to make conversation

maybe it was because he was almost completely sober and wasn’t trying to get into your pants

or maybe he was…

either way, you didn’t mind him staring at you.

you and sarah finally took a break from serving drinks and got yourselves one, as everyone started to countdown from the last minute until new year’s day

you walked over towards jungkook and leaned over the bar.

"you know, in a few seconds, most of the people in this room are going to be kissing and hugging…" you smiled to him

“oh? are they?” he raised his eyebrows

”yeah,” you nodded, “and just so we don’t look so lonely…” you smiled as you watched the clock strike midnight.

jungkook watched as you placed your lips against his, and he kissed back softly just enough so you both could enjoy it

jungkook was surprised you had just come up and kissed him, but he wasn’t complaining

you pulled away from him, “happy new years.” you smiled

and you slowly walked away, going back to serving other customers

jungkook’s eyes didn't leave you for the rest of the night

until, at 2am, he finally decided he should go home

you had turned around to face him again and realized that he had already left the bar, leaving his empty glass with a piece of paper stuck to the bottom of it

you walked over and picked it up, taking the paper which had a phone number and name, jungkook, on it

you smiled to yourself and put the paper in your jean pocket, walking over to the dish washer and placing the empty glass in it.

"oh, someone looks happy" sarah nudged you, pulling the lever down and pouring a glass of beer

"well… it is new years" you smiled

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eggluverz · 7 months

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halloween with the hsr boys

pairing: dan heng; jing yuan; blade x reader

sof's note: guess who is in a halloweeny mood :> meee! and i'm sure a lot of y'all are as well so let's bask in these autumn vibes together LOL special shoutout to the anon who suggested dan heng would watch like 15 vids before he carves a pumpkin fhsjkghdf that is so accurate <3 pls enjoy and happy fall!!

dan heng

not big on the spooky parts of halloween, but he loves getting in the halloween/autumn spirit by watching twitches and halloween town with you

you host a pumpkin carving contest on halloween eve between the two of you and dan heng 100% takes it seriously

days of prep before the big night, hours of youtube videos in his history… he even reads up on the origins of pumpkin carving—just to be fully immersed and prepared

when the time comes, dan heng has his tools lined up in the most efficient order as he readies himself to make his design

he, of course, wanted to carve a tree with maple leaves falling in the night sky

you stare at his template with wide eyes, quickly scrapping your happy face idea to think of something more creative…

noticing this, dan heng chuckles in amusement. “you don’t have to change your design to match mine”

you shake your head. “and risk losing the competition? no way”

“then may the best carver win”

when the two of you are done, you take a photo and send to your friends to vote

it was a close call, but dan heng ends up winning by two votes

“maybe i should’ve joined your pumpkin carving research…” you pout, staring between your finished product and his

“there’s always next year,” dan heng soothes, giving you a hug. “besides, you’re always the winner in my eyes.”

jing yuan

he would make all the pies for you

pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple pie, sweet potato pie, apple crumble pie…you name it

he doesn’t even know how to make pie he just googled a bunch of recipes and winged it

you think something tastes off but you try to encourage him anyway

of course, jing yuan sees right through it

“it‘s not that i don’t like your baking, i really do, but i may have some suggestions for the future…”

“there is no need to sugarcoat your distaste, y/n,” he says with a laugh. “we can redo them together.”

the pies turn out even better the next time

the two of you end up picking up pie making as your fall-time hobby this year and bake pie for all your friends

he tries to make a mimi-safe pie as well

mimi hates it (pumpkin spice is not good on the lion’s tongue)

but you think the effort is cute :>

he ends halloween night off by sharing a yummy slice of apple crumble pie with whipped cream on top with you

“so sweet!” you state happily as he feeds you the first bite.

jing yuan leans forward and smiles. “not as sweet as you”

blade

goes all in for halloween

is dead instead most of the year, comes to life for the halloween spirit

he likes to decorate the house with you, even making a mini “haunted maze” in the driveway for the trick-or-treaters

accidentally makes a kid cry in it…

really, he just went in the maze to do a quick maintenance check, but he looked so menacing in his costume that a kid saw him and started crying

blade is too confused about what happened to feel bad

you give the kid extra candy and apologize to their parents while stifling a laugh at blade’s blank expression

“i didn’t even say ‘boo’,” he murmurs curiously.

you just pat him on the head and give him a kiss on the cheek

after the trick-or-treat shenanigans, you and blade relax and unwind on the comfort of your couch

his definition of unwinding on halloween is watching old horror movies

[or, if you cannot handle horror like me: he watches the barbie movies with you to help you take your mind off the halloween scares and go to sleep :3]

you cuddle him as you doze off while eating leftover halloween candy

blade carries you to bed and tucks you in for the night bc you deserve a good night’s rest <3

#dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #hsr blade x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #dan heng #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #jing yuan #hsr blade #hsr

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star-anise · 1 year

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So I've been watching this series of videos where a research-focused psychologist goes through Jordan Peterson's work to see which of his ideas and arguments are based on solid empirical evidence. I love it, even though she does mistakenly say his background is in counselling psychology (my field) when he's actually a clinical psychologist.

Anyway, that's got me thinking about Jordan Peterson, and how his response to criticism is, "People have been after me for a long time because I’ve been speaking to disaffected young men — what a terrible thing to do, that is. [...] I thought the marginalized were supposed to have a voice.”

So, here's my theory: Young men of the 21st century have grown up in a culture that is specifically hostile and punitive towards them. However, I think that while girls and women can participate in this culture, it is as much or more the work of boys and men. And I think that the problem with Peterson is that he's not particularly good at helping his audience escape the maze they are trapped in--and he's absolutely opposed to any attempt to dismantle a maze that is actually of fairly recent manufacture.

Case in point: The metrosexual.

The word "metrosexual" was coined in 1994 by Mark Simpson, a gay writer whose settings seem to be perpetually fixed at "critique the shit out of it".

"Metrosexual" describes heterosexual men who might be mistaken as gay, because they are interested in things very common among gay men, including: Caring about whether they're attractive; caring about how their hair is cut and what products they use in it; caring about what clothes they wear; working out to make their bodies look better; frequenting nightclubs. To be "metrosexual" was, in some people's opinions, to be a "man-boy" searching for his "inner girl".

To be metrosexual was, in some ways, to be called someone who looked gay.

The term didn't really catch on until the early 2000s, when media became briefly obsessed with talking about which celebrities were "metrosexual" or not. In that era of hotly divided opinions over the acceptability of homosexuality and queerness, it was implicitly asking, "Who looks gay? Is he gay? Tell me, fellow broadcaster: How gay does this guy look to you?"

(They got to have their cake and eat it too. A liberal audience, desperate to gather as many LGBTQ+ people and allies as possible in their race for 50% acceptance of gay marriage, cherished any signs that people with social clout might be on their side. And a conservative one, watching the same discussion, would heartily enjoy seeing a rogues' gallery of degenerate Hollywood types paraded before them, their every effeminacy pointed out in loving detail.)

Which of course got us: The Retrosexual!

When everybody's helpfully compiling lists of all the things a man can do that look gay or unmanly, dudes who don't want to get the shit kicked out of them by homophobes know all the things not to do!

Therefore, being "manly" became strictly defined by what was off-limits. To be a Real Man meant you shouldn't care about whether you're attractive, or what soap you use, or how your hair is styled. You shouldn't enjoy dancing or get too enthusiastic about music. A Real Man cares about sports and beer and being on top! Dominant!! A WINNER!!!

And, so like, here's a secret: In Anglophone culture, we are very affected by the Puritan legacy that says pleasure is inherently sinful. Vanity and pride--caring about how you look and whether you're attractive--are literal gateways to the Devil. Gluttony, and therefore seeking pleasure at all, is another such. And in Puritan religious theology, women are inherently more sinful. Yes, it goes back to Adam and Eve, and how Eve was tempted into sin first. Long story short, things associated with women became associated with sinfulness, and sinfulness became associated with effeminacy. And for centuries, you haven't even needed to be religious to drink these attitudes from the groundwater.

Okay, that's not the secret, this is the secret: Pleasure is not inherently sinful.

And liking how you look and feeling attractive and paying attention to your sensuality and your emotional life and connecting with art in a real and vulnerable way can feel really good, if you're able to handle it well.

Being raised to be a Real Man in a world where masculinity is perceived to be actively under threat is so uniquely painful, I believe, because every attempt to define yourself as "not gay" means denying yourself one of life's pleasures, and telling yourself you never even wanted it in the first place.

And then those desperate to be Real Men found a way to take some of those things back in what is surely the most painful context possible: They are allowed strictly as tools of your heterosexuality and masculine need for dominance. You are allowed to care about grooming and dancing, etc, purely as a strategy in playing a game called "Getting Girls", where you either score or you don't, where not scoring means you're worthless and unlovable, and scoring is often... strangely unfulfilling and certainly not enough to fill the aching void inside of you.

The mistake both Peterson and his fanbase make is that they get to this point, and then think: The reason I feel so empty inside is... I just haven't gotten enough girls!

Maybe some guys get out of the maze by finding a woman who is allowed to care about things like affection and love and dancing and looking nice, and their connection with her lets them express all the other parts of their souls that didn't fit in the Real Man box, but can come out in roles like Boyfriend or Father.

But humans aren't telepathic, so relationships can only "fix" you so much as you're willing to do the work of nurturing your own soul in a safe environment, so for a lot of men the maze never ends, and sometimes they don't even get the fleeting joys of relationships or sex, since they're so fucked up about them!

At this point, I as a queer woman am like, "Solution's obvious! Dismantle the maze."

And Peterson, who has worked his whole life to achieve the status of Best Maze-Runner in All of Christendom, is clinging to it like, "NO! DOWN, YOU DARK CHAOTIC MOTHER! THIS MAZE GIVES MY LIFE MEANING! THIS MAZE CONNECTS ME TO MY FOREFATHERS! I CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT THIS MAZE!"

At which point, like... what can you do but just leave him there?

At least he's not in my area of specialization. The world would be too unkind if I had to deal with him in any professional capacity. I wish Clinical Psychology all their continued joy of him.

