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holyblanchett · 7 days ago

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hii! can you write ambessa x reader. with angst/ hurt-comfort, like, ambessa was rude to reader and reader starts to get away from her? thanks :)

GRUDGE

sugar mama!ambessa x fem!reader | 1.6k words

TAGS: 18+! modern!au, angst, soft dom ambessa, fingering, a hint of manipulation, pet names

bestie im so sorry i made this horny i couldnt help it

Ambessa has hurt your feelings. Again. Possibly permanently this time.

The night started out wonderfully. A stroll through the glamorous casino, half a dozen winning bets, a rooftop dinner overlooking the city—all with you on her arm, dressed to the nines, your earrings and bracelets jingling together to the sound of wind chimes.

It's no secret that you came from nothing before you met her, that she's placed the world in the palm of your hand. Extravagant vacations, expensive perfumes, designer dresses. You hold no qualms about your arrangement: you warm her bed most nights, and she gives you everything you could want and more.

But sometimes…

“Do you insist on being angry with me the rest of the night?” she asks, face stern-set and frowning.

You twist the neck of your empty glass between your fingers, pointedly staring out the window of the limousine as the dazzling city lights pass you by. “You humiliated me in front of your rich friends.”

She rolls her eyes, swirling around the final drink of wine in her glass. “I did no such thing. It was little more than a joke.”

“That they laughed a little too hard at for my liking.”

“You’re behaving like a child.”

“Whatever.”

You have to disengage unless the tears blurring your vision start to fall. She hates seeing you cry—even if she does deserve it right now. Even if, by her own admission, she could never truly care about you past any depth but shallow affection.

(”I knew, from the moment I saw her, that all she needed was a bit of makeup and a fancy dress to look stunning,” she had said. “I believe I did a fine job, given the circumstances.”

The laughs that echoed around the table had you curling in on yourself, smile tight-lipped as she rested a hand on your shoulder.)

Your blood runs hot once again.

You know what your arrangement is, and still, it hurts. Years of being seen as lesser because of your family's financial status makes you want to be her equal. To be more than a passing fancy that she'll soon grow bored of. Moreso because you've actually started to care for her, to revel in the sex and the cuddles and the nights spent lounging in her large, comfortable bed as you watch some silly rom-com on the television.

It fucking sucks.

The limo pulls up to the sprawling mansion surrounded by an impeccable garden, and as soon as the door opens, you leave your glass sitting on the seat and climb out. She calls out to you as you stomp up the stone walkway, thin heels threatening to break, but you refuse to look back. The woman has everything she wants. There will always be another you, but better. Richer, prettier, an easier fuck. No sense in indulging her when you'll be sent back home on a plane by the end of next week. You can't change the inevitable.

You brush past the butler in the foyer with a quiet hello, and hurry up the steps to the nearest spare bedroom. You need to be alone, to collect your thoughts lest the anger eat away at you from the inside out.

You hate her. She's beautiful and charismatic and romantic and… and she's never lied to you about her view on your relationship. Never tricked you into believing this was anything more than transactional.

You just want to go home. Home to your family, to your poor neighborhood, to the streets that she dared to imply she saved you from. She hasn't saved you from anything but your own loneliness.

Over the next few hours, you lay face-down on the end of the bed and sulk, shoes left by the door, dress zipped down your back as far as you can manage without help. Her absence is a blessing. You can never think properly when she’s around.

Soon, even that is ripped away from you when a knock sounds at the door. You don't even bother lifting your face from the sheets, even when warm fingertips ghost up the line of your spine. But you do shiver.

She sighs, sitting beside you on the bed. “My dear, you cannot stay angry at me forever.”

You turn your head to look at her, gold-cuffed braids hanging loose over her shoulders, the moonlight from the window softening the shadows of her face. Gold eyeliner and blood-red lipstick, still perfect even after dinner. She’s beautiful, and you love her, and she humiliated you.

“Yes, I can.”

She clicks her tongue and rests a palm on your back, thumb rubbing circles into the bare skin between your shoulder blades. “Perhaps I was a bit… insensitive, but you should believe me when I say that I like you. More than others I've made this arrangement with.”

You scoff. “I'm sure that means so much.”

“You have quite the mouth on you today.” She shifts her weight then leans forward until you're looking down her half-unbuttoned blouse, heavy breasts wrapped in red lace. A soft kiss to your temple. “Have I not been giving you enough attention? Is that it?”

