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street-smarts00 · 11 months ago

Text

Clingy

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (BAU!reader)

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WC: 3.7k

Summary: You tended to be very expressive with your friends when showing your affection. Whether it showed in pet names or physical touch. Only thing is, Spencer thinks he’s falling in love with you, and all of your sweet affectionate actions are starting to take a toll on his unrequited heart. At least, he thinks it’s unrequited.

Tags: there’s a tiny bit of miscommunication but not too much that it will make your head explode like it does mine. Make out but nothing grown/spicy. Friends to lovers. A bit of hurt/comfort

A/N: Not beta read don’t kill me! yoooo spence is so in denial about her feelings in this but lol so real king. This is mostly from his POV but I had to cheat a few times. Hope i can live up to the hype that complimentary colors was. I low key don't like this one as much but had to execute it cause the idea was cute.

You were starting to drive him insane. Criminally insane. You could invade his thoughts at any waking moment of his day and take over his mind. Every affectionate pet name, every soft fleeting touch, hell every time you look at him, he would replay the moment in his mind like a broken record. If he was in a crowded room, his eyes would always fall on you.

After being with the BAU for a while you became good friends with your coworkers. And with that, came your habit of calling your friends sweet nicknames. Anything from sweetie, to honey, to babes, and the one that broke his heart the most, my love.

At first he didn’t understand why you were using terms of endearment that were typically used in a romantic relationship, but in a platonic way. At some point he caught on that you were similar to Garcia when it came to expressing your love for friends. Similar to her and the way she has her own sweet silly way of expressing how she cares.

Nevertheless, some small part of his heart still broke when you called him those names. He adored your sweet caring nature and the fact that you cared enough about him to call him terms of endearment. But every time a nickname fell from your lips, he was reminded you only meant it platonically.

It was his own personal torture to constantly be reminded he would never be your sweetie, your honey … your love. But the nicknames weren’t enough to drive him insane. While it drove him to the brink of insanity, he was able to keep his head somewhat still on his shoulders.

Not long after the heart warming but crushing nicknames, you showed your true love language. Physical touch. It showed in many forms. It could show when poking JJ in the shoulder and giving Emily a high five. Or nudging Morgan in his side with your elbow. You even managed to get a fist pump from Hotch and Rossi. And of course the welcome and goodbye hugs from Penelope.

You were a bit hesitant at first to express this love language of yours with Spencer due to his aversion to touch and germs. However, you observed that he would gratefully receive occasional touches. Whether it be a hug, high-five, or even the rare ruffle of his hair -which of course would be from Morgan. So you approached him and asked if he was comfortable with physical contact.

When it came to you, he was more than comfortable. You could take him in your arms and he would simply melt into a puddle on the floor. Except he didn’t say that and his reply was closer to a mix of stuttering and rambling about how you could never make him uncomfortable and how he just doesn’t like germs.

Now he’s not saying he regrets his choices. He wouldn’t ever take it back. He enjoys every single lingering touch between the two of you. Actually “enjoys” would be a severe understatement. Every single time you ruffle his hair, lean your head on his shoulder, or even just carefully touch his arm, it was as if a thousand volts of electricity were flowing through him. Like he could light up the city even. You were the best part of his days and the reason breath filled his lungs. You brought a light into his life that made him feel safe and warm.

He desperately wanted your affection, your attention, your touch, to mean something more than he knew it to be. But sooner or later, touch after touch, he started to go insane. Somewhere along the way he had daydreamed so deep he had lost his mind.

You had officially driven Spencer Reid insane.

He was promptly whisked away from his thoughts when he felt the tap of a folder on his shoulder and a light thump on his desk.

“Hotch wants to know your thoughts on the consultation from Colorado,” you started.

He blinked back into focus glancing at the papers on his desk.

“Hey, you alright?” You asked with concern. “You look like your head is in the clouds.”

“I’m fine, just lost in thought,” he answered with a small smile reassuring you.

“Don’t get too lost. Can’t have your genius brain short circuiting on us.” You chuckled as you took a small step closer to him and playfully ruffled his hair.

“I’ll try not to,” he grinned and pushed his hair back after you messed with it.

“Well I’ll be back soon, my love. Gotta go bother Penelope,” you joked before making your way out of the bullpen.

His gaze was lingering on you as you left. His thoughts started to drift to you again as his cheeks turned pink.

“I’ll be back soon, my love,” Morgan mimicked in a higher pitched voice with a grin as he approached Spencer's desk. In response Spencer turned his chair away from Morgan to hide his now red face.

“When are you two going to start dating? You guys already act like a couple.”

“We do not act like a couple,” Spencer argued. “She just sometimes calls me pet names, that's normal for her.”

“You don’t see it do you?” Morgan furrowed his eyebrows and was seconds away from chuckling. “She’s been giving you quite a bit of attention lately. Practically clinging onto you.”

“I mean I- I don’t think so. She does that with everyone, it's not just me. She just happens to be very affectionate with friends.” He answers as his voice almost cracked.

Morgan shook his head, “Oh no it’s more than that. Have you ever noticed that she calls you “my love” but she calls us “love”? Or when we’re on a long flight back home and you two are all cuddly on the jet. How she always seeks out your company and finds an excuse to talk to you or about you.”

Spencer couldn’t speak. He had so many words on the tip of his tongue but his voice wouldn’t make a sound. He sat frozen and mouth slightly agape as his brain started to go into overdrive.

Morgan's face softened at Spencer's reaction. “It’s different with you kid. Friends don’t act like that.”

“You and Garcia do.” Spencer countered, this time definitely with a voice crack. Morgan lightly chucked. He was well aware that his and Penelope’s friendship was a bit different than other male/female friendships.

“Okay you got me there, but you and Y/N aren’t me and Garcia. We may flirt with each other a lot but that’s our thing. You two have this care for each other like nothing I've ever seen.”

Spencer was left stunned once again and Morgan could practically see the gears in his head turning.

“You may not notice it now, or hell you may not let yourself notice it now, but it’s true.”

Those words rang in the back of Spencer's mind for days. Of course on a regular basis you would occupy his mind at any given moment. But now it wasn’t just thoughts about you. His mind was over analyzing almost every interaction between you and him, trying to find what Morgan had talked about. Some form of evidence that proved what you felt for him was beyond what he had initially thought.

He was recounting all the recent times you had approached him out of the members of your team. He recalled all the times you were either hanging out or on the jet and you found yourself tracing patterns on his arm. He was rethinking when you started to use nicknames around him and how it could be different with him than with others. It turned out Morgan might be right, as Spencer realized the numerous times you referred to Garcia or Emily as “love”, but in the rare instance you said “my love” it was only ever directed to him.

The idea of you liking him back had become an all consuming thought, but he was too terrified to ask you. What if Morgan was wrong? Profilers have been wrong before. He became petrified by the idea of asking you about it and possibly finding out his feelings were unrequited. But most of all, he was scared of losing you. Scared that if he brought it up he would make things awkward and ruin your friendship. He couldn’t lose you, not over something as trivial as his feelings.

Unfortunately the mental toll this was taking on his mind started to show. Not so obvious that the everyday person would notice, but you weren’t an everyday person. You grew to know him like the back of your hand. So of course you started to notice the little changes in his behavior. His ever so slight flinch when you would initially touch him. His eyes which used to linger on you and catch your eyes from across the room, now focused almost anywhere you weren’t. The way his body froze when you placed a hand on his shoulder. The way his eyes partially widened when you called him anything other than his name.

He tried to hide his worries from you, but you could tell something was bothering him.

Something about you.

His overall behavior didn’t reflect that he was avoiding you or distancing himself from you. He still talked to you and acted around you like normal. Instead it felt like he was holding himself back from receiving or truly appreciating your affection the way he used to.

Days had passed and the team was sent on a case. While this case was an emotional rollercoaster for everyone, it had affected you the most. The victims had reminded you of yourself and the unsub and all of his delusional reasoning for his actions had hit very close to home.

The team caught the unsub and closed the case quite late in the evening. Everyone was exhausted after the grueling past few days and decided to spend the night at the hotel to rest and leave in the morning. You however, still felt an ache in your stomach from all the anxiety felt throughout the day. You couldn’t seem to relax and let that weight off your shoulders. So you went to the one person who could help.

Spencer was getting ready to go to sleep, peacefully reading a book in bed when he got a knock on his door. He placed his book down and when he opened the door he was greeted by you in pajama pants and a zip up hoodie, clearly also winding down for the night.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hi, what’s up? Is everything okay?” he asked, a bit concerned as to why you showed up at his hotel so late at night. He opened the door wider signaling you were welcome inside. You entered the room and stuffed your hands in your pockets as he closed the door.

“I’m okay I just …” you cleared your throat. “I know this case has been a tough one but today’s been really hard for me. I’m still wired and awake, I can’t seem to relax enough to go to sleep,” You abruptly stopped your rambling to catch your breath.

“This might sound dumb but, I’m in desperate need of a hug right now,” you finally admitted quietly.

He hated seeing you so timid and closed off. How you made yourself smaller than you were, all because you were asking for your basic needs to be met.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to explain why you need a hug. You can just ask,” he said reassuringly.

“Oh.”

“Physical contact has been shown to increase levels of dopamine, serotonin, and even oxytocin; therefore, decreasing levels of stress and anxiety. Some people might even argue that physical touch is a fundamental element of being human and experiencing life.” His other way of trying to validate your feelings was of course rambling a string of facts and information from his fingertips.

You couldn’t help but smile. God he loved it when you smiled.

“So is that a yes?” you asked since you never exactly got an answer from your question in the first place. Even though you knew what his answer was.

The corners of his lips turned into a grin. “Come here,” he says with outstretched arms.

You practically ran into him at his offer. He wrapped his arms around you as you placed yours around his neck. He wished this moment could last forever. All while at the same time Morgan's previous statements were circling around in his head.

He tried his best to push them away. He tried to tell himself this was not you acting on any potential feelings for him. This was simply you reaching out to a friend in need.

He took note of the way you held onto him so tightly, almost as if he could leave at any second. It made his heart ache.

“You feel tired,” he almost whispered.

“I am,” you mumbled back, face buried in his neck.

“Do you wanna lie down?”

You lightly patted him on the back, “Don’t worry I’ll leave you be and go to sleep soon. I just need a minute

“I meant … I meant do you want to lie down here?” He stammered. “So you’re not alone. You seem like you need a friend right now.”

His own heart almost cracks when he says friend. But that’s what you need right now, a friend.

“I’d like that,” you said with a small smile.

You separate from him and he leads you to the bed holding your hand. He sits down against the headboard and waits for you to join him.

You awkwardly sit down on the bed, eyes darting in all directions of where he’s sitting. “I- what should I …”

“You could sit down the way you do on the jet,” he kindly offers.

You relax at his words and move to sit at his side. He wraps his arm around you as you rest your head against his shoulder. You both sat there in a moment of silence, enjoying eachothers company. He was getting lost in the sweet smell of your perfume; the small bit of it that still lingers from the long day you’ve had.

He started to recall all the times you two would be close like this. It didn’t happen very often. Sometimes on a long jet ride home from a long or stressful case. Or sometimes when the team went out for drinks and you would be tired from dancing. In the rare occasions you two were like this, you would tend to draw patterns on his arm or leg.

So he decided to finally return the favor. With the arm he had wrapped around you, he started to dance his fingertips over your upper arm.

He felt you practically melt into him at the action. If you could get any closer to him, you did.

He continued tracing your arm with an overwhelming amount of care. It made you consider his previous actions compared to how welcome you were now in his arms.

“Spencer, I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me,” you spoke with a hidden hesitation in your voice.

“Of course I’ll be honest to you. I always will be,” he furrowed his brows at the thought of you being scared of him lying to you.

You let out a small, almost shaky breath. “Am I clingy?” you murmured.

This made his hand on your arm stop. He shifted his sitting position so he could face you better but also didn’t want to let you out of his hold.

“No, never,” he told you with assurance. “Why would you think you’re clingy?”