#feminist discourse #masculinity #jordan peterson tw #to be honest #the moment I learned he was from Fairview and went to the UofA I was like 'OH IT ALL MAKES SENSE'#it's not that all of Fairview is one way because Rachel Notley and other very fine people come from Fairview #but there is a specific breed of Guys Who Come From Fairview #Who Study Psychology At the UofA #Who Like To Monologue About Conservative Politics #I can't explain it #it's a type #iykyk i guess

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

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In the Night

Dad!Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female reader

Summary: You’re his once again, but Jake can’t shake the nightmares of where you leave him, this time taking your daughter with you.

Notes: This was another one suggested by an anon. It’s the slightest bit different, but I did my best. Mostly fluff, really, and love stuff. Hurt/comfort. I love how my plan was to make this a drabble and my brain was just like ‘nope!’

Part of the Oh, Baby universe, takes place between Oh, Baby and His Girls.

Warnings: I mean, nightmares, I guess. Idk if that’s a warning. Cursing. Probably it.

Words: 2419

Oh, Baby Masterlist / Masterlist

Oh Baby (Previous Part), His Girls (Next Part)

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Jake didn't have dreams, and he didn’t get nightmares. He didn’t have mountainous worries or subconscious fears that could wiggle their way into the crevices of his brain to make themselves known after closing his eyes at night. He had clear goals and a planned future that nothing would, or ever did, stand in the way of. His pure drive didn’t offer spare time to imagine negative possibilities, and that way of living served him well. It proved an effective method to get him where he wanted to be. It got him into the Navy. It got him to California. It led to him participating in missions rarely offered to others. It was a way of living that eventually brought him to you. You, who immediately fucked up his balanced lifestyle.

Before you, Jake had convinced himself he had complete control over every element of his life, and that extended to his unconscious. Then you decided to walk right into his line of sight, and with one word from your pretty lips, you gained full access to the front door of his brain, which you thoroughly abused at all hours of the day. You made your mark and tossed a wrench into the well-oiled gearwork that operated his perfect functioning and completely took over. He lost control over parts of himself he didn’t expect, and from that very moment, his nights were filled with dreams.

In the beginning, they were sweet extensions of his time with you at the bar; innocent flirting and jokes—the times that built your friendship despite him always wanting more. Then there were kisses that you'd never shared suddenly seeping in and moments when he brought you into his bed. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t mind those dreams—liked them even, until he realized he was in love with you. After that, they changed. The longer he went without telling you how he felt, the more his dreams began to morph into punishments for being a coward that had him sweating and shooting up in bed. And once you disappeared from his life entirely, those punishments twisted into absolute torture. That was when he got his first true taste of a nightmare.

When you finally returned to him with your baby daughter, he imagined all of that would go away. He had you back, he had a beautiful little girl, and he was sure there was absolutely nothing else to worry about.

It was the third night of you being back in his arms that proved him wrong. The sweating returned; the gasping; his torso shooting up in bed. Painfully reminiscent and all of it more potent than before.

They were usually the same. You were walking away from him, drifting further with each step until your figure blurred with the indistinguishable background. You walked with ease while he felt he was trudging through seas of thick mud, the uppermost layer drying and cracking under the intense heat of the sun, only adding to his struggle to get to you. Eventually, he would wear out. You’d be gone, and he’d be up to his torso in mud so solid and dry it was practically on its way to becoming arable soil.

Sometimes they were worse—harder to shake off the next day. Those nightmares had Eve. Her tiny hand would be reaching out for him just before you pulled her away with a blank expression on your face and disappeared behind a maze of doors. In the nightmare, he always laughed at the cruelty. His mind let him know that enough doors to fill a funhouse made up the labyrinth that kept him from you and his daughter, and yet he didn’t even have the key to the first one. No hope of getting you back. A useless effort.

They always destroyed him.

—--

His eyes were wide open, too wide, staring at the wall on the other side of his bedroom as he tried to calm his breathing. His heart was a jackrabbit in his heaving chest; bedsheets damp under his palms.

For the twenty-second night in a row, he’d been forced awake by the nightmares, panic overwhelming his entire body, only to look over and find you safe and sound beside him. And if you were beside him, then he knew his daughter was bundled comfortably in her crib down the hall. The instant relief to his mind did not stretch throughout the rest of him.

Jake groaned and rubbed a hand over his sweaty brow. His nerves were shot. Overstimulated. They felt wiggly under the layers of his skin.

“Jake?”

He sighed. The concern in your sleepy voice grew with each night he failed to keep from waking you, and he hated the way his name borderline quivered off your lips.

“Go back to sleep, Honey,” he said, but you were sitting up before the words were fully out of his mouth. Stubborn woman. He would’ve chuckled but the energy to do so wasn’t within him.

Your fingers brushed back locks of his ruffled hair, then your palm cupped his cheek and you turned his head until your eyes met. Your skin was cool against his flushed face, and he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, holding your touch steady as he leaned into it. He never wanted to wake you, but goddamn did he love to savor in realizing the nightmares weren’t reality.

“Jake, what is going on?” you asked.

“Nothing.”

Your lips twitched to the side and you nibbled on the inside of your cheek. He knew what that meant; he was caught in a lie, one he'd told a handful of nights now, and that lie was beginning to bother you. He was ready to tell you everything, just to rid of the sadness in your eyes, but you beat him to it.

“Are you having dreams?”

Eyebrows raising, Jake’s lips parted. Your thumb grazed over the bottom one.

“I had them a lot, too, right before I came back here,” you admitted. “I thought there might be a chance you’d reject me and Eve.”

You shook your head when he started to deny that possibility, effectively stopping him.

“You didn’t turn us away; that’s all that matters,” you continued. The hand that was on his face slid down along his neck until it reached his chest. You lightly pressed against the pounding of his heart, helping it to ease. “So what is it? Was it that mission, or—”

Jake shook his head. The short three-day mission that he had mentioned and hadn’t bothered to delve into the details of barely crossed his mind. It was eight months after you disappeared, but compared to the emotional toll of your near year-long absence, that mission was nothing.

"I lose you,” he said.

You jerked back. “What?”

“For twenty-two nights straight,” he paused to take a deep breath, and on the exhale, he said, “I’ve lost you and Eve.”

He never intended to hide things from you, but something about speaking aloud the inner thoughts plaguing him didn’t feel possible without also giving life to them. He could picture them developing their own shape as they exited his mouth; like choking up dark, opaque masses of poisoned sludge. It was a risk he hadn’t wanted to take. But if he couldn’t tell you, he couldn’t tell anyone, and the mental strain was taking its toll.

“I can’t keep losing you, Honey,” Jake mumbled in the limited space between you. It was quiet, but it was enough. Your face crumbled. “I’m so tired.”

You were in his lap in a split second, your legs on either side of his hips and your hands back on his face, forcing him to meet the intensity of your stare. With your brow pinched, your eyes bore into his, searching for more than what he’d offered so far.

Whatever you were looking for, you found, and you said, “You know you’d never lose us for real, right?"

He shrugged as he lightly held your waist. “I lost you once before.”

“Not because of anything you did.”

“No one does anything in the nightmares, either. It just…happens.”

You ducked your head to invade the faraway look in his eyes. He kept doing that, without even realizing it.

“I told you we aren’t going anywhere,” you promised. You pressed a delicate kiss to his lips, then your thumb ran over them again as if to seal your taste against his mouth so he wouldn’t forget that you were there. You were there. He was there. Together and connected. “Baby, we aren’t leaving you.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” you asked. “Truly?”

He did, but he was silent a moment too long.

Your bottom lip—the one that had just been so sweetly pressed against his—began to tremble. Jake’s gaze was glued to it, not entirely understanding the sudden shift until a single tear dipped into the corner of your mouth. His eyes snapped up to yours.

“Hon—”

“I did this,” you whimpered, suddenly breaking in his arms.

Your whole body folded forward. And had he not been solid and sturdy and there to catch you, you’d have bled right into him. Not that he would have minded. There was no way to possibly be closer than for two to blend into one, and sometimes, that was exactly what he craved. There’d been nights he woke from the dreams when simply seeing and feeling you attached to his side wasn’t enough. He’d kiss you and run his hands over your body until your eyes opened and you accepted his advances, but even then, he wanted more. Needed more.

Your face was buried in the curve of his neck; your tears adding to the sweat-formed sheen of his skin. “You wouldn’t be dealing with this if I hadn’t been a fucking coward,” you said through your sniffles.

“No, Honey,” he whispered as his fingers glided down your hair. “You’re here, Ok? That’s all I care about. You and Eve are with me, and I know it. I swear I know it, Honey.”

It was then that he realized your fears and his were as solid a couple as the two of you. They went hand in hand, thriving off of one another in the darkness where you’d both hidden them away.

When you lifted your head, Jake wiped away the remnants of your sobs from your face.

“Why do you trust me after what I did?”

“Because it’s you,” he said without hesitation. It’s you, and you could break my heart ten times over and I’d still love you. I’d still want you. I’d still trust you.

Another tear threatened to trickle down your face and, like the others, Jake forced the straggler to disappear.

You sniffed, but in the aftermath of your sobs your nose was stuffed and you had to breathe through your mouth. Jake smiled at you as you calmed, but you didn’t return it. Instead, your eyes scanned over his face, taking him in the way he had when he saw you walk through Rooster’s door just under a month ago. Despite being spread over his lap, you looked at him like you were trying to verify how real he was.

"I love you."

The words were shaky, the anxiety behind your confession almost palpable.

He couldn’t stop from momentarily freezing. As much as he'd wished to hear it, it was unexpected enough to knock him off kilter. You had such a habit of doing that to him, of flipping his world on its side, and he didn’t any better understand how to appropriately act this time than he did the last.

Face falling further, you said, "I'm sorry. Maybe this wasn't the right time to—"

"No!" He rushed out, letting his hands slide around to your lower back. "God, Honey, I've loved you for-fucking-ever. I just didn't know you felt that way about me already."