“Ambessa—”

“What does my sweet girl need?”

Her heart. But you can't tell her that, so you cry instead. It's a grief you can't quite place, a longing marrow-deep, an ache that will never be filled.

You sniff and pray that she ignores the line of tears smearing your makeup against the comforter. “You can't give me what I need. Not this.”

“Try me.”

“You can't.”

She hums when your chin dimples, palm soft as she rubs over the expanse of your back, your chest hiccuping underhand. “And I say once again: try me, sweet thing.”

Permission to bare your heart. That's what she means. Whatever dignity you have left shatters at her words, thoughts flooding the bowl of your brain.

“I want you. All of you. It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help how I feel.”

With a sigh, she grabs you by the arm, softly coaxing you to rise then crawl into her lap.

“So you've touched the hot stove and been burned, hm?” A soft brush of knuckles over your cheek. “That's something I warned against, little lamb.”

You curl up against her chest, nose brushing an undone button on her blouse. “I know.”

“I cannot give you what you want, but I would still enjoy your company in my bed tonight. I'll even let you choose the movie.”

You should say no. Should pack your bags and book the next flight home. But you can't.

Instead, you take the hand she offers and follow her down the long hallway to her bedroom. A grand space, larger than the whole of your apartment back home. Gilded furniture with golden accents and blood-red silk sheets. The softest rug you've ever felt beneath your feet.

A pair of warm hands brush down the curve of your back before unzipping the last bit of your dress. Those hands rise to your shoulders, thumbing the sleeves off your arms. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you bare before her.

She prefers you to not wear underwear, and you enjoy the thrill.

A press of soft lips to the curve of your neck. “You looked stunning today.”

You hum, tilting your head to the side as her kisses trail up to your jaw. “It's all thanks to you.”

“Perhaps, but you provide a good foundation.” She brushes her fingertips over your belly, settling large palms over the soft curve of your waist.

Heat pools into the well of your belly, but she goes no farther. Instead, she steers you toward the bathroom to get ready for bed.

This is how you adore her most: bare-faced, wearing her favorite two piece sleep set (that she would never admit is getting a bit worn), hair protected by the most expensive satin money can buy. Relaxed, casual—a word unfitting for the woman given the regal way in which she carries herself, a facet of her personhood woven into the very fabric of her DNA.

She gives you a tender kiss on her way out of the bathroom as you finish removing the last of your makeup. Tonight, she had chosen a silk slip for you to wear to bed, hems lined in lace. Luxurious against the sheets as you slide into bed.

That's as far as you get before she's rising onto an elbow beside you, teeth teasing at your throat. “As I said before, if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.”

Her hand dips between your thighs as she captures your lips in a rough kiss, forcing your head back against the pillow. There's a routine to her lovemaking, an addictive strain of passion that you could bloat yourself on.

Your mouth opens with a gasp as she fills you with two thick fingers, thighs twitching against her forearm as she licks into your mouth, tongue curling against yours. Her fingers build up a steady rhythm inside your pussy, so noisy and slick that your ears burn from embarrassment. You feel much like Pavlov's dog, trained to drool at the simple sight of her. The lightest of touches.

“Touch yourself,” she whispers against your lips, wields orders with the sweetness of heated honey. No reason to be anything but—you'll obey regardless.

Your fingers reach down to circle your clit, stars dancing behind your eyes, and for a long moment you wonder if she's right. If your earlier bristling truly was the result of poorly-projected jealousy.

She kisses you again, tender and soft, and it isn't long before you reach your peak beneath her, clenching hard around her fingers, breath caught in your throat as she coos down at you. What a figure you must paint, writhing beneath her, bucking against her hand, gasping and mewling into her shoulder.

You sink into the afterglow with a deep, relieved sigh, weightless upon the mattress, before her slick fingers fit between your teeth, a heavy weight upon your tongue. You already know what to do, closing your lips around her knuckles to suck the taste of you off of her.

“Just what my sweet girl needed, hm?” she asks, voice thick in her chest, soft as velvet. “No need to be so angry with me.”

Her fingers slip out of your mouth with a wet pop, and she gives you one last kiss before turning back to the television. To her credit, you can’t even remember what you were angry about in the first place.

You fall asleep before the opening credits of the movie begin to play.

#ambessa x reader #arcane #arcane x reader

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