He saw you hesitate once more before you gave him your reply. “I was just overthinking things. Worried I was taking the physical contact thing too far or that I’m a bit too affectionate at times.“

“Why would you be worried? You’d never take things too far. You’ve always been respectful of other people’s boundaries.”

You sighed with a shaky breath. He could practically see through you and see you considering your response.

“Because I thought I was making you uncomfortable.” you looked down to avoid his gaze.

He was quiet for a second, absolutely baffled as to how you would think you could ever make him uncomfortable. “Why?” His question was a barely audible whisper.

“You seemed different. All of a sudden you would freeze when I touched you. You became jumpy and skittish when I talked to you. I thought I was too much for you but you didn’t want to tell me about it.”

You shifted away to face him and his hand fell from your arm. You fidgeted with the sleeves of your hoodie as your face went blank.

“You could never be too much for me,” he spoke with a soft voice. He tried to reach his hand out to hold yours but your hand disappeared in your sleeve at his touch.

“Then why were you different all of a sudden?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

His cheeks started to turn pink, “I- I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were.”

“Y/N please,” he begged.

“Spencer,” you whispered as your eyes bore into his. “You said you’d be honest with me.”

He licked his lips and his face turned red. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He couldn’t find an escape route. He had no choice but to tell you. And once the flood gate opened, he would never be able to close it.

“I was freaking out,” he blurted.

“I was freaking out because Morgan implanted this idea in my head that you might possibly have feelings for me based on the way you act around me. I’ve been obsessed with that thought since he mentioned it. So I freaked out almost every time you touched me, talked to me, even looked at me,” he rambled on anxiously as he tried to explain himself. No holding back now.

“I tried not to let it change my behavior but I guess it did and I am so sorry for that. I never wanted to give you the impression that I was uncomfortable. To be honest I don’t think you could ever make me uncomfortable”

You were silent for a moment. He couldn’t read your reaction. Your eyebrows slightly raised with your lips parted. He could only see surprise, which was typical, he just didn’t know if this kind of surprise was good.

“Why were you so obsessed with the idea of me having feelings for you?”

He could’ve sworn his heart was going to beat out of his chest at any moment.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Here we go. Flood gates.

“The idea you might like me back became an all consuming thought because I never before thought it was possible and I never wanted to get my hopes up. Actually, I pretty much think about you all the time so it wasn’t that far from normal. ”

“You’re falling in love with me?” you asked barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he spoke softly with full confidence.

The only change to your appearance was your eyes widened a bit more. It made Spencer's heart sink to his stomach.

“Listen, I understand if this makes things weird between us and I am so sorry. I just couldn’t ..”

He couldn't finish his thought, you were too busy locking your lips with his. It was a sweet but cautious kiss, almost as if you were testing the waters in uncharted territory. You felt him freeze against you so you leaned away, breaking from the kiss.

Not even seconds later Spencer placed a hand on your face and was diving back into the kiss with fervor. You instantly reacted as your arms found their way around his neck and your hand was digging in his hair. The kiss was intoxicating. Both of you trying to get a taste of the other after what felt like eons of pinning.

He wrapped his arms around your waist while his one hand snuck up to the small of your back where your hoodie had exposed your skin. It sent a shiver up your spine while you let out a shaky breath against his lips. You tried shifting in your seat to somehow get closer to him. With his hands against your waist he helped guide you to sit in his lap straddling him.

When you finally break from the kiss your faces are red and Spencer rests his forehead against yours. You focus on the sound of his breath and the feeling of your heart practically beating in your ears.

Your hand moves to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “I guess I didn’t do a very good job at showing I had feelings for you.”

The corners of his mouth lift up into a giddy smile. “No, you did. I’m just oblivious.”

“Sounded like you were in denial,” you lightly teased.

“That too,” he chuckles.

After a moment of enjoying each other's presence, you pull away from him just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“I know I call everyone pet names, but every time I used them with you, I wanted it to mean something more. Part of me would always hope you would one day call me those names back,”

Spencer swore his heart could give out at any second. He never expected to hear this from you and it made him lightheaded.

“This may sound childish but.. I never craved attention so badly, until you gave me yours,” you added.

He licked his lips and smiled. With his hands still on your waist he traced mindless patterns at your sides. “You have my complete and undivided attention, my love.”

His words made you giddy. You bit your lip to keep yourself from giggling. Although, he would never be opposed to hearing your beautiful laugh.

There were no words to describe the way that you felt. So without thinking, you leaned forward once more to capture his lips with yours.

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Tag Requests: @nomajdetective

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff

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sanguineterrain · 8 months ago

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crushin' | jason todd

Summary: Barbara invites you to dinner with the Bats. She's done so before, and you've always declined, but this time, you agree because the Bat you've had a crush on for ages will be there. Little do you know, the only reason he's staying for dinner is because of you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings/tags: batfam shenanigans, dick is a good meddling brother and deserves a fruit basket, fluff and humor, kissing, crushes, love confessions. just wanted to write something sweet and light :)

the divider

"So you're gonna press this," Barbara says, demonstrating on her own screen.

You follow along, clicking and typing. She nods.

"Good. Then you're gonna do this."

You open the file. A video of what looks to be Bruce drunkenly hula-hooping pops up. Your eyes widen.

"And that's how you keep Bruce in check," Barbara says, patting your shoulder. "Use sparingly. Only when he's getting on your last nerve."

"Wow," you say. "Babs, I... I don't know if I should have this kind of power."

"No, it's cool. I have dirt on everyone in this family, so really, it's my power. You're the only one who gets to see the vault."

You look at her. "You scare me."

She grins. "Thanks! Anyway, you're free to go. They'll be back from the mission soon, so our job is pretty much over."

The computer beeps. She checks the notification and types back. Then she hums.

"Or, you can, y'know, join us for dinner. Alfred keeps wondering when you'll do so."

You press your lips together. "I dunno, Babs... are you sure? I don't want to intrude."

"You're not. Seriously. And you know what I just found out? Jason will be here too."

Well. That does certainly stop your refusal in its tracks. You haven't seen Jason properly since he returned. You feel a pang of guilt at that; true, he's never at the Manor, at least not when you're around. But you could've reached out by now.

Still, being able to see him again properly is a wonderful opportunity. One you can't pass up.

"Okay," you say. "I'll join you all. As long as Alfred's okay with it."

She rolls her eyes, smiles. "Don't be ridiculous. C'mon."

You follow her to the elevator Bruce got installed for her. In the Manor, most of the family are sitting down to dinner. Damian and Cass are on one side of the table. Bruce is at the head. Alfred is still bustling in the kitchen.

You start to pull out the chair next to Cass, but Barbara startles you.

"That's Dick's chair!" She smiles sympathetically. "Sorry. He's particular. Isn't he, guys?"

"Yes," Cass says. "He's comfortable here."

"I've no idea what you're referring to, Gordon," says Damian. He nods at you. "Hello."

You smile. "Hey, Damian. That's fine. I'll sit next to you, Babs." You sit in the middle of three chairs, with Barbara on your right and an empty chair on your left.

"Hi, Cass. Hello, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce," he reminds you. That's not happening. It feels way too weird to call him Bruce, even though you've known him since Jason was Robin. Just, no.

Cass smiles. "Hello. Glad to have you."

"Where's Tim and Duke?" you ask.

"Thomas is at university," Damian says. "Drake is probably with that idiot clone he calls a boyfriend."

Bruce looks up. "Tim and Connor are dating?"

"Good God," Barbara mumbles.

"Well, yes, Father. They've been dating for quite some time, even shared a room together. Last month, Drake went undercover in Atlantic City and the clone—"

"Old man! Where are you?"

"Jason, just—"

"Shut it, Dickhead."

The grandfather clock swings open, revealing the Cave entrance. Up stomps Jason, followed by Dick. Jason has a smear of purple goo on his forehead, but otherwise is clean. His back is to you.

Jason points an accusing gloved finger at Bruce. "You owe me a new bike, new guns, new gear, new phone, new—"

"Jason, slow down. Why exactly do I owe you new things?" Bruce asks.

"Because Tweedle-Dum here didn't scan the fuckin' spaceship that landed in Syracuse and melted my bike with purple goo!"

"It said it was empty," Dick says tiredly. "How was I supposed to know an abandoned ship would spit goo?"

"Okay, alright, boys, don't fight. Yes, Jason, I'll compensate everything you lost in Syracuse."

"Yeah, you will. And a new fridge." Jason thinks. "And a new TV."

"Master Jason," Alfred begins, walking into the dining room with a dish of roasted potatoes. "You may continue your bargaining with Master Bruce after dinner. Wipe that alien sludge off your face and have a seat."

Jason sighs. "Alf, I appreciate the invite, but you know I don't dine with most of the folks at this table. Gets real fuckin' crowded."

"Master Jason, watch your language," Alfred says sternly. "We have a guest. Behave like the young man I raised you to be."

Jason scoffs. "Who, Barbie? She doesn't—" He turns and stops, staring at you.

You smile, suddenly self-conscious. "Hi."

He swallows, eyes wide. "Hi. Hey."

"Aren't you staying for dinner?" you ask, confused. "Barbara said you were."

"I—" He glances at Barbara, then looks at you. "Uh. Well. I don't really..."

"C'mon, Jay, you guys should catch up!" Dick says brightly, already seated.

Jason's mouth sours as he turns to Dick. You pull out the chair next to you and tap the seat.

"You can sit next to me," you say, looking up at Jason.

He immediately turns back to you, lips parted. "Oh. I—y-yeah. Sure. Thanks."

"Master Jason. The goo," Alfred reminds, raising a brow. "And hang up your jacket."

Jason quickly backs up and bumps into the table corner. He winces.

"Right. I'm gonna... yeah. Be right back."

Jason disappears down the hall. Dick grins wolfishly at Barbara.

"You're amazing," he says.

"I know," she says, shrugging.

Alfred serves the last tray of vegetables, then sits. Jason soon returns, gloves and jacket away and goo-free.

"Did you style your hair, Todd?" Damian asks.

"No. Shut it." Jason scoots in his chair, glaring at his brother. But when you pass him the tray of roast, his expression softens. He smiles at you.

"Thanks," he says, and puts three slices on his plate. "Great roast, Alf."

"You haven't tried it," Alfred says, but looks very pleased.

"Don't need to."

"We're very glad you're here, Jason," Bruce says. "All things considered—"

Jason holds up a hand. "Ah-ah. I'm not here for you, old man. Save the speech for another day."

"And who are you here for, Jason?" Dick asks, propping his chin on his hands.

"None of your beeswax, Dick."

Dick shrugs. Damian begins to talk about an art project in school. You pay the appropriate amount of attention until Jason nudges your arm.

"Hey," he says, nodding at your empty glass. "Didja get something to drink?"

"Oh." Heat creeps up your neck. "Um, no. Sorry. I didn't know where to get the drinks."

"'S okay. Alf doesn't put out drinks anymore 'cause everybody drinks something different. You just help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. I'll get it for ya."

"Jason, you don't have to—"

He holds up a hand, smiling. "C'mon, none of that. You're a guest. Orange Fanta, right?"

You blink. "You remembered."

"Uh." His cheeks go pink. "I mean, yeah. No biggie. I'll be back."

Jason stands. Immediately, the others pounce.

"Are you going to the kitchen?" Dick asks.

"No," Jason says.

"Can you get me another Diet Coke?"

"Todd, if you're going to the kitchen, I would like another lemonade, please," Damian says.

"I just said I'm not going to the—"

"Master Jason, will you please bring this into the kitchen?" Alfred asks, holding up an empty tray.

Jason heaves a sigh. You wince.

"Sorry," you whisper.

He shakes his head and winks. "Nah, 's not you."

Obediently, Jason takes the tray and goes to the kitchen. He returns with a Diet Coke, which he tosses at Dick, who catches it with one hand, and a bottle of lemonade, which he throws to Damian who also catches it with one hand and a scowl. Finally, Jason opens the Orange Fanta for you and gently pours it into your glass, then sets the half-full can next to your plate. He sits down.