Your head dipped forward, chin tucking close to your chest as your eyes averted from his. Jake glanced down to the narrow space between your bodies where your fingers were picking at your nail. Your thumbnails were shorter than the others—those that suffered the most abuse from your anxiousness.

Jake tucked the hair draped in front of your face back behind your ears. "What's wrong?"

You swallowed but you didn’t move until he put a knuckle under your chin and lifted. His brow pinched in question.

With your sigh, your shoulders relaxed, and for the first time, he realized how tense you’d been.

"Jake, I—I loved you when I left,” you admitted. “I should've told you before now. I should've said it when you did, but…"

But? There was no but. Jake didn’t give a damn if you had some excuse, prepared or not. You loved him. You’d loved him for nearly as long as he loved you.

It made the time spent apart all the more tragic. You could’ve been a family from the second you discovered your pregnancy. Maybe he’d have asked you to marry him. Maybe you’d have waited to wed until Eve was born so she could be part of it. Maybe you’d be discussing the idea of having a second child. Maybe. But truthfully, it didn’t matter. Everything had fixed itself. Actually, no, Jake thought. Nothing had fixed itself. You had fixed it. You came back to him not because of fate or because the world demanded it of you, but because you loved him.

"You don't have to explain,” he said. His fingers wove into the strands of your hair and he made a gentle fist, pulling you closer. "Just let me kiss you."

Finally, you grinned. "Always."

It was soft at first, but then harder; lips parting and tongues brushing and hands holding one another tighter. The silence of the room was overtaken by heavy breaths and the subtle sound of bodies shifting over smooth bedsheets. He flipped you over so your head could rest on his pillow and he broke the kiss to look down at you and just…stare, for a little while. You didn’t stop him or hurry him along. You lay there as his fingertip traced the lines of your face, from your hairline to the sharp angle of your cheekbone to the curve of your chin. It ghosted over your kiss-swollen lips

“Don’t be scared, Jake,” you whispered. “You couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

“I never would, Honey,” he swore, sealing it with a kiss on your forehead before meeting your lips again.

---

A/N: *turn on notifications for this blog or @seresinhangmanjake-library if you would like to keep up with my writing*

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x fem!reader #jake seresin x female!reader #dad!jake seresin #dad!jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #tgm #tgm fanfic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin fanfiction #jake sereisn imagine #top gun maverick fic

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seasonsbloom · 1 year

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all the love (under a mistletoe) . benedict bridgerton

pairing ; benedict bridgerton x female!reader

synopsis ; modern!au. you have been in love with your best friend's older brother for years. on Christmas eve, things finally come to a head.

wc ; 6k

warnings ; explicit lanugage, some allusions to reader having a shitty family, christmas angst, pining, one mention of margaret thatcher

note: i'm not british (english isn't even my first language) so pls excuse any inaccuracies in any slang etc etc... also this was supposed to be a smutty thing and no instead it's exclusively tooth-rotting fluff so I'd like to apologize.... merry Christmas??? if anybody does want a steamy part two... well, hit me up I guess!

i stole the title from britney spears' my only wish (this year)!

You never thought something like Christmas at Aubrey Hall could exist outside the hour-and-a-half runtime of Hallmark movies. They've got it all - the stockings above the merrily crackling fireplace, the Christmas crackers twinkling on a long table, the boughs of holly climbing up doorways. It's like a Selfridges on the 21st of December just vomited all over the place.

"Seriously," you say, blinking in a mixture of awe and fear, "how big is this thing?"

Eloise, much more accustomed to her family's display of wealth and Bridgerton harmony, shrugs without looking away from her phone screen. "No idea. Benedict is like 6 feet, and that thing is twice his size, so, like… 12 feet? I don't know, it's Christmas. You do the math."

She turns away, still glued to an Instagram page plastered with pink graphics informing about various social issues in carefully-designed typography, and leaves you standing alone in the entrance hall. If you didn't like the Bridgertons so much, you'd be the first to say their Christmas tree is obnoxious. It's a ridiculous thing, wide enough to commandeer half the room. It's covered top to bottom in tinsel, dark blue ornaments dangling from every branch and reflecting the light until the thing looks less than a tree and more like a hallucination one might have two hours into an LSD trip.

The London townhouse you've crashed at more than once after a night on the town gone to shambles is impressive enough, but the Brdigerton's ancestral home in the countryside is a whole other beast. From the sprawling gardens to the sheer endless rooms, from the stucco ceilings to the servant stairs, from the life-size portraits of nineteenth-century family members to the white marble busts, you half expect a tourist group to round the corner at any moment. You're pretty sure you saw a hedge maze on your way in.

Sure, you've known your college best friend Eloise Bridgerton was loaded, but you didn't expect this. Then again, her sister is married to a Duke and shows up on the Sun's front page semi-regularly, so maybe this one was on you.

"So what do we think? Sufficiently Christmas-y or too much?"

You sink your teeth into the tail-end of a scream, letting out a strangled sound instead. Benedict Bridgerton really is six foot tall, and fuck him for that. Couldn't he at least have been some sensible height? Five reasonable feet and seven nice inches? Has he got to be perfect? Has he got to be the six feet you've been dreaming about for the past four years in increasingly more frenzied fashions?

He stands with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, with his hair tousled and his face relaxed into the same friendly, good-natured smile he always gives you.

"Uh… What?" Immediately, you curse your lack of eloquence. And earlier on the ride over, you'd sworn to yourself that, for once, you wouldn't act like an actual idiot in front of him.

Benedict, grinning, points forward. "The tree."

"Oh." You crane your neck back to look at the star mounted to the top, floating somewhere above the marble railing hugging the walkway to the second floor. "Well. It's very… big."

Benedict chuckles. "Yeah, I agree. I did tell Mom it was excessive, but she insisted. I'm pretty sure Hyacinth would mutiny if she ordered anything under ten feet."

You hum, faintly wondering what it must feel like to get a tree, let alone one big enough to get put up in front of the Rockefeller center. "Hyacinth can be pretty persuasive," you acquiesce, thinking with a shudder of the time the prepubescent girl stared you down until you gave her your brand-new Charlotte Tillbury lipstick. Sort of like being bullied out of your lunch money.

"You can say that again."

Benedict falls silent, and for a moment, you just stand there, side by side, staring up at the tree. Dean Martin drifts over from the dining room. Your stomach is on the most terrifying rollercoaster ride of its life.

Then, out of nowhere, Benedict says, "You're wet, by the way."

"I…" You splutter. "What?"

He nods down toward the floor. "Your shoes, I mean. You're soaking the rug."

You follow the line of his eyes down to your boots, still caked in the snow and sludge you drudged up on the way up the ten-mile-long driveway. A grey puddle has accumulated around you.

"Bugger," you mutter. "Eloise did say I could leave the shoes on…."

A conspiratorial grin crosses Benedict's face. He says, "Remember when you and El caught me smoking that joint in the study? I won't tell if you won't."

This is the thing: Worse than Benedict's six feet, worse than his messy hair and blue eyes and dimples, worse than all of that, is that he's actually nice. A genuinely good guy who talks to you like you're more than just his little sister's best friend, more than the annoying girl that gets invited to family holidays because her home life isn't the best, who moons over him at every turn. That's the thing that keeps you hoping, stubbornly, stupidly.

"Maybe you should go change for dinner," he suggests. "I'll take your suitcase up for you."

"You don't have to!" you protest, even as he's already bending over to retrieve it, even as you're secretly glad you won't have to try and lug that thing up all those stairs yourself.

"It's fine." Benedict waves you away, then tests the weight of the suitcase. "Jesus. I thought you were only staying for three days. What the hell did you pack in here?"

The sight of your bedroom floor at home, every inch covered with discarded clothes and toiletries and last-minute Christmas present purchases, overcomes you like a war flashback. "Uh… Books," you say, falling into step beside him as you climb the stairs together. "I brought a lot of books."

If Benedict knows you're one of the worst liars in England, he doesn't let it on. Instead, he hums Wham! 's greatest hit while ascending the stairs two steps at a time. You try your best not to stare at his butt when he overtakes you and focus instead on the plush velvet carpet and the actual footsteps you leave on it, cringing.

You follow him down a long corridor, past decorative Chinese-style vases filled with out-of-season greenhouse flowers. "This is your room," Benedict says, pushing the door at the end of the hall, somewhat separate from the others, open with his hip. "Eloise is just down the hall."

Like everything else in Aubrey Hall, the room is so tasteful you're scared to touch anything. Held exclusively in shades of pastels, in the softest blues, pinks, and creams, a huge four-poster bed is pushed to one wall, flanked on both sides by nightstands. The opposite side of the room is covered in floor-to-ceiling French windows that offer a spectacular view of the grounds, powdered with snow. Somebody lit a fire in here too, and above the mantle…

"Oh, God," you squeak, staring at a huge oil painting depicting perhaps the most miserable-looking man you have ever seen. Margaret Thatcher and her iron lady posturings have nothing on this bloke.

"Right, that's Uncle Barnaby." Benedict deposits your suitcase on a stuffed armchair. "Us kids just call him Uncle Fester."

"Yeah," you say slowly. "That checks out."

Benedict laughs. "Sorry, you got stuck in this one. All the other guest rooms are in the West wing, and Mom figured you'd be more comfortable not being that far away from everybody else."

The West wing. You get the sudden, spectacular image of yourself in an ankle-length lace nightgown wandering down stone hallways with nothing to light the way but a single, flickering candle. If you can fantasize about Gothic romances set in your own home, you decide, you should start thinking about downsizing.

"Right." Benedict runs a hand through his hair, and you track the movement, watching the muscles rippling in his forearm. He's wearing a grey cashmere sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight could make a stronger woman swoon. "I'll let you get settled in."

You don't want him to leave. All your time spent with Benedict is stolen, clipped, bookended by family dinners, or movie nights with his sister. The closest you've ever gotten to him was when you all crowded into the back of a cab on your way to a club, his thigh pressed against your own and his arm awkwardly angled somewhere behind your neck. Just half an inch of space between you, but your ribcage cracked open like somebody wedged a crowbar in there.