"Of course they get special treatment," Dick mumbles into his drink.

The table rattles, and Dick winces, squinting at Jason. The table rattles again, and Jason hisses.

"Boys," Bruce says wearily. "Enough."

"Yeah, Jason," Dick says, sticking his nose up. "Y'know it's my birthday soon. I deserve a brother who doesn't kick me."

"Oh, I'll tell ya what you deserve," Jason begins.

"Are we doing laser tag?" Cass pipes up from the end.

"'Course we are! Everybody's gonna be there." Dick looks pointedly at Jason. "Except my own brother. He refused."

You look at Jason, who's got a nasty glower aimed at Dick.

"You're not coming?" you ask.

Jason's expression melts away when he turns to you. "Uh, I mean—"

"No, he's not," Dick says, pulling the saddest pout you've ever seen. "He said he wanted nothing to do with my stupid birthday."

"Those weren't my exact words."

"They were very close," Damian says.

"Shut—"

"Jason, I can't believe you aren't going to Dick's birthday," Barbara says, shaking her head.

Jason's mouth falls open. "Et tu, Barbie?"

"You should come," you say, touching Jason's arm.

He immediately looks at your hand. You slowly remove it, smiling sheepishly.

"Then we can be a team," you say. "We're playing doubles. I'm horrendously bad at laser tag, but I bet we'd win together. I'd watch your six."

"Leaving them in the lurch, Jason?" Barbara tuts. "So unlike you."

Jason heaves a sigh. "For God—okay. Alright, brother mine. You win."

You beam. "So you'll come?"

"'Long as you and I are a team," Jason says, a little shy.

You bump his shoulder with yours. "Of course."

Dick looks at you. "You should join us for dinner every night."

You laugh bashfully. "Thanks, Dick."

Dinner goes on. Bruce excuses himself early, as do Cass and Damian. Soon, it's the four of you plus Alfred cleaning up after dinner. You and Jason are loading the dishwasher when Jason hisses. He pulls out his hand, revealing a thin red cut on his palm.

"Are you okay?" you ask, hovering worriedly.

"Yeah, 'm fine. I'll take the tray—"

"Jason, no," Dick says, herding him away from the dishwasher. "You have to get that wrapped immediately."

"What are you—dude, it's a tiny cut—"

"Yeah, but there was food on there, and you have no idea what can get into the wound and make you sick," Barbara says seriously. "You need to get it cleaned right now."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever. There's a first aid kit in the closet."

"There isn't!" Dick says, shooing Jason toward you. "Alfred hasn't restocked it. You have to go to the Cave. You should both go."

"Yes, great idea," Barbara says, looking at you. "You have medical experience, don't you?"

"I mean, a little, but—"

"More than us!" Dick says, shoving you both towards the hallway.

"I don't think so..."

"You take care of Jaybird here, he needs that hand," Dick says cheerily, opening the Cave entrance. "Go on, go."

"Christ on a bike," Jason mumbles, and heads down the stairs.

You follow, confused and concerned. The entrance slides closed. Jason goes to the medbay, muttering under his breath as he digs through one of the drawers with one hand. You join him, searching the top drawer for the antiseptic spray.

"Is the cut really bad?" you ask, trying to get a better look.

"No. My brother's just an idiot. Nothin' new."

You pull out the spray, some gauze, and a bandaid. Jason nods in thanks and goes to take it.

"I can do it," you say. "I do have medical experience, after all."

He snorts. "Fine by me."

You both sit on the edge of a cot. You turn to Jason and pull his hand into your lap. He inhales sharply. You stop.

"Is this okay?" you ask.

"Y-yeah. Fine. Sorry. I don't get touched a lot." Jason's mouth screws up. "Ugh. That sounded weird."

You laugh. "It's fine, I know what you meant."

He scratches the back of his neck while you clean his hand. He has big hands. Bigger than you remember. They're deeply scarred and calloused. You rub your thumbs over the pads of his fingers without thinking.

"You got soft hands," Jason says quietly.

"Heh. Thanks. The computer life."

He hums. "I didn't know you were working with Babs."

The guilt swims back full force.

"I know. I'm sorry. I should've reached out, Jason. I-I basically ignored you. Not on purpose! I just... I guess I wasn't sure where we stood and I thought maybe you'd be mad I was working for Batman after everything and I was afraid that we wouldn't—"

"Hey, whoa. 'M not mad." Jason finds your gaze. You frown. "I'm serious. I don't mind that you're working for Bruce. I mean, hell, I do too, on occasion. Mostly I just bitch at him."

You giggle. He smiles. You're still holding his hand. You don't really want to let go. Jason doesn't seem to want to pull away either.

"Well, even so, I'm sorry for not reaching out. I did miss you, Jason. And I'm glad you're back."

He clears his throat, ducking his head. "Huh. Well, I missed you too. And y'got nothin' to apologize for. I could've asked about you."

"Well—"

"Uh-uh, no, I'm the king of self-deprication. Y'can't take that from me," Jason says, eyes dancing with mirth.

You sigh dramatically. "Fine, fine. Can we say that we both could've reached out?"

"That's agreeable. And, uh, while we're clearing the air, I'm so terribly sorry 'bout my dumbass brother."

You tilt your head. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, huh. Hm. Well, funny thing. I kinda had a, um, crush on you, before. And Dick has it in his head that I... that I have a chance now. So... yeah."

"Before?" you ask.

You don't know why you're disappointed. It's not like you knew. Except maybe if you had, you wouldn't have missed out. Maybe you wouldn't have lost so much time.

Jason glances at you. "What... why are you sayin' it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you wish... that I..." He shakes his head. "Forget it."

"Jason," you say, barely a whisper.

He looks at you. His eyes flick to your lips, just for a millisecond. "Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

A beat. Your heart falls.

"Yeah." Jason nods. "Yeah, kiss me."

You heart soars.

You hold Jason's face, still holding his hand. He gingerly touches your neck with his uninjured hand, strokes behind your ear with his thumb. Every nerve alights. You're kissing Jason Todd. The boy you've loved since you were thirteen.

"They did it! They're kissing!"

Jason growls against your mouth. You know it's not aimed at you, but it makes lightning shoot down your spine. Wow.

"'M gonna kill 'im," Jason mumbles.

You smile and pull back, just an inch. "It's nearly his birthday. At least wait till next week."

"Hm." Jason kisses the corner of your mouth. You like him so much. "Fine. Y'know you can convince me of pretty much anything? Wield that power carefully."

You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason braces you with a hand on the small of your back.

"I'm very flattered, but I think you're confused, Jay." A kiss to his jaw. "It's you who has a hold on me."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #jason todd x gender neutral reader #gn reader #jason todd imagine #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #jason todd fluff

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golden-ebony · 4 months ago

Text

The Serving Suitor .⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ AU Pairing: servant!Logan Howlett/princess!Reader

♡ Word Count: 4.4k

♡ Rating: Mature (only bc of the discussion of sex)

♡ Warning/Tags: regency attitudes, suggestive language, but nothing explicit

♡ Summary: As a princess, you could almost have it all, especially if you wed. Almost. You could only find love with one of your servants, Logan.

♡ Note: this was just a cute thing I've vaguely been working on to avoid all my responsibilities of life (that's why I've posted two days in a row, i fear)

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow you will find a suitor after all these years.

Word of your ball had spread throughout many kingdoms. Your father promised only the best for you. He promised music, food, and you for the suitors traveling far distances. Suitors had visited and promised to be in attendance tomorrow. Not a single one interested you; you were sure most of them weren’t even interested in you. Being titled and unmarried was uncommon for even men at a certain point; a proper heir would need to be born eventually. God forbid it was out of wedlock.

Many came off snobbish and egotistical. They weren’t there for you; they were there to create a new heir to their throne. They had little interest in you; they had more interest in your birthing hips. Some came off as genuine and kind. Yet, you felt bored in their presence, longing to slip into conversation with another. You wanted more; you already had more.

James Logan Howlett.

Only you called him Logan. He worked as a servant like his father and mother before him. He was one of the younger servants and aid; he was older but not much older than the suitors coming for your hand. He was always gruff around the edges yet respectful. He was by far one of the most hardworking of your servants.

A number of years ago, it was your goal to break his serious demeanor, get him to laugh. You had only seen him smile a few times, yet the memories were imprinted among you. In order to capture more memories of that smile, you’d make snide remarks that only the two of you heard. He wouldn’t admonish you nor remind you of your place as a princess as most would. He’d just shoot you a knowing look or exhale a deep huff.

It took him a whole year before he made a snide remark back while at your eldest sister’s betrothal ball. After watching a gentleman miss every turn and take almost every opportunity to step on your feet during a waltz, you immediately retreated to a place against the wall. Not far from Logan’s earshot but to yourself, you grumbled how that’d probably have to be your last dance for the night.

Not missing a beat, Logan mentioned the man having the graces and footwork of an overgrown frog.

It was a small victory then. Snide remarks turned into short conversations. Those turned into deeper conversations in your garden under the cover of night. When no one was looking, he treated you like a real person— like a friend, maybe more than a friend. You’d both spend long nights talking about your dreams and fears in the garden, always hoping you could steal a little more time.

But the night he kissed you was unforgettable.

“Alright, but you’re not a princess,” Logan stated as you both laid in the grass, gazing at the stars. “What would you be?” He turned his head to meet your gaze.

You hummed looking into his hazel eyes. There was something about Logan tonight. Maybe it was his exposed arms or the sound of his voice when tired from the day. All you knew was that when he looked at you, you could feel your heart race. You almost forgot to answer the question.

“Umm, probably a baker.” Logan gruffly chuckled. You felt a little self-conscious by your own answer now.

“What? A life as a baker so…nice and quaint,” you smiled. “Your mother would make the best bread, and if she could have taught me how she did it, I’d have the bakery in the countryside.”

“No, no, I agree. When my mother would bake, she’d make me help sometimes. My father would do a tasting. Something about the kneading was always relaxing,” he muttered. “Maybe once you’ve grown wearisome of being a royal, we can just open a bakery in town.”

We. The sentiment of doing it together made your pulse pick up.

“Why don’t you do it then?”

“What? Build and open a bakery?” Your nod was met with Logan’s furrowed brows. “I don’t know. This work—this castle—it’s all I’ve ever known.. I was trained to do this since I was a kid. To leave would be…I mean, my mother left recipe cards for bread, cakes, cookies, but—”

You sat up and nodded, “I think it'd be worth it to be brave. As someone who doesn’t get many choices in life—I didn’t even get to decide on my outfit for today or the meals I ate—there’s something about the freedom to be brave. And the number of building projects you’ve completed for my family, I know the shop would be beautiful.”

Logan sat up too and nodded. He bit his lip and muttered under his breath, “Be brave.” You felt Logan’s hand on top of yours.

There went your heart again. You looked down at his worn hand on top of your softer one and then back at Logan. His features softened before his other hand moved to your cheek.

You swallowed with anticipation, hoping to push down your nerves, “Logan…what are you doing?”

He didn’t respond. Before you knew it, his lips were on yours. You felt your breath hitch in your throat out of surprise, but you soon reciprocated. You had dreamed of this for years ever since you first saw him all those years ago. Your lips formed together perfectly and moved in perfect rhythm. Logan’s hand caressed your cheek, bringing you in closer. You instinctively moved your hand to his bicep, feeling every ridge and groove. In this moment, you wanted him to devour you.

Logan wanted the same. There had been other women Logan had been with—substitutions really—and with God as his witness, you were the sweetest one. You were the only one that he wanted.

He pulled away from you with his eyes still on yours. Your stare was dazed when Logan’s eyes met yours again. “You said to be brave. And I know your the princess and I’m jus—“

A small smile creeped your lips, “Hey, Lo?” The sound of your sweet yet low voice silenced him immediately. He could mutter a word, only nodded. You tugged at his shirt, lining your finger against what you could already feel as a strong chest, “I think you should be brave again.”

That was two years ago. It was your first kiss. It was the first time you felt truly special in the eyes of any man. It wasn’t the last either. Logan made sure of that.

After that day, beyond your royal life, your life became filled with stolen kisses, long nights, letters under your pillow. It wasn’t something you expected from the gruff man that you saw everyday.

But when word of your ball started to spread, you could see Logan become distant. Conversations were short in public, the letters stopped, he stopped visiting at night, and there was even talk about him joining the military.

You were worried. Your mind had been racing for a number of nights. You didn’t want to believe that Logan was abandoning you. On the other hand, neither of you were native to your present situation. The thought of him leaving tore your heart apart. Your memories with him put the pieces back together again. The cycle found you every night.

Maybe you could see tonight, but his quarters were outside the grounds. You couldn’t make it there without being seen. Maybe—

A small pebble knocked your window, catching you from your thoughts.

His usual sign.

You quietly moved off your bed to open the window.

“Logan?” Your voice was uncertain as you scanned. Once you saw the form that you recognized to be Logan’s, you couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. “I thought you’d never come back.”

Logan appeared to be slightly panicked as he looked around the garden. “I know tomorrow is...the day and I might not see you again” he sighed. “Can we talk?”

As he had done for the last two years, Logan scaled the outer wall and climbed through your window. He had on a cloth top that exposed his strong arms, and you could practically see his bulging thighs through his pants. You were just in a white nightgown as you were just preparing for bed, but the sight of him was almost enough to make your mouth dry.

You were quick to pull him into a hug; the warmth of his body consumed you. Thinking he’d never get the chance to hold you like this, Logan pulled you in close. “I thought I’d never see you up here again,” you muttered into his chest. Logan could hear the hurt in your voice. It was amplified by the simple notion that he had pushed you away.

“I know,” he muttered into the crook of your neck. You leaned back to look at him. His eyes obviously were panged with grief and regret.

“Then why?” Your words ranged in his head like a thousand church bells. All this time, he knew why. He regretted the reasoning, he still knew.

“When I heard about your ball a while ago, everything felt like it was coming to a head,” he admitted as he took a seat across from you on an ottoman. You sat on your bed. “I don’t know what I expected to happen after the last two years, and I should have seen this coming. I shouldn’t have neglected you…I never wanted you to feel neglected.”

“Logan—”

“Sweetheart, we both know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. You’re going to find a prince, become the perfect queen one day, and receive everything you deserve. Things we both know I can’t—will never be able to—offer you. Like my parents who served yours, I serve you; that’s the way it is. We both know that,” Logan tried telling you. His eyes were sullen and he looked defeated. That’s what broke your heart.

Logan was right. He was right but he was also wrong about one thing.

“Logan…” you placed your hands in his, rubbing your thumb across his, “My days with you, the mere minutes I got to spend with you everyday, was all I ever needed. You gave me everything I could possibly want. This place, these things,” you gestured to the room around you, “it’s not enough to make me happy; Logan, you were always enough.”

As much as it pained him, Logan kept his eyes on you. For all he knew, these could be his final chance to memorize the curve of your face, how your eyes gleamed when the light hit it just right, or recognizing attributes you considered imperfections that Logan simply couldn’t fathom why you thought of them so negatively. He didn’t want this moment to pass, no matter how painful it was.

You both sat there in silence for a bit, too scared to admit what this all meant. Logan was the first one to make movement, standing from the ottoman. You could tell that he was stressed. For a second, your heart fell when you thought he was going to leave. Your name graced his lips as he turned back to you, his hazel eyes glassed over.

“I love you,” Logan admitted. Your eyes widened at his confession. “I am hopelessly, desperately in love with you. When I wake up, I’m disappointed that you’re not by my side, but I find solace in the fact that you’ll grace me with your presence, maybe even give me the time of day after dark. Being with you, not even just intimately, just talking to you, is always the highlight of my day. I go to sleep, and I only dream of you—running away with you, watching you learn how to bake in that shop you always speak of,” he breathed in a single breath; you weren’t sure you caught it all, but every noise of the palace seemed to fall into the distance. “I’d never ask you to renounce your status as a princess, but I could let another day go by without letting you know.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat. As the date of your ball began coming up, you could only dream about Logan, reliving the moments you had in the garden, especially Logan’s sweet words as his hands roamed your body, searching for new ways to make you gasp and smile. As of lately, you were having the same dreams. What if you ran away with Logan? What if he could put his hat in the race to be your suitor? Questions like these flood your head every night.

You stood up too, slowly approaching Logan. He was hesitant when you placed your hand on his chest, hoping you weren’t kicking him out. Instead, you just wanted to feel him and his beating heart. He placed his hand over yours.

“Everyday, every single day, I wish to move to the countryside with you. Share a life with you. Have a few children, and build a life,” you whispered, smiling at the thought. The tears that brimmed your eyes were threatening to escape. “But I can’t abandon my country, Logan. As much as I want to be with you, I can’t and that tears me apart every waking moment of the day because I love you, James. I don’t want to marry anyone else because no man has ever cared about me the way that you do. It’s not fair,” you sobbed in his chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Logan couldn’t help but to wrap his arms around you, pulling you in closer. He kissed your forehead wishing he could change the trajectories of both of your lives. But this was the best he could do at the moment.

“Hey, hey,” he muttered, lifting your chin to meet your tear-stained face, “you’re never gonna lose me, sweetheart.”

Before another thought could cross your mind, you brought your lips to Logan’s for what may be the last time. You became fully enveloped in the kiss when Logan reciprocated it fully. What started as a gentle kiss became desperate in nature. You’ve never shared a kiss like this before. His strong hands spread across your back, sending chills down your spine.

You tugged at the roots of his hair, receiving a moan from the servant. He moved from your lips down to your neck, careful not to leave any marks for your big day tomorrow. The gasp that left your lips was heavenly. Logan searched for it again with every kiss from your collarbone to your pulse. You couldn’t help but to pants as Logan’s lips and tongue danced across your neck.

“Please, Logan,” you quietly moaned out, “I…I want you to have me.”

While you didn’t quite know what that exactly entailed, yet you knew the significance. Your mother had only vaguely explained it to you a few weeks ago. There were many moments where you felt rather needy between your legs when you were with or thought about Logan. You pieced that those two things were related in some way. You affirmed that it was for your husband—a man that you loved. At this point, those two criteria felt like they wouldn't encapsulate the same person.

Logan momentarily stopped and sighed in the crook of your neck. It was bad enough that he had ruined you time and time again already. This was something else completely. “I’m not…it’s not my place, sweetheart. As much as I would love to ravish your body until dawn, I’m not your husband, you’re not my wife; it’s not right.”

Logan wasn’t always big on traditions and doing things the right way. He complained a number of times to you about them. You’d figure that it wouldn’t be Logan’s first time; he had the opportunity to live a life outside of you. You vaguely heard how your brother spoke about women that…they weren’t necessarily courting yet frequently visited. It made you want to scream the way he became traditional all of the sudden.

“I know…” You felt your stomach grow into knots, trying to verbalize concepts you only recently began thinking about. “I know…you’ve been entangled with other women…” You couldn’t help but blush and feel native in the moment.

Logan huffed as you were being more brash than usual, “They weren’t ladies, and most certainly not princesses.”

“You’re right, but I don’t care anymore, Logan,” you told him, fingers lining his chest. “Not only isn’t there another man I want to be with but there isn’t a man who deserves the privilege besides you, my love.” Your hand caressed his scruffy face, praying for the answer you desperately wanted. “I love you.”

“Sweetheart,” You began lining his neck with soft kisses making Logan lose his train of thought. With your hands on his chest and lips on his neck, Logan wanted to cave, he desperately wanted to give in and have his way with you. “Dammit, you’re making this hard, love.”

“Then say yes.” Your hand went under Logan’s cloth shirt, feeling the ridges of his abdominal muscles. “Please just say yes.”

A pang of hurt hit Logan’s heart, stopping your hands from roaming his chest. “You’re not mine to have.” Logan could see the pain in your eyes and immediately felt awful. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you; that wasn’t his intention when he climbed through your window that night. “Maybe I should go. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened as you saw Logan begin to leave. You felt panic settle in. Logan was already in the window about to climb down.

“Logan!” you almost yelled but you were quick to hush your volume. He immediately turned back to you with his brow furrowed. His name came out of your mouth before you could even realize what you were saying. “Please don’t go,” you choked out, “Please.”

He wanted nothing more than to take you with him, show you exactly how well he could treat you.

“I’ll see you at the ball tomorrow.”

“It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, sir” you forced a smile before performing a small curtsey.

“I’m sure, princess,” the duke retorted before kissing the back of your hand. “I hope to grace your presence again soon. ”

You nodded before the Duke of Goldigo went on his way. Internally, you gagged. The Duke of Goldigo was ignorant and a narcissist. Yet, he wasn’t the worst of the night, and that was saying a lot.

Whenever you finished talking to a suitor, you would immediately look for Logan. Your eyes would quickly scan the room, hoping to still see him there serving. You missed him a few times but caught him talking and giving o'dourves to a few guests from time to time. You desperately wanted to talk to him, but you knew you would get wrapped up in conversation with him as you did on a daily basis in the garden. And you knew the both of you would get in trouble if you both weren’t on your jobs—your job being to wed.

But maybe grabbing an o'dourves wouldn’t hurt, right? Of course, it would be Logan holding your favorite. It’s like he knew you could eventually bring yourself over. You began your trek over to Logan who was just across the ballroom, and damn, he looked amazing in that white button up.

You happily nodded at the guest as you walked past other guests. A couple of the suitors you talked to earlier smirked or winked at you, some vying for your attention, but you pretended as if you didn’t see them. As you neared him, Logan looked up and saw your eyes meet his. He gave you a soft smile.

“I didn’t know they would be serving bruschetta at this event,” you smiled as you grabbed a piece.

“Only the best for the princess,” Logan smiled, but you could tell that it wasn’t fully heartfelt. You could imagine that he was still hurt after yesterday. You were still hurt too, but putting together a good appearance is something you were used to doing for these types of events.

“How are you, Logan?” you muttered, attempting to keep your conversation low key.

He took a deep breath and sighed, “Honestly?” You nodded. “I wish I could take you out onto the floor and dance with you like a proper gentleman, actually vie for your hand…but I guess holding your favorite o'dourve will have to do. How about you?”

You slightly smiled and nodded, “Wishing I could be anything but a princess right now.”

All you wanted was to take Logan’s hand and run out of the dance hall—show him how much you want to be with him. Logan wanted that too, and if he had the money and power the other men in this room held, he would have. He would’ve whisked you away, whispering sweet nothings into your ear until you were alone.

“The fair and beautiful, princess,” another prince almost growled as he took your hand. You immediately felt uneasy; it was also obvious to Logan. Instead of giving the prince the face of disgust, you softly smiled. “Care for a dance?”

You looked back at Logan who looked like he was trying to keep his composure. You placed your appetizer back on his tray. “It would be my pleasure.”

He led you to the middle of the floor, but you couldn’t help but to look back at Logan as he went away to cater to the guests, his heart breaking in the process.

The evening was ending and many of the guests began their departures, even you had retired to your chambers. There were some suitors there, talking with your father. As Logan helped clean up the hall, he overheard conversation between the men and your father. He hated the way they talked about you. They didn’t care if you were happy or not. Even your father seemed to be neglecting your happiness. They pondered if you were submissive, had a good body to bear sons, and so on.

They talked about you as if you were a piece of cattle at auction. In reality, you were everything to Logan. His entire world began and ended with you.

He’d had enough.

Logan left his section to clean before heading down the hallway. He attempted to maintain his composure as he passed by maids in the hallway. But he was making a beeline to your chambers. He could feel his adrenaline ramping up as he got closer to your room. His heart could practically beat out of his chest. He finally reached your door. He took a deep breath before putting hand on the handle.

Before he could turn the handle, he heard a brief huff and then a sob.

You were crying.