"Where are you sleeping?" It's a desperate attempt to prolong the moment, to keep him in this room alone with you for just a little longer, and you regret the question the moment it's out. Either he now thinks you're a stalker or, even worse, that you're secretly trying to draw up a layout plan of the estate to prepare for your inevitable heist. You wouldn't be surprised if there were several million pounds in cash stashed in a vault somewhere in Aubrey Hall, and rent in London has reached astronomic heights. Who could blame you for indulging?

But Benedict doesn't look concerned. Instead, he pauses just a step or two from you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, and answers, "I'm right next door. Just knock if you need help with anything."

For a split second, Benedict's hand finds the curve of your spine, fingertips pressing through the thick knit sweater and painting a shiver down your back. It goes through you like a bolt of lightning.

Then he draws back as if nothing happened, gives you a crooked, curling smile, and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

You drop down onto the mattress with a groan, bury your face in the 400-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, and pretend you're not actively trying to strangle yourself.

"Well," you mumble, voice muffled by the pillowcase, "Happy Christmas to me."

Christmas dinner with the Bridgertons is a bizarre experience. Everybody talks over each other, Hyacinth and Gregory chuck spoonfuls of peas at each other, Colin spills a whole ladle of gravy across the tablecloth, Anthony and his wife Kate spend half the meal whispering to each other and the other half stealing kisses, Eloise starts debating politics with Simon (who isn't half as stuffy as you expected a duke to be) at the top of her lungs, and Benedict drinks at least five glasses of sparkling wine before his mother takes the bottle from him.

You watch the whole thing with a feeling in your stomach like a bullet wound.

After a dessert of indefinable mush Hyacinth swore up and down was her homemade plum pudding, you move to a large sitting room. There is a second tree in here, this one a little less obnoxious and covered in homemade ornaments, the exploits of eight children and countless pre-Christmas arts and crafts sessions. The crackling fire paints flushes into the family's cheeks and gives the whole room a homey, rustic atmosphere that seems at odds with the overall elegance of the house.

Everybody is allowed to open one present. You think you see the instantaneous regret on Violet Bridgerton's face when her youngest son unpacks his new portable speakers with a whoop of joy loud enough to bust several eardrums. Watching the pandemonium unfold before you, you sit squished into a corner of the sofa beside Eloise, your hands trapped under your thighs, and try not to feel out of place.

Maybe this was a mistake, you think to yourself. Maybe you shouldn't have intruded on a family holiday as you are, regardless of Eloise's invitation. It must have been a pity thing anyway, what with you saying you were just going to stay in London for Christmas, in your shitty flat with the broken radiator and the leaking pipes. You pretty much guilt-tripped her into that by mentioning the frozen curry you were planning to get from the Tesco frozen section, now that you think about it, and God, you were definitely forcing yourself on them, weren't you, and they were all just way too nice to mention it and…

"Here," Violet's voice tears you from the downward rollercoaster ride about to plunge neck-deep into the pond of anxiety. "Merry Christmas."

She places a flat present in your lap, wrapped in deer-print paper.

"Oh," you say softly, and your chest feels tight like somebody is pulling a cord taut around it, "you didn't have to…."

"It's just a little thing." Violet has the kind of smile so warm you suspect it could melt ice cubes within seconds. "We're so happy to have you for Christmas."

You feel self-conscious as you unwrap the present, aware of all eyes on you. The paper reveals a picture frame, simple yet tasteful dark wood that feels smooth and supple against your skin. Behind the glass is a watercolor painting, a study of a tulip. The pink petals seem almost life-like in their detail as if a drop of dew should drip off the edge and roll down the picture any moment. You can practically feel it, wet and cold against your fingertip.

"Eloise said you're very fond of flowers. I thought you might find a place for it in your room."

For a head-spinning, gut-wrenching moment, you think you're going to cry. "I… thank you," you choke out. "It's… lovely."

Violet smiles and pats your hand. "It wouldn't be Christmas without a present. You didn't think we'd forget you, did you?"

They move on to Colin, who tears at his wrapping paper with such eagerness he gets a papercut, but you feel stuck. There is a lump in your throat, and you clutch the picture too tightly. Somehow, you realize, you did think they'd forget you. Only that's not really right. To forget you, they'd have to think about you first, and you can't imagine any of the Bridgertons wasting a single thought on you, apart maybe from Eloise. Sure, you spend more time at their house than in your own flat, but that doesn't mean anything, does it? It's not like your own family misses you much this Christmas. You've gotten more than used to being invisible.

"I want this one," Benedict says and, to your horror, lifts one of the presents you left there earlier. "I like the sustainable vibe."

Feeling obliged to get presents for everyone, you'd spent yesterday running through a department store for at least three hours. Mostly it's boxes of chocolates and a book for Eloise, stuff that diminished your already meager savings more acutely than you'd planned for. And then it had come time to choose something for Benedict, and you'd spent an embarrassing amount of time agonizing over possible presents. By the time you'd made it home, only to realize you'd forgotten to get wrapping paper, all the stores were closed. So you'd wrapped everything in the newspaper the ancient couple living next door hadn't picked up off their welcome mat yet. They're in Cardiff visiting her sister for the holiday, and you're supposed to be watering their plants while they're gone. Which is a task that might be a bit hard to accomplish, seeing as you're currently several hours outside of London.

"Oh, that's… that's mine," you pipe up, then immediately clear your throat. You've somehow managed to sound like a cartoon mouse. An especially squeaky, pathetic cartoon mouse.

Benedict glances at you, gives you a smile he most certainly inherited from his mother, and says, "Perfect."

Whatever that's supposed to mean.

He has a similar approach to unwrapping presents as his younger brother, but at least he doesn't injure himself in the process. As you watch him, your heart beats somewhere in your throat. Suddenly you're right back where Violet picked you up, on the verge of anxiety about to perform one of history's most spectacular dives.

It might be dramatic to say that your whole life depends on whether your best friend's older brother likes the gift you picked out for him, but apparently, that's where you are now. In the most pathetic turn of events of all time, you're pretty sure the trajectory of your future hinges on this moment.

The improvised wrapping paper floats to the carpet like that plastic bag Katy Perry immortalized in her magnum opus Firework. For a moment, Benedict says nothing, staring at the gift in his hand.

"I can… If you don't like it, I can just return it," you say, even as you start frantically searching your memory for where in the world you put that receipt. Your heart is pumping blood through your veins at a pace that makes you dizzy. "It's not a big deal. It's fine, it was…."

Benedict holds the box of watercolours in front of his chest like some sacred artefact. He opens the lid and peers inside, examining the different shades wordlessly. Then he closes it, looks up, and right at you. A beat passes with him just looking at you, with your heart fluttering its feathery wings against the cage of your teeth, with you squirming in the spot. And then Benedict smiles, wide and bright and honest. "I love it," he says, "thank you. It's fantastic."

Your chest caves in.

"Oh," you whisper, half deaf over the rushing of blood in your ears. "Okay. Cool."

For a second, it looks like Benedict will say something else, like there are words forming on the tip of his tongue, and you feel like you're clinging to a cliff's edge by the tips of your nails. But then Hyacinth pulls the box from his hands to look at the paint, to run her fingers over the shades, and the moment passes.

If somebody asked you later, you wouldn't be able to tell them how the rest of the unwrapping goes. It's all a blur, a mirage of different exclamation and laughter and more or less well-thought-out presents that passes in front of you like a supercut, all of it accompanied by a playlist consisting mainly of Mariah Carey and Michael Bublé. You stay in your spot on the couch, still sitting on your hands, trying not to think about the way Benedict looked at you. Trying not to dream.

When the younger kids rope Colin and Anthony into a game of charades that requires an exorbitant amount of physical movement, you help the others clean up the abandoned shambles of the dinner table. Benedict is doing the dishes in the kitchen when you enter carrying a pale of plates so high you see nothing but the dried gravy Jackson Pollock sprinkled all across the edges.

"Careful." Benedict's fingers brush yours as he takes the plates from you and places them gingerly on the countertop.

"Thanks," you mutter, then spend just one second staring at the broad expanse of his back, holding your hands uselessly in front of you, before turning back toward the dining room, intent on finding something else to occupy yourself with.

Benedict's voice stops you. "Do you want to help me?"

You whirl on your heel embarrassingly fast, clearing your throat when you find him smiling at you. "Uhm. Sure."

He nods toward a dish towel on a rack and asks, "I wash, you dry?"

"Yeah. Sounds amazing." For a second, you genuinely consider slamming your head into one of the kitchen cabinets. Since when has drying dishes ever sounded amazing?

Benedict gives no indication that he thinks you might be the weirdest girl he's ever met, though, so you take that as consolation. He's rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue button-down again, his arms elbow-deep in the sudsy water of the sink, and you pretend not to notice the droplets running down his skin. Outside the window, snow falls in thick ribbons, covering more of the grounds. The faint sound of the Bridgertons enjoying themselves drifts into the kitchen's silence.

You accept the pan he was washing and start running your towel over it. A wet stain soaks into your dress where you press the Teflon-coated edge to your stomach.

"We can put the plates in the dishwasher later," Benedict says, filling the silence gaping like a canyon. "But I think the big stuff we should do by hand. Pots and pans and all that."

Unsure how to answer, you nod. Your mind is whirling, reeling, somersaulting. For so long, you've wanted to be alone with Benedict, have imagined it, dreamed it, conjured it up in your mind. And now here you are, and you can't seem to open your mouth. And it's not even like you have nothing to say, quite the opposite. You have so much to say you don't know where to start.

Like: You look great in that shirt. I hope you like my present. I think you're a great artist. If the Torys keep passing that PM cap around instead of letting us vote, I'm going to scream. I think capybaras are criminally underrated, and I'm glad they're having their moment on social media. How do you feel about turnips? I might have been half in love with you since the first time I met you.

Benedict, putting an end to your spiral, says, "It can be a lot, right?"

"Sorry?"

"The whole thing." He jerks his head in the direction of the dining room, an indulgent smile on his face that tells you all you need to know about Benedict's feelings for his family. "The whole Bridgerton Christmas chaos."

You shrug, lowering your head so he can't see your face, can't see whatever emotion might betray you. "I like it."