Logan didn’t even knock. He cracked the door open and saw your body leaned against the window, your hands covering your face. You were already out of your ballgown and in a simple slip. He quickly slipped in before anyone saw. You didn’t hear the door close between the sounds of your sobs. He hated seeing you like this. He knew he’d do anything to make you feel better.

“Sweetheart?” Logan sighed from across the room. You heard him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn to him. He approached you from behind, wrapping your arms around you. “I’m here.”

You shook your head, “Logan…I can’t…” you hiccuped. He turned you around to see your face. Your eyes were puffy and red, but you were still a beautiful sight to him. “We can’t keep doing this, seeing each other. It only makes this harder.”

“I know, I know, so if you want, I won’t come to you like this anymore. I just—” Logan's voice drifted, yet he still appeared focused. He had firm hands on your hips while you laid your hands over his. “I know I said I couldn’t ask you to do this, and I know you love our country, but I need you, sweetheart. I can’t live knowing you’re married to some pompous rake who doesn’t even respect you as the woman you are.”

You took a deep breath as your eyes widened, “Logan, what are you—” Before you could even finish your sentence, he was taking a knee. “James…”

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. I’m asking for you to live a humble life—a life without the riches and spoils you no doubt deserve with a man who has only served you all his life. But I’ll be damned if a day goes by that you don’t feel loved, respected, and cared for. And I wanna spend the rest of my life making sure you feel that way.” Logan pulled out a necklace from his pocket and showed it to you. “This betrothal necklace belonged to my mother the day my father proposed. I was going to ask you last night, but you respect your duty, and I respect that. But after seeing and hearing how those men think of you, the thought of someone taking your hand—someone who does not see you the way I do—I have to at least ask.”

You didn’t even think you could produce more tears, but you felt more brimming. However, they were warm from hope, not hot from sadness.

“So, ask me, James, you whispered as you fell to your knees to meet his eyeline. “Please…”

Your full title fell from his mouth with an ease. Just sitting on the floor in your chambers out of the watchful eyes of others—it was the most comfortable you felt all night. You hung onto every word. “Will you do me the honors of living a humble life as my wife?”

“Yes, yes, Logan, yes.” Your words got stuck in your chest, but your confidence grew as you continued to speak. You quickly nodded and huffed, “Only if we can leave tonight.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” Logan wildly smiled as he wrapped the necklace around your neck. You pulled him into a kiss that was more passionate than the one from yesterday. You felt your heart warm, and for the first time all day, you felt comfort, warmth, love. You prepared to leave. You left notes for your siblings and parents, praying they’d understand.

You were going to miss your life; it was an easy one. Yet, a life without Logan would have been much harder.

♡ note: i love hearing y'all's thoughts

#logan howlett #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #hugh jackman #x men #x men fic #logan howlett fic #britt fics #logan smut #wolverine x reader #the wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x female reader #logan howlett x mutant reader #logan howlett au #au #logan au

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grifffins · 9 days ago

Text

🚗 Passenger Princess 🚗

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

tags: slow burn, fluff & smut, passenger princess lilia calderu, car sex

summary: Lilia doesn’t drive, why would she, when you always pick her up? What starts as a one time favour turns into routine. She adjusts the temperature, hijacks the radio, and makes herself at home in your passenger seat. You complain, but you never say no. And she knows it.

wc: ~ 16k

a/n: thank you so much to @refreshingly-original for the idea, i hope you like it. and a huge shoutout to @ahsfan05 for reading it first and pulling me out of my self-criticism spiral, love you forever 💕

also on ao3

taglist: @ahsfan05, @emilynissangtr

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The first time Lilia asks for a lift, it’s casual, offhand, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. She leans against the doorframe of the café where you both frequent, one hand tucked into the pocket of her long coat, the other holding a paper cup of something undoubtedly expensive. “I need to pop to the shops,” she says matter of factly. “You’re heading that way, aren’t you?”

You weren’t , but she says it with such certainty that you almost question your own plans. There’s something about the way she tilts her head, waiting, that makes you sigh in amused resignation. “Yeah, alright,” you say. “But you owe me a coffee next time.”

Her lips curve as she pushes off the doorframe. “Oh, cara, I’ll make it worth your while.” You don’t question what that means, probably best not to. She slides into the passenger seat as if it’s a throne, immediately settling in like she belongs there, adjusting her coat, shifting in her seat, and sighing dramatically like she’s been through so much just to get here.

“Comfortable?” you ask dryly, starting the car.

Lilia hums, stretching out like a cat. “Mm. I could do with a bit more legroom, but I suppose one must make do.”

“You’re five foot,” you remind her, unimpressed.

“Five two,” she corrects primly. “And a half.”

You snort as the engine purrs to life, expecting her to sit quietly, maybe scroll through her phone or hum along to the radio, but within seconds, she’s fiddling with the air conditioning. “Do you always have it this cold?” she asks, shivering theatrically.

“Yes,” you say flatly.

Lilia tuts, turning the dial up two notches. “I see. A woman of extreme discomfort.”

You flick it back down without looking. She flicks it up. You flick it down. The standoff lasts longer than it should before she lets out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against the seat in defeat. “Fine,” she relents. “Freeze me out, if you must.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice.”

She lifts her chin, expression haughty. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

Something light and unspoken settles in the space between you as the city rolls past. It’s nothing, really. Just a quick drive, just a favour.

Lilia doesn’t bother giving you directions. Instead, she gestures vaguely with one hand, sipping her coffee with the other. “You know the place.”

You arch a brow. “Do I?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Of course you do.”

You don’t, but you drive anyway, waiting for her to actually say where you’re going. When it becomes clear that she has no intention of doing so, you sigh.

“The market, cara. Obviously,” she says, long-suffering.

Right. Obviously.

You turn onto the right street, weaving through late afternoon traffic. Despite insisting on coming here, Lilia doesn’t seem in any particular rush. She’s lounging, one leg tucked up on the seat, fingers toying with the radio dial.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” you warn.

She scoffs, flicking through stations like she owns the car. “Honestly, you should thank me. Your music selection is dismal.”

“It’s my car.”

“Yes, and I’m your passenger,” she says as if that explains everything. “You have a duty of care.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Absolutely. Your driving experience should be a pleasure, not a punishment.”

The station settles on something old, something jazzy. Lilia hums, satisfied.

You shake your head, amused. “Unbelievable.”

She simply smiles, leaning back as the music fills the space between you. The easy comfort of it is almost strange. Before this, Lilia had been a familiar presence, nothing more, someone you shared a café table with when the shop was too busy, someone you exchanged the occasional quip with in passing. But now, as she makes herself at home in the passenger seat, something feels like it’s shifted. Not in a grand, earth-shattering way, but in a quiet, inevitable one.

You’re still thinking about it when you pull up outside the market. Lilia, who had been contently gazing out the window, turns to you with a satisfied smile. “Perfect timing.”

You gesture toward the door. “Go on, then.”

She doesn’t move.

You blink.

She blinks back.

“…Lilia?”

“Oh,” she says, waving a hand. “I assumed you’d park and come in with me.”

You stare at her. “Why?”

She looks genuinely puzzled, as if the idea of you not accompanying her is absurd. “Because I need someone to hold the bags.”

You let out a short laugh. “You’re joking.”

She’s not. And yet, somehow, ten minutes later, you’re standing in the middle of a crowded market, two bags in hand, watching as Lilia inspects a basket of overpriced figs with the air of a woman choosing fine jewellery.

How did you get here?

Just a favour, you remind yourself. Just a one-time thing.

Lilia turns to you, eyes alight with something playful. “Oh, cara,” she muses, “I think I could get used to this.”

You don’t realise it yet, but so could you.

Because really, how did this happen? One moment, you were giving her a quick lift; the next, you were carrying her shopping bags while she leisurely wandered from stall to stall, utterly unbothered by the fact that you had other things to do today.

“Lilia,” you say, shifting the weight of the bags in your arms, “I’m not a pack mule.”

She hums, considering. “No, no, of course not. A mule would be far too ungraceful.” Turning to you with a delighted smile, she adds, “You’re more like my own personal chauffeur with excellent biceps. Really, I’m getting the better deal here.”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

She simply grins, utterly unrepentant, before moving on to the next stall. At some point, you give up arguing. She’s clearly in her element, and there’s something about the way she moves through the market, half charming, half inspecting her surroundings like a queen surveying her kingdom, that is almost entertaining to watch.

Just when you think she’s going to drag you into another debate over whether a particular wedge of cheese is really worth the price, she turns back to you with a thoughtful expression.

“You should pick something,” she says.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Lilia gestures at the stalls. “A treat. Something for yourself.”

You scoff. “I’m just here to—”

“Indulge me,” she interrupts smoothly, tilting her head.

Narrowing your eyes at her, you cross your arms. “Why?”

She leans in slightly, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Because, cara, I insist.”

The way she says it, like it’s an invitation to a game you don’t yet understand, makes your pulse do something ridiculous. You try not to dwell on it. With a sigh, you scan the nearby stalls, settling on a small bakery stand tucked in the corner. “Fine,” you mutter, “but if I’m choosing, you’re paying.”

Lilia places a hand over her heart, mock-offended. “Oh, the audacity! You think me the kind of woman who wouldn’t treat her most devoted driver?”

“You’re calling me devoted now?”

She smirks. “Well, you did bring me all this way.”

She has far too much confidence in the idea that this is something you’d willingly do again. You tell yourself it’s not. But when she buys you a pastry without hesitation, pressing the warm paper bag into your hand with a pleased little smile, you don’t complain.

“See?” she says as you take a bite, utterly self-satisfied. “You should let me spoil you more often.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Yet as you leave the market, her shopping bags still in your hands, her beside you, humming a tune under her breath, you wonder why you don’t mind as much as you probably should.

The drive back is quieter, not awkward, just settled, the kind of comfortable silence that doesn’t need filling. Lilia is reclined in her seat, the shopping tucked neatly in the back, her hand idly toying with the paper bag that once held your pastry. She looks completely at ease, as if she’s done this a hundred times before, which is ridiculous.

You grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “You know this isn’t going to be a regular thing, right?”

Lilia turns her head, blinking at you like she’s just woken from a pleasant daydream. “Oh?”

“I mean it,” you say. “I’m not your personal driver.”

She makes a thoughtful sound, fingers tapping against the dashboard. “No, I suppose not.”

You glance at her, suspicious. She’s agreeing far too easily.

Then, as if sensing your doubt, she gives you a slow, knowing smile. “But you’ll still pick me up next time, won’t you?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You are unbelievable.”

She hums. “Mmm. But I’m right.”

And the worst part? She is.

Because as you pull up outside her flat, watching as she gathers her things with no real sense of urgency, you know this isn’t the last time. Lilia knows it too. She pauses with one foot out the door, turning back to you with an amused glint in her eye.

“Thank you for your service, cara.”

Before you can reply, she reaches out, so quick you almost don’t register it, and lightly pats your thigh. A fleeting touch, casual, but enough to leave a warmth behind as she steps out, disappearing up the path without a second glance.

You exhale, leaning back against the seat. Just a favour. Just a one-time thing.

Right.

The second time it happens, there’s even less preamble. A text.

You're free tomorrow, yes.

That’s it. No context, no pleasantries, not even a question mark.

You stare at your phone, unimpressed. You are free tomorrow, yes. What kind of message is that? You consider ignoring it. You don’t.

Free for what?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Oh, you’ll see.

You sigh, already resigned. Lilia Calderu, for all her theatrics, is oddly direct when she wants something.

So it’s no surprise when, the next afternoon, you find yourself pulling up outside her flat once again. And, of course, she’s waiting. Not rushing, not scrambling, just standing there at the top of the steps, effortlessly put together in her coat and boots, a pair of sunglasses perched on her head. As if she knew you’d come.

She slides into the passenger seat with a pleased sigh, setting a coffee cup in your cupholder like it’s a gift. “You’re a saint, truly.”

You glance at her, unimpressed. “I haven’t even agreed to take you anywhere.”

Lilia just smiles, reclining into her seat like a woman who has no doubt about how this will play out.