"Even Hyacinth's plum pudding? I think that could pass for a murder weapon."

"Yeah," you say, and find that your voice is much too sincere. "Even that. It's not… I've never had this." You cut yourself off immediately, not even sure why you said it in the first place. It's much too easy to be honest with Benedict, and it scares you in ways you can't describe.

"What do you mean?"

It feels like an impossible task to look at him, so you don't. You're too afraid of what you'll find - pity, maybe, or incomprehension. How could someone like Benedict possibly ever understand?

If you turn on a TV around Christmas time and watch a commercial or a movie, if you walk down a shopping street and look at the advertisements playing on screens or smiling from posters, if you pick up a holiday-themed novel, there is a certain feeling being sold to you: of warmth and joy and community. Of smiling grandparents and colorful sweaters. Of presents heaping like molehills beneath gleaming trees. Of roasts and mashed potatoes and peas and carrots and Christmas puddings and beaming families devouring them in perfect harmony. It's the same feeling you encountered right here in this house, in the perfect rooms populated with perfect Bridgertons. In those images, people are always happy.

Christmas, to you, has always been terrifying.

"It's not…." You hesitate. "In my family," you say finally, and hope your voice sounds steadier than it feels, "it's never been good. It was just a lot of yelling, and… I've never had this. The laughing together and enjoying each other's company and all that stuff. The love. And I… I look at it, and I can tell, you see? That it's just so normal to you guys, I think maybe you don't even notice it. But I do. And it just… it doesn't really seem fair."

You don't wait for an answer, instead turning away from him in a way you hope makes it clear that this is not an avenue of conversation you want to pursue. It's like you've just stripped yourself bare in front of him, exposed yourself to his ridicule and his gaze under the unforgiving kitchen lights. It's like you have handed him a map to the innermost parts of yourself. All those ugly, pathetic parts you've spent your life hiding.

Benedict seems to understand because the next thing he says is, "Thank you again for the present."

For a beat, you close your eyes. There, you think. You've got what you wanted. He's ignoring it. He's looking away.

You chance a glance at his side profile, at the furrow between his brows as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn bit of charred carrot sticking to the pot. "You're welcome," you answer. "I'm glad you didn't think it was shitty."

"Why would I think that? It's perfect." When you chuckle, shrug, when the self-deprecating note sneaks into the sound, Benedict ceases his scrubbing to look at you. "I mean it. It's really special."

"It's not even…." You hesitate, wondering if maybe you're fishing for compliments here. Whatever, the validation feels nice, and Benedict seems willing to give it to you, even if he probably finds you annoying. "It's not even a very creative gift. All things considered, you know?"

Everybody knows Benedict likes painting, even though there was some botched stint with the Academy a few years back. He eventually dropped out, but you don't think his aspirations changed.

He shrugs and turns back to the pot. "It is to me. My family all seem to think I'm not serious about the whole art thing, so it's nice to be acknowledged. It doesn't happen that often."

You pause to glance at him. Thrown into relief by the golden spill of the light, bracketed on one side by the winter night, for a moment, he's so pretty you feel your stomach clench.

"But you're so…" You break off, swallowing. Your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof. "Everybody sees you."

"What do you mean?" Benedict looks at you with real confusion scrunching up his face, and you feel almost stupid.

Helplessly, you shrug, dry the last drops of water off the pan, and put it down on the counter. "Just… People always notice you, you know? When you enter a room or when you go somewhere. I just thought… I thought you must feel really acknowledged. Like all of the time. I don't know."

Your heart is beating so furiously that you wonder if he can hear it. Embarrassment leaves a bitter taste on your tongue as the words escape you. Now he really should file a restraining order, you think. It would be perfectly justified, with you exposing just how much attention you've been paying to everything he does. God, you're a freak, aren't you?

When he smiles at you, there's something sad to the expression. "I've noticed," he says, forming the words carefully, "that what most people acknowledge about me is my family. But that's not the same as acknowledging me. That's not the same as seeing me."

For a moment, you imagine what it must be like. There was such warmth in that room earlier, such joy and love, but there were so many people, too. All of them loud and charming and lovely. All of them wonderful. All of them captivating in their own way. How easy must it be to get swallowed up by the sheer force of all of them? How easy must it be to feel passed over as the second of eight children, always surpassed by somebody else? Always somebody cleverer or funnier or more lovable? Sometimes, you think, it must be a lonely thing to never be alone. Sometimes, you think, he must feel invisible.

"I do," you say, and your face feels hot, your voice sounds far away, your palms are sweaty. "I see you."

Something in Benedict's gaze changes, something transforms, and then he whispers your name, holds it in his mouth like something precious. "I think you…." He swallows, and his eyes rake over your face as if he's searching for something, as if he's hoping for something, and finally, he pushes on, his voice as uncertain as you feel, "I think there's so much more here than you realize. Because I do, too. I see you. And I know you're lonely, and I know you're scared, maybe even as scared as I am, but I think... I think maybe you don't have to be."

It's like being on a frozen lake, right in the middle, side by side, moving step by step, nothing solid in the world but his hand in yours.

He takes a step closer to you at the same time that you move forward, his hip bumping yours, his gaze on your mouth, his knuckles knocking against yours, your breaths hitched, your hands shaking, your head spinning…

"I've got more dishes," Kate chirps, stepping into the kitchen. Immediately, you and Benedict jump apart. You busy yourself with drying the pot furiously as he accepts the new pile of tableware, eyes on anything but you. Then, completely ignoring her brother-in-law, Kate wraps an arm around your shoulder and leads you away. "I'm supposed to tell you guests don't have to do dishes. And that's coming from the hostess herself."

If Kate noticed anything off between you two, she doesn't comment. But you could swear you see her casting a long, searching look at you when she deposits you on the couch.

You spend a little longer enjoying the overall Christmas charm of the night. You and Eloise pull apart a cracker together, put the paper crowns on each other's heads, and sit on the rug by the fireplace for hours, chatting, ignoring the general mess around you. When Violet starts making people sing Christmas songs whether they want to or not, you excuse yourself. You've been hiding yawns in the crook of your elbow for the past half hour anyway.

On his way back in from the bathroom, Benedict almost bumps into you in the doorway.

"Oh," he says, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder, and then you both say sorry simultaneously. By now, the eggnog and the absolute shame of whatever passed between you in the kitchen have caught up to you and you giggle like a school girl, staring at the bit of skin exposed where his shirt is unbuttoned.

"Off to bed?" Benedict asks. His voice is gentle enough that, for a moment, the yearning resonates somewhere in your bones.

You nod. "I'm tired."

"Okay." It might be wishful thinking, but he sounds almost disappointed to your ears. "Sleep well, yeah?"

It's definitely wishful thinking. Right?

"Hey, Ben!" You glance over your shoulder to find Hyacinth grinning at the two of you with something in her eyes you can only describe as the glint of the devil. A dawning sense of horror sends a shiver down your spine. "You're, like, right under the mistletoe, you realize that, yeah?"

Following the line pointed out by her finger with your eyes, you feel the dread pooling in your stomach. And lo and behold, above your eyes, fixed to the doorway, is an unassuming twig of mistletoe.

Have you mentioned that you feel like you're in a Hallmark movie? One with an exceptionally uncreative screenwriter?

When you finally tear your wide eyes away from the mistletoe, feeling helpless, you find Benedict already looking at you. "Ignore her," he says, smiling the smile of the long-suffering. "Hyacinth just wants to stir up trouble. It's fine, nobody's going to make us…."

"Well." From her perch on the arm of Anthony's chair, a saint-like expression on her face, Kate looks once from you to Benedict. "It is tradition."

And then, to your horror, she winks at you. Your stomach plummets down to your feet.

Benedict stares at Kate like she just told him she thinks the moon landing was faked. "I… I don't think…."

Anthony, after exchanging some private glance probably only decipherable to spouses, shrugs and leans back in his chair. "I agree," he says. "It is tradition."

"And a very nice tradition, too," Daphne affirms, crossing her legs and taking a dainty sip from her wine glass. No wonder not even the gossip columns ever have anything bad to say about her. She's perfect. "It would be a shame to let that opportunity go to waste."

With a look on his face you can describe only as aghast, Benedict turns to you. “I… uhm… Is it… okay?"

If you lived in the nineteenth century, you'd be asking a servant to bring you your smelling salts by now. Slowly, you nod, even though you're so dizzy, you're not sure you don't completely mess up the movement. "It… it's fine, yeah," you agree.

Benedict's hand finds the side of your face. You're so aware of all the eyes on you that, for a moment, you think you might be sick all over Benedict's shoes. He's so close you can feel his breath on your face and smell his cologne. Your toes are going numb.

"You sure?" he mumbles, leaning even closer, only an inch separating you. He has very kind eyes. If you said no now, you know he wouldn't even be mad.

Beyond words, beyond any thought past oh god I can't believe this is really happening oh dear god he's about to kiss me, you just nod.

"Oh, for god's sake!" That's Simon. "Just kiss the girl and be done with it, Benedict."

So he does. It's little more than a quick press of dry mouth to dry mouth, but your heart almost beats out of your chest. You feel his fingers tighten against the side of your face, feel his slightly-chapped lips, taste the eggnog and the chocolate and the wine. Then, when he pulls away, just for a beat, he lingers, his exhale a gasp, and for that instant, it's like you're the last two people on the planet, like he's the only thing that matters, like nothing existed before you and nothing will after you're gone. Suspended in time.

"Great!" Eloise calls, throwing her hands into the air. "First, Colin starts going out with Penelope, and now Benedict is snogging you. Will you people ever leave my friends alone?"

A collective burst of laughter travels through the room, and then the chattering returns, the paused music resumes, and you stand there, unsure what to do with yourself, unsure how to continue on when it feels like the whole world just shifted an inch to the left and nothing is where it's supposed to be anymore.

Benedict's hand is solid against the small of your back. "Will you… will you stay a little longer?" he asks, his voice hesitant.

It doesn't sound like he just means tonight. You don't think he just means tonight.

You swallow, exhale a shaky breath. And then you say, keeping your eyes on nothing but him, "Yeah. I'll stay."