You exhale, already defeated. “Where are we going?”

She gestures vaguely. “Town. I have errands.”

“Errands,” you echo, watching her adjust the sleeves of her coat. “And you couldn’t take the bus?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Please. Do I look like a woman who takes the bus?”

You can’t argue with that.

With a sigh that is far too indulgent for your own good, you shift into gear and pull onto the road. This time, she doesn’t even ask before adjusting the temperature. You let her.

At some point, you start to wonder how this happened. Not the driving, that much is obvious. Lilia asked, and you, despite your better judgement, agreed. But what baffles you is how she’s already acting like this is normal, as though this is routine. She’s sitting back in the passenger seat, adjusting the vents again, as if she’s been doing it for years. One ankle is propped over the other, her coat draped over her lap, sunglasses now pushed into her hair. Every now and then, she lets out a small, pleased hum, as if the mere act of being chauffeured is a luxury she fully intends to enjoy.

You narrow your eyes at the road. “You know, most people don’t treat their mates like personal drivers.”

Lilia lets out a breathy laugh, utterly unbothered. “Most people don’t have a mate as accommodating as you.”

“I’m not accommodating.”

“Oh, but you are.” She turns to look at you properly, head tilting just slightly. “You complain, cara , but you never say no.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. Because she’s not wrong.

She must sense it, because she leans in slightly, an amused glint in her eye. “Why is that?”

You flick your gaze towards her, wary. “Why is what?”

Her smile is slow, measured, knowing. “Why did you pick me up?”

The words settle between you. The engine hums beneath your fingers, the road stretching ahead. Outside, the city moves in quiet, steady motion, pedestrians on corners, shops with doors propped open, a bus pulling away from a stop.

You swallow. “Because you asked.”

It’s a weak answer. A deflection. But you refuse to analyse it too much.

Lilia doesn’t press. Instead, she lets out a soft hum, as if considering something. Then she shifts, adjusting her seatbelt slightly before turning back to the window. Whatever she was thinking, she keeps it to herself.

For now.

The first stop is a bookshop. You don’t plan to go inside. This is her errand, not yours. You figure you’ll wait in the car, scroll through your phone, and make peace with the fact that this will never be the last time she asks for a lift.

But, of course, Lilia has other plans. She barely makes it three steps before pausing, turning back to look at you expectantly.

You blink. “What?”

She gestures at the shop. “Come in with me.”

You stare at her, unimpressed. “Why?”

Lilia sighs, long suffering, as if you’re the unreasonable one here. “Because it would be rude to leave my driver unattended.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “You do realise you’re not a duchess, right?”

She simply smirks. “Not officially, no.”

You open your mouth to argue, because honestly, what does that even mean? But before you can get the words out, she’s already turning towards the door, clearly expecting you to follow. And, much to your own dismay, you do.

Just for a moment, you tell yourself. Just to humour her. It’s definitely not because you like watching the way she carefully browses the shelves, fingers trailing over spines, head tilting slightly when she finds something interesting. And it’s certainly not because you enjoy the way she smiles to herself when she stumbles across something particularly ridiculous.

Just for a moment. Just a favour. Right?

You don’t mean to enjoy yourself. But somehow, between following Lilia into the bookshop and watching her pick through the shelves like she’s inspecting fine art, you realise you’re not annoyed. She moves with purpose, but not urgency, fingers skimming over the spines as she pauses every now and then to pluck out a book and inspect the cover.

You hover near the entrance, arms crossed. “Are you actually here to buy something, or did you just drag me in for fun?”

Lilia, without looking up, waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I have a list.”

You arch a brow. “A list?”

“Mm.” She shifts slightly, angling a book in the light before slipping it back into place. “Mental, of course. But very specific.”

Of course it is.

You exhale, shaking your head as your gaze drifts over the shop. It’s quiet, the kind of independent place tucked between bigger, flashier storefronts, filled with the scent of old paper and warm coffee. There’s something oddly soothing about it, the soft shuffle of pages turning, the muted sound of a kettle boiling in the small café section at the back. Lilia fits here, somehow. Not just because of the books, but because of the quiet charm of the place, the way it invites curiosity, encourages lingering.

The thought unsettles you. You don’t quite know why.

“Here.”

Before you can overanalyse it, Lilia suddenly appears in front of you, holding out a book.

You blink. “What’s this?”

She tilts her head, amused. “A book, cara .”

You shoot her a flat look. “Yes, I gathered. Why are you giving it to me?”

Lilia hums, eyes flicking over you in quiet assessment before she finally says, “It suits you.”

You glance down at the cover. The title is unfamiliar, the kind of thing you’d skim past in a shop without a second thought. You frown. “I don’t think I’d—”

“Oh, you would,” she interrupts, confident. “Humour me.”

You sigh, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. “If I buy this and hate it, I’m blaming you.”

She smirks. “I’ll take that risk.”

Before you can argue further, she turns on her heel and makes her way to the till, leaving you standing there, book in hand, feeling suspiciously like you’ve been played. Again.

At first, you don’t think much of it, the book, the drive, the fact that you’ve somehow spent the better part of your afternoon trailing after Lilia on her errands like you’ve got nothing better to do. But as you step back outside, the late afternoon sun casting a hazy glow over the pavement, you realise something.

You’re enjoying this.

Not just tolerating it. Not just doing a favour. You actually don’t mind.

Lilia slips her sunglasses back onto her face, her movements easy, unhurried. “Hungry?”

You hesitate. “I—”

She turns to you, lips curving slightly. “You do eat, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes. “Obviously.”

“Then come with me.”

It’s not a request. She’s already moving, crossing the street without looking back, as if she knows you’ll follow.

And the worst part?

You do.

At some point, you stop questioning it. It’s not officially a routine, not something you’ve ever sat down and agreed upon, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Because Lilia expects it now. And, despite everything, you keep showing up.

The third time she texts, there’s no preamble, just a statement that makes you scowl at your phone.

You’re outside, aren’t you?

You aren’t. You’re at home, minding your own business, doing something completely unrelated to Lilia Calderu and her increasingly blatant refusal to take public transport. For a brief moment, you consider ignoring her, but before you can even put your phone down, another message arrives.

I can practically hear you sighing. Don’t fight it.

Your lips twitch despite yourself. She’s insufferable. Absolutely unbearable. And yet, you grab your keys without thinking.

By the time you arrive, she’s already outside, waiting as if she had no doubt you’d turn up. You barely have time to put the car in park before she’s slipping into the passenger seat, settling in with a pleased sigh, as though she’s just secured the best seat in the house. She adjusts the lapel of her coat as she buckles herself in, her movements easy and unhurried, as if this is something she’s done a hundred times before.

“Good timing, cara ,” she says smoothly, reaching up to push her hair back.

You glance at her, unimpressed. “You didn’t even know if I was coming.”

She hums, shifting comfortably in her seat, giving you a look that makes it clear she had no doubt about the outcome. “Oh, I knew.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the wheel, but you don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “You are so smug.”

She smirks, entirely unbothered, and before you can stop her, she reaches for the temperature controls. Without thinking, you slap her hand away, earning an exaggerated gasp of mock outrage.

“Unbelievable,” she says, pulling her hand back as if you’ve personally wounded her.

“You have got to stop touching my settings.”

She pouts in a way that is far too calculated to be genuine, crossing her arms as if she’s truly suffering. “You have a deeply unpleasant attitude for someone so accommodating.”

You roll your eyes, already exasperated. “I am not accommodating.”

She sighs as though this is a long-established fact and you are simply refusing to accept it. “Oh, cara , you so are.”

The worst part is that you don’t even argue anymore. At some point, you stopped pretending this was a reluctant favour. Because if you were truly put out by all of this, her expectation, her refusal to ever drive herself, the way she settles into your car like it belongs to her, you wouldn’t keep showing up.

But here you are. Again.

Lilia, as if sensing the shift, makes herself even more comfortable. She’s fiddling with the mirror now, tilting it slightly before checking her reflection, entirely unbothered by your presence.

“You do realise you don’t need to adjust that, right?” you ask, watching her through the corner of your eye, already suspicious of whatever she’s doing.

She hums, barely acknowledging your question. “Oh, I know.”

You narrow your eyes, waiting for an explanation that doesn’t come. “Then why—”

Turning towards you, she meets your gaze with a slow, knowing smirk, her head tilting just slightly. “I like to see how I’m looking before we go anywhere.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you grip the wheel. “Unbelievable.”

“You keep saying that,” she muses, shifting her attention away from the mirror. Just as you relax, she reaches for the radio, fingers brushing over the dial like she hasn’t already pushed her luck enough for one day.

Your eyes flick to her hand, warning clear. “Touch that, and I’m kicking you out.”

She pauses, fingers hovering just above the dial, before pressing a hand to her chest in mock offence. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the air between you thick with challenge. Then, with exaggerated reluctance, she lowers her hand back to her lap, surrendering with a small, put upon sigh.

You raise a brow, victorious. “Good girl.”

Lilia exhales a quiet laugh, something warm and amused flickering behind her eyes. “Oh, cara ,” she murmurs, voice dipping just enough to make your pulse stutter, “careful saying things like that.”

Your grip on the wheel tightens slightly, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Clearing your throat, you shift into gear and pull onto the road, ignoring the way she watches you, clearly entertained by your lack of response. She’s enjoying herself far too much, drawing out every small moment to test you, to see if you’ll rise to the bait.

The worst part? So are you.

You don’t know when you stopped pretending this was just a favour. Maybe it was the second time she called you, fully expecting you to show up without question. Maybe it was the way she always brought you coffee now, setting it in the cupholder like an unspoken exchange. Maybe it was the casual ease with which she adjusted your car settings, knowing you would huff and complain but ultimately let her get away with it. Or maybe it was the fact that none of it actually bothered you anymore.

Somehow, despite all her dramatics, Lilia Calderu had settled into the passenger seat of your life, and you hadn’t even thought to stop her.

The drive is quiet for a while, the steady hum of the engine filling the space between you. Eventually, she shifts slightly, crossing one leg over the other before turning to look at you with an expression that immediately puts you on edge.

“Do you know what your problem is?” she asks, voice light but deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for the right moment to bring this up.

You glance at her briefly before turning back to the road. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

She considers you for a moment, then sighs, adjusting the sleeves of her coat. “You resist too much.”

You arch a brow, casting her a dry look. “Resist what, exactly?”

Lilia doesn’t answer immediately, tilting her head slightly as though she’s weighing her response. “The inevitable.”

Scoffing, you grip the wheel a little tighter. “Oh, and what’s inevitable?”

She doesn’t respond right away, just holds your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before finally moving. Without hesitation, she reaches for the dial and turns the temperature up two notches, the action so casual it takes you a second to react.

Your gaze flicks to the dashboard, then back to her. She meets your stare without hesitation, challenging, waiting, daring you to say something.

Exhaling slowly, you shake your head and let it go.

Lilia smirks, settling back in her seat with an air of satisfaction. “See?”

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye, unimpressed but not particularly surprised. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer to think of myself as persistent.”

Rolling your eyes, you focus on the road ahead, but the fight is long over. She’s won, and you both know it.

The car slows as you pull up outside her flat, the engine idling beneath your fingers, waiting. Lilia doesn’t move to unbuckle her seatbelt or reach for the door handle. Instead, she sits there, entirely at ease, making no effort to leave as if this is just another stop before you keep driving.

You side-eye her, waiting for her to get out. “You’re home.”

She exhales, tilting her head slightly, not making a move. “Mmm.”

You wait.

Nothing.

“…Lilia.”

She turns to you, lips curving in that slow, knowing way that makes your stomach stupidly unsettled.

She does this , always does this , pushes at the edges of something unspoken between you, as if she knows exactly what it is but won’t be the first to name it.

She leans slightly, just enough that you’re painfully aware of how close she is.

“Admit it,” she muses, voice light, teasing. “You like driving me around.”

You scoff, looking away. “You’re insufferable.”

“That’s not a no.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You never say thank you, you do realise that?”

Lilia smiles, head tilting. “You’d find it less charming if I did.”

“You think you’re charming?”

She hums. “I know I am.”

You bite down on your smirk, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

She stays for another second, watching you, as if waiting for you to slip, just slightly , to give something away.

You don’t.

And, eventually, she relents.

With a satisfied sigh, she reaches for the door handle, stepping out with effortless grace.

Then, before closing the door, she leans down, peering back into the car.

“Same time next week?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re assuming I’ll say yes.”

She smirks. “I don’t assume , cara.”

Then she winks, shuts the door, and disappears inside, leaving you sitting there with far too many thoughts and absolutely no explanation for why you’re still smiling.

Lilia has no respect for personal space, and you’ve always known this. It’s never been a secret, never something she’s tried to hide, but somehow, you still aren’t prepared when, in the middle of one of your usual drives, she casually flips open your glovebox and starts rummaging through it like it’s her own.

You blink, barely processing what you’re seeing. “Excuse me?”

Lilia hums in vague acknowledgment, entirely unbothered as she sifts through receipts, an old parking ticket, and a half-melted lip balm with all the enthusiasm of someone searching for treasure.

“What are you doing?” you ask, incredulous.

“Tidying,” she replies simply, as if this is a perfectly reasonable explanation for invading your storage compartments.

You shoot her a look, unimpressed. “You don’t tidy. You make messes and then act surprised when they exist.”

She gasps, as if genuinely offended by the accusation. “I do not—”

“Remember the café incident?”

Lilia pauses, her lips pressing together in something that is definitely not guilt but looks suspiciously close to it. Then, in a move that is both impressive and infuriating, she swiftly changes the subject. “Oh, what’s this?”

Before you can react, she holds something up between her fingers, tilting her head as she studies it. It takes you a second to register what she’s found, but when you do, your stomach drops.

A necklace.

An old necklace. One you haven’t seen in years.

She lets the small pendant dangle between her fingers, examining it with an idle sort of curiosity, her expression thoughtful. “This looks significant,” she muses.

Your grip on the wheel tightens because it is significant. Or at least, it was .

Exhaling slowly, you force your voice into something neutral. “Just something I forgot about.”

Lilia glances at you, intrigued. “Oh?”

You keep your eyes firmly on the road, unwilling to let her see any reaction. “Yeah.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, ever so lightly, she asks, “Who gave it to you?”

You should have expected the question, should have been prepared for it, but somehow, you weren’t ready. Lilia Calderu has never once not pushed when something catches her interest. You clench your jaw slightly, focusing on the road ahead.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Lilia hums, turning the pendant between her fingers as if testing its weight. “Mmm. See, you say that, but your face tells me otherwise.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You can’t even see my face properly.”

“I can, actually.” She shifts slightly, her tone laced with quiet amusement. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying very hard not to look at me.”

Pressing your lips together, you refuse to engage. You are not having this conversation. Not now. Not with her.

Lilia, sensing your reluctance, does something entirely unexpected. She doesn’t push. She doesn’t pry, doesn’t tease, doesn’t demand an answer like she usually would. Instead, she just waits . Silent. Patient. Like she knows you’ll fill the space eventually.

And, god help you, you do.

“It was a gift,” you mutter after a long pause, still refusing to meet her gaze.

Lilia’s voice is softer now. “From someone important?”

You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as if that will somehow ease the weight in your chest. “Used to be.”

She doesn’t react right away. No sharp quip, no dramatic sigh, just a small, almost imperceptible pause before she asks, “Why don’t you wear it anymore?”

You swallow, grip tightening against the wheel. For a moment, you consider telling her, just saying the truth and getting it over with, but the words catch somewhere between your ribs, caught on something you don’t want to examine too closely. Instead, you sigh and settle for, “I just forgot about it.”

Lilia hums again, but this time, there’s something different in it, something unreadable. You risk a glance at her, just for a second, and catch the way she’s studying the necklace, brows slightly furrowed in thought. Then, just as quickly, the moment is gone. With an easy, practiced motion, she reaches forward and, without hesitation, tucks the necklace back into your glovebox. She doesn’t keep it, doesn’t press any further, just closes the compartment, leans back into her seat, and turns her gaze to the window.

It’s an unspoken message. Alright. You don’t have to tell me.

And somehow, that’s worse.

You’re not sure why it bothers you, the way she so easily dropped the subject, the way she just let it go . You should be relieved, grateful even, but you aren’t. Because Lilia Calderu never lets things go. She picks at them, teases and prods until she’s satisfied with the answer. And yet, this time, she didn’t. She just tucked the necklace away and turned her gaze to the window, like she hadn’t just stirred up something you weren’t ready to confront.

Clearing your throat, you shift in your seat, trying to shake the feeling settling over you. “That’s it?”

Lilia hums in acknowledgment, her tone absent. “Hmm?”

You drum your fingers against the wheel, restless. “You’re not going to keep pushing?”

Tilting her head slightly, she takes a moment to consider before offering a small, knowing smile. “Should I?”

You exhale, shaking your head. “You always do.”

Lilia smiles, something quiet and assured settling into her features. “Not always, cara .”

The words linger between you, light but weighted, something unspoken weaving its way into the silence. You glance at her, trying to read whatever it is she isn’t saying, but she’s already looking away, gaze fixed on the passing scenery, fingers idly toying with the hem of her sleeve.

And just like that, the moment shifts. Not gone, not forgotten, just set aside.

For now.

The rest of the drive is quieter, not awkward or tense, just… different. You can feel Lilia’s presence beside you, the soft scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the gentle rise and fall of her breath as she watches the road pass by. Even though she isn’t saying anything, even though she’s let the conversation drop, something lingers in the space between you, something unspoken, something new.

Eventually, you pull up outside her flat, the engine humming softly as the car slows to a stop. Lilia exhales and stretches slightly before unbuckling her seatbelt, her movements lazy and unhurried. “Well.”

You drum your fingers against the wheel, glancing at her. “You’re home.”

She turns to look at you, a small smirk tugging at her lips as if she’s already thought of some way to prolong this conversation. “So I am.”

Raising a brow, you shake your head. “Need me to carry you inside too?”

Lilia gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated delight. “Oh, how generous of you to offer.”

Groaning, you lean your head back against the seat. “I was joking—”

She chuckles, already pushing the door open. “Next time, cara .”

Before you can reply, she’s gone, disappearing up the steps without another word, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and the lingering energy of a conversation that never quite finishes. You let out a slow breath, fingers tightening slightly around the wheel. Next time. Because, of course, there will be a next time.

The storm rolls in faster than expected. One minute, the sky is a moody grey, the kind that threatens rain but never quite delivers. The next, the heavens open up, unleashing a downpour that batters against your windscreen in thick, relentless sheets. The city shifts under the weight of the storm, neon lights reflecting against the wet pavement, headlights flickering through the haze of falling water.

Your phone buzzes from its place on the passenger seat.

Where are you?

You glance at the message, then at the name above it. Lilia.

With a sigh, you put the car into gear and pull away from the curb.

By the time you find her, she’s standing under the awning of a small, dimly lit shop, arms crossed, glaring at the rain as if it personally offended her. She looks miserable, hair damp from the mist, coat pulled tightly around her as she narrows her eyes at the storm like she’s trying to negotiate with it.

The moment she spots your car, her expression doesn’t change. No surprise. No overt gratitude. Just a quiet expectation, like she knew you would come.

Without hesitation, she pulls the door open and slides into the passenger seat in one smooth movement, sighing dramatically as she shoves her rain-speckled bag onto the floor. “Oh, cara ,” she breathes, her voice dripping with relief, “you are a saviour.”

You glance at her, unimpressed. “You didn’t even ask me to come.”

Turning to you with an amused glint in her eyes, she tilts her head slightly. “Did I need to?”

Dragging a hand down your face, you groan. “I am far too accommodating.”

Lilia hums, peeling off her damp gloves with slow, deliberate movements. “Yes, but I love that about you.”

Shaking your head, you bite back a smirk and shift the car into drive, the rain pounding against the roof as the city lights blur into streaks of hazy gold and red through the wet windscreen. The whole world feels smaller, quieter, cocooned in the dim glow of the dashboard, the steady hum of the heater filling the space between you.

Lilia lets out a soft sigh, sinking further into her seat. Her coat is still damp, her hair curling slightly at the ends from the mist. Despite her usual composure, something about her feels smaller in this moment, softer, as if the rain has stripped away some of her usual theatrics.

She catches you looking. “What?” she murmurs, voice quieter than usual.

Shaking your head, you turn your focus back to the road. “Nothing.”

Her gaze lingers for a moment longer, as if searching for something in your expression, but eventually, she exhales and looks back out at the rain-streaked window. The only sound between you is the rhythmic drum of water against the glass, the city beyond fading into nothing but shadows and scattered light.

The storm doesn’t ease. If anything, it gets worse, thick sheets of water turning the streets into shimmering rivers, the wipers struggling to keep up as they scrape across the windscreen. Lilia hasn’t spoken in a while, which is unsettling in its own way. She’s always talking, always teasing or filling the silence with something dry and amused, but right now, she’s just watching the rain, fingers tracing absent patterns on the fogged-up window.

Something about it makes your grip on the wheel tighten.

“You didn’t have to wait out there,” you say, keeping your voice casual. “You could’ve just gone inside.”

She huffs a soft, amused breath, her fingers pausing briefly against the glass. “And sit in a dingy shop for an hour? Please.”

Shaking your head, you sigh. “Or, and hear me out, you could’ve taken a taxi.”

Lilia finally turns to look at you, lips curving slightly. “Now, cara , where’s the fun in that?”

There it is, that teasing lilt, the sharp glint in her eye that always makes it seem like she’s one step ahead of you. And yet, something still feels off, something barely there but enough for you to notice.

You don’t push. Instead, you sigh, flicking the wipers up a notch. “You’re lucky I like driving in the rain.”

Lilia exhales a soft laugh, rolling her head back against the seat. “You’re lucky I like being driven in the rain.”

That makes you smile, just a little. The storm rages on outside, wind howling through the narrow streets, but inside the car, everything is warm. Steady.

Neither of you speak for a while. It’s not uncomfortable, not tense, just… quiet, the kind of silence that settles between two people who have long since stopped needing to fill it. Still, something lingers beneath the surface, unspoken and just out of reach.

Clearing your throat, you glance at her again. “Where were you, anyway?”

Lilia tilts her head slightly, still gazing out at the rain-smeared city. “Nowhere important.”

You frown. “Nowhere important, yet you stood in the rain for how long?”

She exhales a soft chuckle, rolling her head to the side to meet your gaze. “I wasn’t waiting for you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

You give her a flat look. She smirks.

“Alright,” she concedes, “perhaps I was waiting a little .”

Scoffing, you shake your head, focus shifting back to the road. “You could’ve just called me.”

Something flickers in her expression, unreadable, as she watches you. “And you would’ve come?”

Frowning slightly, you glance at her out of the corner of your eye. “Obviously.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. She looks at you for a beat too long, something thoughtful in the way her gaze lingers, not teasing, not amused, just waiting .

Then, very softly, she murmurs, “Why do you always come?”

The words settle between you, heavy despite the quiet way she says them. Your grip on the wheel tightens as you search for an answer, but none of the ones that come to mind feel right.

Because she asks. Because you’re friends, or something close to it. Because you’d rather her be sitting here, warm and dry, than standing outside like an idiot.

But somehow, none of those answers feel like enough.

Lilia doesn’t look away. She doesn’t push, doesn’t repeat the question, just watches you, waiting, like she already knows the answer you don’t want to say.

You swallow, shifting slightly. “Because you always ask.”

She hums, a quiet sound, unreadable, before turning back to the window, fingers still tracing slow, absent patterns against the fogged glass.

Letting out a slow breath, you keep your focus on the road, but the car suddenly feels too small.