Benedict beams. It's a sight that lights up his whole face, rivaling that ridiculous Christmas tree out in the Bridgerton's entrance hall. "Lovely," he says. For a beat, his eyes flicker back to your mouth, but then he just grins. "Merry Christmas."

You can't help it - you laugh. There's relief in the sound, the kind you haven't felt in a long, long time. Here, with the fire crackling and Gregory and Francesca delivering what could perhaps be the worst rendition of All I Want for Christmas Is You the world has ever known, it feels a little like maybe, just maybe, being seen isn't half as scary as you thought it was.

"Yeah," you agree and slide your fingers into the spaces between his. "Merry Christmas, Benedict."

You never thought something like Christmas at Aubrey Hall could exist outside the hour-and-a-half runtime of Hallmark movies. But, God, are you happy you were wrong.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fluff #christmas #mine #f:atl

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halloweenhuh · 6 months

Text

CREATOR REVEALS

In conjunction with the White House, the Palace is thrilled to reveal the creators of our incredible fanworks for you, dear subjects!

DAY 1 REVEALS

Incenatus - Rated E - 11201 words - written by @missgeevious

Save a horse - Rated E - 5055 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

I Want Candy - Rated T - 4624 words - written by @vanillahigh00

when you say my name (i like the way it sounds) - Rated G - 3636 words - written by @kittentoes

season of the witch - Rated T - 1172 words - written by @thesleepyskipper

I'm not a robot without emotions, I'm not what you see - Rated T - 1056 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

[podfic] I Want Candy - Rated T - 17 words - created by @cottagepodfics

.🎃🎃🎃.

DAY 2 REVEALS

Night Class - Rated E - 12,617 words - written by @orchidscript

Because I’m A Scoundrel - Rated E - 8,368 words - written by @inexplicablymine

The great turkey calamity? - Rated T - 4,919 words - written by @smblmn

The Candy Tax - Rated T - 2,931 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

Trading Traditions - Rated T - 2,093 words - written by @suseagull04

Through the summer and the fall, we had each other, that was all - Rated G - 750 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

if you're all alone, pick up the phone - Rated G - 485 words - written by @healingmirth

.🎃🎃🎃.

DAY 3 REVEALS

Freaky Friday (I woke up in my enemy's body) Rated M - 8,873 words - written by @happiness-of-the-pursuit

Heart enough - Rated T - 8,012 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

Save a horse - Rated E - 4,616 words - written by @heybuddy-drabbles

Taste the Way You Bleed - Rated T - 3,923 words - written by @cha-melodius

Life is a maze, and love is a riddle - E - 3,093 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

Fall Fun - Rated T - 2,713 words - written by @suseagull04

.🎃🎃🎃.

DAY 4 REVEALS

I think he did it (but i just can't prove it) - Rated M - 16,454 words - written by aRandomDutchGirl

you paint dreamscapes on the wall - Rated E - 5,101 words - written by @kittentoes

Invite Me In - Rated E - 2,960 words - written by @notspecialbabe

to belong to a family (even beyond this world) - Rated G - 2,500 words - written by @read-and-write-

All at once, everything is different, now that I see you - Rated G - 1,933 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

Halloween at Kensington - Rated G - 1,335 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

give me a command (i'll do what you ask) - Rated E - 854 words - written by @raysletters

.🎃🎃🎃.

DAY 5 REVEALS

No fear, no fences, nobody - no reins - Rated E - 8,474 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

Cat or Canary - Rated T - 6,945 words - written by innie

Handsome stranger - Rated T - 6,647 words - written by aRandomDutchGirl

Red, White, and Royal Switcheroo - Rated T - 6,405 words - written by @xthelastknownsurvivorx

Magical Mishap - Rated T - 2,658 words - written by @suseagull04

I don't know why all the trees change in the fall - Rated T - 2,513 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

.🎃🎃🎃.

DAY 6 REVEALS

These violent delights - Rated E - 14,110 words - written by @lizzie-bennetdarcy

all the devils are here - Rated T - 4,530 words - written by greenandmoss

An All Hallow's Eve Miracle - Rated T- 4,181 words - written by @suseagull04

I want to play a game - Rated E - 4,119 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

A-gourd-able - T- 1,406 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

secret moment (in crowded rooms) - Rated T - 555 words - written by @raysletters

.🎃🎃🎃.

DAY 7 REVEALS

Save A Horse, Ride a Princess - Rated E - 8603 words - written by @affectionatelyrs

Baby, it's Halloween and we can be anything - Rated E - 6394 words - written by @sheisraging

With magic soakin' my spine, can you read my mind? - Rated T - 4629 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

Don't need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo - Rated E - 3706 words - created by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf and @amanita-fierce

we were born to be suburban legends - Rated E - 3303 words - written by @raysletters

you knew what it was (he is in love) - Rated M - 3253 words - written by sheWritesToLiveVicariously

It's autumn in New York; it's good to live it again - Rated T - 1649 words - written by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

.🎃🎃🎃.

Thank you again to everyone who participated in this fest - whether it was submitting prompts, writing, creating, reading, listening, etc!

Your humble White House and Palace staff (@amanita-fierce & @noahreids & @thesleepyskipper) greatly appreciate all of your excitement and participation!

CHEERIO!!!

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #halloween huh #fandom event #rwrb fanfic #rwrb podfic #red white and royal blue movie #rwrb book #creator reveals!

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lightwing-s · 1 year

Text

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒

pairing: dick grayson x female! reader ; jason todd x female! reader

word count: 1,5k

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! ♡

a/n: happy new year everybody ♡

⌜masterlist⌟ ⌜requests⌟

𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍

An unspoken requirement of dating Dick Grayson is the constant attendance of important events, be it in Gotham or Bludhaven. You were not used to all the balls, galas and charity dinners, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. That’s how you found yourself busy on New Year’s Eve night.

The huge hall was delicately decorated with lights, expensive golden curtains and glass snowflake pendants throughout its entire extension. Festive music could be heard at every corner, and everyone seemed busy in their own conversation, celebrating the end of a busy but fruitful year with those closest to them. Except you, who stood quietly observing your boyfriend talking with someone you didn’t know all the way from the bar.

Noticing you were gone, Dick’s eyes roamed the room in search of you and found you standing by the bar, drink in hand, and absentmindedly looking around. Staring at you, he couldn't find sight more perfect, not even the glass roof or the expensive artworks hanging on the walls. Nothing looked as good as you did tonight, your long dress complimenting your body and matching perfectly with the color of your eyes. The necklace he had gifted you on christmas morning hanging beautifully from your neck. You looked ethereal, like an angel lost on earth. An angel whose touch was all his, whose kisses belonged to him, and whose laughs were only meant for his ears.

Approaching you slowly, he got to admire every little detail he could find on you as he got closer and closer, and when he was about to reach you, you turned. If Dick was already breathless by only looking at you from afar, when you turned to him with your pearly smile shining bright in your face he lost air for good.

“Have I told you how absolutely ravishing you look tonight?” he asked, hand wrapping around your waist bringing you close to him and kissing your forehead.

“This is the third time since we arrived here” you replied, not daring to look back at him, knowing damn well you wouldn’t resist his smile. Your night had just started, and if you wanted to make it to midnight with your dress intact, you have to behave. Unfortunately.

“Well, I feel like I could tell you a hundred times more. You are looking incredible today, and I think whoever gave you this necklace knew very well it would make you look even sexier.”

“Behave, it’s almost midnight” you scolded.

“What if I can’t hold myself? Do you think Bruce would notice we went missing?”

“Hmm” you thought about it, and finally looking back at him but not daring to spend much time in his eyes, you withdrew from his touch, handing him your drink and walking out. “Wanna find out?” you challenged.

By the time he found a place to put your drink, you had already disappeared into the sea of people, and so, he excused himself to everyone he accidentally pushed and made his way to where he had last seen the tail of your dress. Finding you in the middle of a corridor, high heels in hand, he smiled at you and you ran away. Fine, it’s a game.

You tried to run from him, tried to navigate yourself through the maze of stairs and corridors. Gosh, you thought, how can a house be this big? You found one door, locked. You knew he was close, there’s no way you could out run him, so turning left once more, you found a door to the outside just as you heard him in the corner. Thinking you could escape him was your stupidest thought of the night, as he quickly got to you, embracing you waist and spinning you in the air.

“Accept it, you can’t leave me” he said in your ear.

“Who said I ever want to leave?” you asked back. Your eyes were staring at his for a dangerous amount of time, something you had been depriving yourself of doing all night. You were soon intoxicated, and it wasn’t the four drinks you already had. Dick Grayson was like a nuclear explosion, once it landed on you it radiated love into everything close, making you see the world through rose colored glasses, making you feel as light as a feather and as dumb as a young child. He took away all your senses and gosh did you take his. It had just been a few months, but Dick knew that without you in his life, he was a goner.

“You drive me crazy in ways not even the Joker is capable of making Batman feel” he breathed, his mouth millimeters away from yours. “Babe, you were my best arrest of the year. You are now sentenced to Dick Grayson County jail on accounts of heart robbery and with a sentence of life”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his corny joke, the sound filling his ears like music. You were his paradise, his new world. The best gift 2022 had given him, and as far as he was concerned, the life sentence wasn’t a joke.

“Why are you laughing, Y/n? This was not a joke.” he stated, a dumb smile plastering his face. “You’re sentenced to spend your last days with me”

“I plead guilty, officer. And I take my sentence willingly as long as you’ll be here by my side” you answered, intertwining your fingers.

“I’ll be here for 2023. For 2024” with every pause, he placed a chaste kiss to your mouth. “For 2025. The entire decade of the 2020s. For my whole life, Y/n. My entire being, my entire existence will be subordinate to yours and I promise to make you a hundred times happier that I made you this year.

And with the sound of the fireworks, his mouth finally crashed onto yours for the perfect midnight kiss.

𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃

Gotham’s night sky was always mysterious, with all the smoke of pollution or the clouds from the rain hiding it from its local residents. Coming from a town where watching the stars was one of the cheapest and easiest past times, you cursed this damned city every time you tried doing it there. But since you and Jason started going out, you found out the higher he took you, the taller the building he set up for your date, the better the view would get, so rooftop talks became almost a weekly thing for you two.

Dating Jason has been amazing, he is kind, romantic, very protective of you and loves to make sure to fulfill all your wishes. So with him knowing your conjoined love of stargazing and fireworks, he prepared the most romantic midnight picnic for you to watch the countdown to the new year. The night seemed to cooperate with your date, as the almost cloudless winter sky settled a surprisingly perfect ambiance after days of snow storms or weather overcast with clouds.

Upon arriving at the top, you had to hold yourself from crying at how he had decorated the space for you: fairy lights hanging from every wall,a fluffy mat you were sure he had stolen from somewhere in the manor, and a table full of food and wine.

“I hope you like it.” he said, shyly. His nose was red from the cold, and you knew he must have been cold for a while considering the time he’d need to prepare everything. His hands instinctively went to his pockets for warmth, and something about the way he positioned himself just made him look the cutest.

“It’s perfect, Jay” you replied, taking his face in your hands and giving his nose a little peck. Then, you took his hand in yours and took him to the mat, where you covered yourselves with two blankets and proceeded to eat, and laugh and love each other until midnight came. With a few minutes to go, Jason took you to the parapet, hugging you from behind and setting a kiss behind your ear.

“This year wasn’t perfect, you know” he whispered “But it got a lot better because of you, Y/n” as if you were ice by the end of winter, you melted in his arms as he held you closer than you already were. “I was scared of saying this before, because I thought you couldn’t ever love me back, but princess, I love you so much words wouldn’t make it justice”

Body weak, mind empty, his words replayed over and over in your head for what could have been hours, but were actually just a few seconds. Turning to him and wrapping him in a hug, you looked deep into his eyes, making sure he would believe every single word you were about to say:

“I love you, you giant buffoon. Neither words of infinite kisses could do it justice.” his smile after hearing it was the most genuine he had ever given, exploding of happiness just like the first fireworks that had started on the horizon. Happy for finding someone so nice, so sweet and understanding as you, who even with his coldness and fear of being in a relationship, had the patience to wait until he felt at home. Jason couldn’t begin to describe what you made him feel, looking deep into your eyes one more time, he went for the kiss both of you were longing for.

Passionate, intense. Just like his 2022 had been with you, he prayed 2023 would bring him more of the same, more of your love, more of your kisses, more of you.

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laylarevengers · 4 months

Text

dress. manjiro sano x fem! reader. series. angst —> happy ending. tomen —> bonten.

part one.

after a prolonged period of silence, sanzu’s voice broke the stillness. you were sitting beside him in the front seat, unwilling to take the initiative of sitting in the back. sanzu had a reputation for being batshit crazy, but you believed he wouldn't harm you. he was fiercely loyal to mikey and, surprisingly, he seemed to find your presence bearable. as he spoke, asking, "how have you been?" you couldn't help but feel a mix of apprehension and gratitude for his relative calmness.

as you feel the breeze from the open window, you turn your gaze towards Sanzu, the person who would usually be the greatest threat to be around is making you feel comfortable. a faint chuckle escapes your lips as you speak, "i’m no idiot, sanzu. i know it‘s your job to keep tabs on me." you lower your hand and observe him closely. various things are foreign about him now. he is not covering his scars as he had back then, and his hair is finally cut in a shape you had been urging him to adopt ever since you handed him water when you first met him back in the day.

“well, i wasn’t really trying to hide it. don’t tell mikey.”

“i never thought you’d disobey his orders.”

sanzu firmly denied any wrongdoing as he skillfully maneuvered his car into a parking spot. "technically, i didn't do anything wrong," he insisted, flashing you a reassuring crazy-like smile before stepping out of the car and opening the door for you. as you emerged from the car, your eyes were immediately drawn to the imposing building that towered over you. from the outside, it looked like the headquarters of a reputable company, but as you peered through the windows, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. inside, the employees looked like mundane office workers, but you couldn't shake off the nagging suspicion that they might not be aware of their involvement in a crime organisation. the thought crossed your mind that even stepping into this building might have solemn legal consequences, but it was too late to worry about that now.

after a long walk through a maze of elevators and doors, you finally reached the room where ran haitani lay on a bed, writhing in pain. as a doctor, you couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency to alleviate his suffering. as soon as you entered the room, you immediately noticed ran’s discomfort and urged him to remove his shirt to examine his injury, forgetting and ignoring who he is.

as a specialist in treating severe injuries such as gunshots and stab wounds, you've encountered your fair share of patients with such wounds. however, what truly unsettled you this time wasn't the gunshot wound itself. It was the unsettling realization that if haitani had been left to suffer from a bullet wound without immediate medical attention, it sparked a deep fear within you. the thought that he may have endured such pain without seeking help sent shivers down your spine.

the reaction from you was absolutely dreadful, and there was an immediate sense of urgency as you examined the wound more closely. this was no ordinary gunshot; it was a deliberate act of revenge. "the hell is with that reaction?" you hadn't even realized that there were other people in the room. rin haitani, who had been standing beside sanzu, koko and kakucho, spoke up with a concerned and puzzled expression on his face. despite his worry and confusion, you carried on with your task, explaining the situation to him.

as fury consumed them all, you remained completely absorbed in rectifying this chaos and ensuring the man lying on the bed would survive, oblivious to their words. it took an arduous three hours to safeguard ran from a severe cardiac arrest and halt the venom's deadly progression. finally, you found solace outside the room, in a cozy living space, where you could finally take a much-needed breath after the relentless ordeal of the past three hours.

as rin emerged from the room, it was evident that he was struggling to hold back his tears. without even realizing it, you found yourself speaking words of comfort, your tone gentle and compassionate. it was almost surreal to be offering reassurance to someone who could potentially be a dangerous individual. however, you pressed on, mindful of the presence of others around you. "i arrived in time to prevent any major complications. he will experience a severe fever for approximately a month, which will undoubtedly be tedious. but it's certainly a preferable outcome, wouldn't you agree?"

"sanzu, why are you acquainted with a fallen fucking angel like her? you’re such a dog in comparison," rin teased, finding solace in your words. surprisingly, sanzu responded, "don’t you dare lay your eyes on the boss' girl, haitani." the room filled with a chorus of confused "what's" and "huh's," prompting me to urgently silence them and plead for everyone to let ran rest.

“i am leaving,” you speak directly towards sanzu. “no, no, no, come on. let me get you something to eat or drink as a thank you.” you could not tell if rin was being sarcastic or not, but when you glanced at sanzu for reassurance, he nodded and then you found yourself having dinner with the bonten executives.

2/?

#manjiro sano #manjiro sano x reader #mikey x reader #sano manjiro #sano mikey manjiro #the invincible mikey #tokyo revengers sano manjiro #mikey tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo manji gang #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader

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stardewvalleybut-i-draw · 3 months

Text

I make mini-comics and art of Stardew Valley characters!

(animations and writings too if I'm up to it)

I post art on Monday and Friday and Wednesday is for everything else!

All my art will be tagged with -> #SDVBID art Check these links out!

my request bin :)

QNA stuff and Answer archive!

Below is my Comics, Art, Doodles, and everything else organized and labeled with specific character appearances, enjoy!

Gossip- Caroline, Abigail, Pierre, Rasmodius, Farmer

"Experimental noise" they said.- Sam, Abigail, Sebastian, Farmer, Jodi, Vincent, Leo, Linus

Bots- My chicken

Golden Scythe!- Farmer

Hair cuts!- Marnie, Shane, Emily

You weren't supposed to do that- Elliott

Two types of winter players: Farmers

Double trouble bubble brew!- (part 3) Penny, Alex, Abigail, Farmers, Harvey, Maru, Sam

Trouble continues to brew!- (part 2) Harvey, Maru, Abigail, Alex

Trubble in the Spirits Eve Maze- (part 1) Abigail, Alex

A different point of view- Leah

A head cannon of mine...- Farmer

Stalker vibes- (2 panell) Farmer, Sebastian, Robin

Marlon headcanon art

He would NEVER!... or would he?- Mr Qi

Harvey and his planes

Happy Valentine's Day!- Krobus

Not Invited- Pam, Willy, Marnie, Lewis, Robin, Gus

Haley's material girl arc

Here's a chicken animation I made- Chickens :)

High Score- Sam, Sebastian

Feast of the Winter Star- Jas, Farmers, Lewis, Abigail

Emily's old hairstyle

A pirates wife- Birdie

Alex

Say cheese!- Krobus

Scarecrows and Rarecrows- Farmers

Harvey- with bonus one pannel comic

Winter Jas

3rd time's the charm!- Farmers

Favoritism- Farmers

He's just standing there...MENACINGLY- Sebastian, Jas

The smallest :)- Harvey

8th anniversary of Stardew- Junimos

Haley x Femm Farmer

Farmer Grandpa phone doodle

Haley holding lesbian flag

Mask Farmer doodles

Abigail bonus doodles

Halloween Ref for comic- Penny, Harvey, Maru, Alex, Abigail, Sam

Mr. Qi ref

Rasmodius ref

Shane ref

Penny and Abigail ref

Maru, Leah, Farmers, Harvey, Elliott, Alex, Sam ref

Old base farmer ref (Fem)

Old base farmer ref (Mask)

#Stuff is organized by newest (top) to oldest (bottom)#SDVBID art #Let me know if changes are needed!#stardew valley #sdv #stardew fanart

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supercorpkid · 5 months

Text

Ace Reporter - part 4

Supergirl, Kara Danvers x Reader, Lena Luthor x Reader

Word Count: 2375.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Something brings you back from your trance. Probably the loud alarm saying that if you don't get out of this place in five minutes you're going to die. Five minutes is really not enough time to find the way out, so you run out of the bedroom and make your way to the other side to try and find the exit there.

You are met with a dead end, and on your way back you bump into Lena. She holds your arms to steady you. "Y/N! I'm glad I found you. Kara and I split up while looking for the exit."

"Dead end." You point to the hallway behind you.

Lena agrees with her head. Cleans the blood off your cheek before nodding to you, "I'm happy you're safe." She almost hugs you, but decides there are more pressing matters at the moment. "Let's find Kara and get out of here."

Lena holds your hand, guiding you to the direction you just left. That's when Kara appears in clear panic and points to another place, not wanting you to find her secret in that creepy room, unbeknownst of your current knowledge.

You do feel kind of safer knowing Supergirl is around. She said it herself, she won't let you get hurt for a story. She certainly won't let you explode just not to compromise her secret identity. Right? Right.

On your way out the three of you find the room with all Lex's hardcopies of clear wrongdoings. You grab everything you can see and get out of there less than a minute before the whole place explodes.

You make it back to National City, digging through papers, unraveling conspiracy theories and mazes of wickedness. Kara Danvers is snoring on the chair in front of yours, tired from keeping secrets and burning bridges. And Lena is also examining the documents in silence. When you can't read another word, you turn to her,

"Tough day, huh."

"Running into the atrocities my brother is responsible for, is not exactly a walk in the park for me."

Great fucking quote. Not on record, though.

"Sorry we didn't find him. Though I have to admit, I'd be a bit scared if we did."

"I don't blame you. I would have too." Lena smiles absently and a little bit too sincere. You can tell she immediately wishes to take it back. You're a journalist, after all.

"Well, you've dealt with all those Eve clones pretty well. I'm glad you and -" You stop yourself, looking at Kara. She is not sweet doofus Kara Danvers anymore. It's pretty much real to you that she literally is the strongest person on Earth and she could have ended all those clones in probably one blow.

Lena agrees with a nod, following your eyes. "She actually fights pretty decently, I didn't know that about Kara."

You furrow your brows, confused. "You didn't?"

"Honestly, no. I wonder where she was hiding all those moves."

"Yeah. And I wonder why." You whisper to yourself, staring at Kara. Is she really asleep? No way to know, she is such a good liar. She might actually be the greatest actor of all time. How else would she have kept this secret from her best friend for so long?

"Anyway, heard you need a quote from me to get back to Metropolis."

You take a deep breath, mostly annoyed with your editor for making you work so hard for a damn quote, but also kind of offended that all of your investigative skills and team work will be reduced to one scandalous quote from Lena Luthor. You literally uncovered a web of lies and terrible plans, but hey, that's not what he asked you for, so it probably won't even be used.

"I suppose it's what I came here for."

You grab your notebook next to you, waiting for her quote.

"Ready?" She asks and you nod your head, pen on the paper ready to write down whatever she says. "I think you're so much better than what the Daily Planet gives you credit for, and I believe CatCo is always in need of a fine reporter like you."

You stop writing, raising your head at her, confused. "What?"

"And I should know what CatCo needs, since I'm the owner."

"What?" How did you not know that, when it's precisely your job to know everything about the woman you came here to interview.

"And if offering you a job is not enough of a reason for you to consider staying in National City, I'd like to add that I, too, would like to have you closer." Lena's voice drops an octave and an eyebrow is raised. My God, she is sexy.

"With the risk of sounding like a broken record, what?"

Lena laughs, honest and carefree. Wrinkles under her eyes and it has to be one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen. "I'll let you consider it. If you decide not to stay, I'll give you the quote."

"Oh, ok." Your cheeks burn red. "Thanks, Lena."

When you finally make it to National City, Lena offers both of you a ride, but you and Kara decide to share an uber to your side of the town.

"We've uncovered some pretty sensible information on this trip to Kaznia." Kara says as soon as Lena gets inside her car. "And I know you must be dying to do an exposé-"

Does she know? Does Kara know what you saw in that weird bedroom? That you finally have put two and two together and noticed the obvious? Is she scared you're going to tell the world?

"But we have to be careful on how we're going to play this. If we blow the whistle on Lex, he could just go back to hiding and-"

"What?"

"Oh sorry, sometimes I talk too fast. I meant Lex and whoever is helping him inside the government. Obviously he had help to break aliens out of the DEO facility and-"

She doesn't know. Haven't got the faintest idea. Kara Danvers is here blabbing about Lex Luthor while you have this huge information about her. And about Clark.

"Oh my God Danvers, shut up." It's out of your mouth before you can stop it. Her eyes widen and you point to the car that just arrived. "I don't wanna talk about Lex, ok? I got hurt because of him, because of this damn crusade the Daily Planet put me through." You signal for the driver then slide inside the car. Kara follows you promptly. And with no amenities the driver just goes.

"Look, I know it was tough out there. But you did so well. You-you found this!" Kara is holding the documents so tight, like they would just fly out of her hands if she didn't.

"Yeah, and I also almost died for those stupid sheets of paper. I'm not Nancy Drew, ok?"

"You are!” You look at her in disbelief. “At least, you were out there!"

"Stop, ok? This means nothing to me! I'm not you, Danvers! I'm not ok with putting my life at risk for a fucking assignment. I really am not getting paid enough and I only have this one life."

"What are you talking about?" Kara asks and you raise your eyebrow at her as an answer, not wanting to share more. "What? You think I'm a cat with nine lives?"

You can't help a laugh that leaves your mouth. A very ironic one. Sour and hostile. It makes her wince at the sound.

"Damn, you really are the biggest dweeb I've ever seen."

She huffs, moving uncomfortably on the seat next to you. You ignore her, staring out the window. You don't even like National City that much, but you're honestly so glad to be here right now.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but we're writing this together, aren't we? We have to decide on what can we expose and-"

"UGH." It's the only sound out of your mouth. You're so tired. You flew to Kaznia; the plane you were in almost crashed; you had to fight evil clones and you got beat up by one (which is rather embarrassing); you found out your work-colleague and your almost-nemesis' secret identities; and you also found out what the hell Lex is up to. You're exhausted. Right now, the only thing you want is to go back home, but stupid Kara Danvers won't shut up. "I wish Eve had punched your face instead of mine."

"WHAT?" Kara yells so loud, even the driver jumps in his seat. "Sorry, sorry." She apologizes to him, then turns back at you. "That's such a mean thing to say!"

"Why? It's not like you can feel anything." You roll your eyes, hand going to the cut on the side of your cheek that still burns.

"Of course I can feel things."

She's barely finished with her sentence and you're adding, "Oh my God, you let me get punched for nothing."

"I'm so confused right now."

"I KNOW, OK?" It's your time to yell, making the driver almost lose control of the car, and you have to hold yourself on Kara not to knock your head on the window. When the car finally stabilizes again, you continue. "I know you helped land the plane. I know you could've taken down all Eves by yourself. And I know about you and- and Clark." You stare deep into her eyes. "I know who you are."

Kara swallows deep, so loud you could hear it perfectly, and you're sure the driver could too. "Stop the car."

"Ma'am, we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Stop. The. Car." She repeats strongly, commanding. Must be her Supergirl voice. And the driver is not going to argue twice, so he does. He stops the car in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Kara pulls you by the hand and there's no fighting. Not when the strongest woman on the planet wants you out of the car, anyway.

So you stand there, with nothing but trees around while your ride home leaves you behind. You cross your arms and stare at her. God, you wish you were home. You wish you were never sent to this assignment. You wish you were never entangled in this mess with Kara Danvers. You wish you could just hate her from a distance instead from up close.

"How did you figure it out?"

"Well, you fighting all those clones with your bare hands was a pretty big tell. But what confirmed my suspicions was that weird altar they had for you there."

"You saw that too?"

"Yeah, it was pretty bizarre. I mean, who would have so many pictures of doofus Kara Danvers?"

"HEY! I'm not-" She huffs, unable to defend herself. "Whatever."

Kara walks from side to side, hands on the side of her head, clearly freaking out because you know her secret and she can't trust you. How could she? You're a random reporter who just came from Metropolis to find a story. And you did, you found the biggest one you could ever look for, and now you know the secret identity of two of the most powerful superheroes on the planet.

She finally breathes out all the weight off her shoulders, and comes closer, really close. So close she touches the cut on your cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let you get hurt." And you've known this woman for two weeks, but you know she means it. Can read it in her watery eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't realize how scared you were. I'm sorry I couldn't be Supergirl there."

"Because Lena doesn't know."

"Well, you weren't supposed to know either." She shrugs. Hands on your chin, eyes staring right at your soul. You dare to look at her lips, so close, so so close. Right there.

"Hey," You look back at her eyes and notice how scared she is. You know her secret, her biggest secret. You know a part of her not everyone knows. Not even her best friend! So you hold her free hand. "I promise your secret is safe with me. I know you have no reason to believe me. I mean, I didn't even like you until two days ago, so I understand the distrust. But this is a big thing. Bigger than whatever is between me and Kara Danvers. I would never put people's life at risk."

"Thank you." Kara gives your hand a little squeeze. "But what do you mean you didn't like me? I thought, I thought we were…"

"What? Friends?" A little smirk.

"Flirting." She admits and you gulp, taking your hand away from hers. She understands the signal so she lets go of your face too, but doesn't stop talking. "I thought it was all flirting banter."

It was. She is right. But you just can't admit this to her, or anyone.

So you let a sharp and deceitful laugh out. "Oh please. Even on a good day, we're barely amicable."

Kara furrows her brows, looking like a lost puppy and when she opens her mouth to argue, you cut her off, not ready for this conversation at all.

"So, do we get another uber or is Supergirl flying me to my hotel room? I really need to lay down after all this."

"Yeah. Yeah." She won't raise her head or look you in the eyes, but still picks you up in bridal style. "Hold tight."

Kara starts flying and you can't help but to hold her with everything you have. You can't believe you just gave Kara Danvers the power to drop you from a very tall height. You venture a peek down and holy fucking shit you are way too high. If she drops you, you're dead for sure.

You hide your face in Kara's neck. Breathe her in, and oh God she smells so good even after almost exploding in Kaznia. Ugh. Your stomach is all in knots and you wish you could just rationalize this strangled feeling, but right now Kara Danvers/ Supergirl/ Whoever is carefully taking you home, might be the person you loathe the most. Or love. You can't decide.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x reader #lena x reader #reader insert

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