The storm doesn’t let up, but eventually, you pull onto her street, easing the car to a slow stop outside her flat. Lilia doesn’t move right away, lingering for a moment as she watches the rain streak down the window. Her fingers tighten slightly around the door handle before she exhales, a quiet, almost reluctant sigh, and reaches for the latch.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely above the sound of the rain.

You blink, caught off guard. She never says thank you. She just expects things, acts as if they were inevitable, as if they would have happened regardless of her asking. But now, as she lingers with one foot out the door, her usual ease feels different, a little more deliberate, a little more fragile, like something practiced rather than natural.

She glances back, something flickering in her eyes that you can’t quite place. And then, so quiet you almost don’t hear it, she says, “I like it.”

Frowning slightly, you tilt your head. “Like what?”

Her lips quirk, something softer than a smirk but not quite a smile. “Being here. With you.”

Before you can process that, before you can think of a single thing to say, she’s already stepping out, disappearing up the steps and into the rain without another word. You don’t move, don’t shift, don’t even reach for the gear shift, just sit there staring at the empty passenger seat with your pulse pounding far too loud in your ears.

You don’t know why her words linger the way they do. It wasn’t a confession, wasn’t some grand declaration, just a simple truth, spoken softly in the rain. But somehow, it sticks. Lilia Calderu, who has spent the past few weeks making herself at home in your car, in your routine, had looked at you, really looked at you, and said: I like it. Being here. With you.

And now you can’t stop thinking about it.

The next time she gets in the car, you don’t think twice about it. You turn on the radio, flipping through stations before settling on something from your own playlist. It’s a song you love, something familiar, something comforting. You just want to listen to your music, for once, without her reaching over to change it.

Lilia, as always, settles in like she owns the place, adjusting her coat and sighing as she buckles herself in. She barely seems to notice at first, too preoccupied with getting comfortable, but then, just for a second, she stills. It’s quick, just a flicker of recognition, but it’s there. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, she hums along, perfectly in tune, like she’s heard it a hundred times before.

You nearly miss a turn.

“You know this song?” You glance at her, incredulous.

Lilia blinks, her expression unreadable. “Of course I do.”

Gripping the wheel a little tighter, you shake your head. “How?”

She shrugs, gaze flicking towards the radio. “Because you listen to it.”

Inhaling sharply, you try to brush off the way your stomach twists at her words. It shouldn’t surprise you, shouldn’t mean anything. And yet, the idea that she’s been paying attention, that she’s been listening all this time, unsettles something in you. Not in a bad way. Just… dangerously close to something you aren’t ready to name.

“You listen to what I play?” The question comes out before you can stop it.

Lilia hums, unbothered, as if the answer should be obvious. “Obviously.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You don’t even like half the stuff I put on.”

She tilts her head slightly, considering the statement. “True.”

You wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. Instead, she simply turns back to the window, tapping her fingers against her knee, humming along perfectly in tune with a song she shouldn’t know. Something about it does something to you, something quiet but persistent, something you can’t quite push away.

Because this is Lilia, dramatic, impossible, high-maintenance, and yet, somehow, she’s been sitting in your passenger seat, listening. Not just to the music, but to you . To the habits you don’t even notice yourself doing, to the things you wouldn’t expect her to remember.

Exhaling slowly, you flick your gaze back to the road, but your thoughts keep circling the same realisation. “So what, you’ve just been memorising my playlists this whole time?”

Lilia smirks, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, cara , I memorised them weeks ago.”

You almost miss a light.

She’s enjoying this far too much, and you should be irritated, should call her out on how insufferable she is, but the words don’t come. Instead, you side-eye her, unimpressed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lilia exhales a small, satisfied sigh, sinking back into her seat with the kind of ease only she can pull off. “And you’re still sticking around, I see.”

You open your mouth to argue, to tell her that’s not the point, but before you can, she does something unfair . Without hesitation, she reaches forward, casually, effortlessly, and turns up the volume.

And for the first time in weeks, she doesn’t change the song. She lets it play.

You don’t know why that makes your chest feel tight, but it does.

She has always taken over the car, always touching the controls, adjusting the mirrors, changing the temperature to suit her own very particular standards. But this—this is new. Instead of switching the song to something she prefers, instead of making a snide remark about your music taste, she simply turns up the volume and leaves it. Like she knows it matters. Like she knows you do.

You swallow, trying to focus on the road, but your grip on the wheel betrays you. Lilia, ever perceptive, notices. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or smirk, just watches you quietly, something unreadable in her gaze.

Refusing to look at her, you clear your throat and ask, far too casually, “So, what’s your verdict?”

Lilia tilts her head slightly. “On?”

You gesture vaguely towards the speakers. “The song. Since you’re apparently an expert now.”

Humming in thought, she considers for a moment before answering. “Not bad.”

You scoff, shooting her a look. “Not bad ?”

She smirks, eyes glinting with amusement. “I prefer the one you played last week.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the wheel as you try not to react. “You remember what I played last week?”

She turns to face you fully now, her smirk deepening in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Oh, cara ,” she murmurs, voice slow, knowing, perfectly measured. “I remember everything .”

Your heart does something stupid.

You don’t react. You refuse to react. Instead, you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you focus on the road like your life depends on it.

Lilia chuckles, utterly pleased with herself, and leans back into her seat, settling in like she hasn’t just thrown your entire thought process into chaos. The song fades into the next track, something softer, something you hadn’t even realised was in the queue.

She hums along without hesitation.

And you?

You realise you’re already in too deep.

It happens unexpectedly, without errands, last minute texts, or assumed favours disguised as casual requests. Lilia slips into the passenger seat as effortlessly as breathing, settling in before saying, “Just drive.”

You blink, glancing at her. “What?”

She exhales, shifting slightly in her seat as she looks out the window. “Drive. Anywhere.”

Frowning, you watch her for a moment. “You don’t have anywhere to be?”

She shakes her head. “Not tonight.”

That alone makes your fingers twitch against the wheel. Lilia is always busy, always has something planned, even if that plan is just disrupting your day for her own amusement. But now, she’s sitting there, quiet, almost soft, asking you to drive with no destination in mind.

You could remind her that this isn’t normal, that you aren’t some on-demand service ready to whisk her away whenever she pleases. Instead, you shift into gear and drive.

The city rolls past in blurred streaks of gold and red, the rain from earlier still clinging to the streets, reflecting neon signs and street lamps. Lilia doesn’t speak for a while, resting her elbow against the door, fingers lightly touching her lips, lost in thought. You glance at her before turning your attention back to the road. “Everything alright?”

She hums, barely turning her head. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Shrugging, you gesture vaguely. “You’re usually more… dramatic.”

Lilia lets out a soft laugh, tipping her head back against the seat. “Am I?”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. That’s when it hits you, something does feels off. Not wrong, exactly. Just different. Lilia Calderu is unpredictable, exasperating, and completely incapable of sitting quietly for more than five minutes. But now, she’s quiet in a way that doesn’t feel like her usual theatrics. It feels real.

Drumming your fingers against the wheel, you glance at her again. “So… what’s this about?”

She exhales slowly. “Nothing.”

You arch a brow, unconvinced. “That’s a lie.”

Lilia smirks faintly. “You’re far too perceptive for your own good.”

“And yet, you still get in my car every time.”

She finally turns fully to face you, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Yes, well,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. “You keep picking me up.”

Your grip on the wheel tightens slightly as the streetlights stretch past in golden lines, the city thinning into quieter roads. The hum of the tyres against the wet pavement is the only sound between you. Lilia doesn’t push, just watches, waiting for you to say something else. You don’t. Instead, you keep driving.

Time feels strange, measured not in minutes but in the way the city fades behind you, in the steady hum of the engine, in the occasional flicker of passing headlights illuminating Lilia’s profile in brief flashes of gold. She hasn’t spoken in a while, just sits there, watching the road, tracing absent minded patterns against her knee. You should ask again, press her for an answer, demand to know why she suddenly needed to be anywhere but home.

Instead, you turn the volume up, just enough for the soft hum of a familiar song to fill the space between you. Lilia exhales, not a sigh, not a laugh, just a slow, measured breath, like something inside her has settled.

She shifts slightly, rolling her head to the side. “You always drive like this?”

You arch a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t mind where you end up.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You’re the one who told me to drive.”

“Yes, but you listened.”

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t like. You should have questioned it more, should have reminded her that this isn’t normal. But you didn’t. You just drove, like it was inevitable, like it always is. Clearing your throat, you grip the wheel a little tighter. “You’re avoiding something.”

Lilia hums, her gaze still fixed on the road ahead. “Maybe.”

You glance at her, searching for something in her expression. “Are you going to tell me what?”

She exhales a soft laugh, rolling her head against the seat. “No.”

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Unbelievable.”

She smiles, smaller than usual, but genuine. “Well, what did you expect?”

At some point, you find yourself on the outskirts of the city, where the lights are fewer and the roads are quieter. Lilia stretches her arms in front of her before sinking back into the seat. “You know, this is nice.”

Raising a brow, you scoff. “What, me chauffeuring you around with no destination?”

Smirking, she nods. “Yes, exactly that.”

“You’re the ultimate passenger princess,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

Lilia lets out a soft, delighted laugh. “Oh, cara , I love that title.”

Shaking your head, you shoot her a look. “Don’t get used to it.”

She places a hand over her heart in mock offence. “But it suits me so well.”

Somewhere along the road, she slips off her shoes. You don’t notice at first, not until she stretches out her legs, propping her feet up on the dashboard like she owns the place.

Frowning, you glance at her. “Put your feet down.”

Lilia hums, unbothered. “Mmm, no, I’m quite comfortable.”

Gripping the wheel, you shake your head. “It’s dangerous.”

She tilts her head, amused. “Oh, now you’re worried about my well-being?”

You shoot her a dry look. “If we crash, that’s the worst position to be in. You’d break your legs, Lilia.”

That gets her attention. She exhales, dramatically put upon, before slowly, lazily, sliding her feet back down. Then, after a beat, she turns to you with a slow, knowing smile.

“You care?”

You don’t react. You refuse to react. Instead, you scoff, shaking your head. “I care about not scraping you off my windscreen.”

Lilia chuckles, but there’s something in her eyes, something quiet, something thoughtful, that lingers longer than it should. She doesn’t put her feet back up, and for some reason, you don’t think it’s because of the safety warning.

The next song starts, something slower, something softer. Lilia leans her head back against the seat, watching the lights blur past.

After a moment, she says, “This reminds me of something.”

You flick a glance at her. “What?”

She tilts her head, thoughtful. “I don’t know. It’s just… familiar.”

She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t turn it into a joke or make a snide remark about your music taste. She just listens.

You grip the wheel. “You never said why you needed to get out tonight.”

Lilia hums. “No, I didn’t.”

You wait, but she doesn’t fill the silence. For a moment, you consider pressing her again, but then she shifts slightly, gaze flicking toward you.

And ever so softly, she says, “Do you ever get tired of sitting still?”

The question catches you off guard. You glance at her, at the way she’s watching you, quiet, steady, something unreadable in her expression.

You exhale. “Sometimes.”

She hums, turning her gaze back to the road. “Me too.”

And just like that, it makes sense. Why she asked you to drive, why she needed this, not a place, not an errand, just motion. Just the act of going .

Loosening your grip on the wheel, you let the quiet settle between you. “Where to next, then?”

Lilia tilts her head towards the window, a pleased sigh escaping her lips. “Anywhere,” she murmurs.

And for the first time, you realise, you don’t mind where you end up. As long as she’s in the passenger seat.

Another late evening, not planned or intentional, just another drive that lasts longer than expected. The city fades behind you, the dim glow of the dashboard casting soft light over the quiet interior. Lilia is relaxed, reclining slightly with one hand resting on her lap, the other playing absently with the edge of her sleeve. The window is cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air, and the music hums low beneath the steady rhythm of the tyres against the road.

The silence between you isn’t awkward or heavy, just quiet, settled, a pause in motion.

After a while, her voice breaks through. “Do you know what my favourite part of the day is?”

Glancing at her, you frown. “What?”

She doesn’t look at you, eyes still on the darkened streets rolling past. “This,” she murmurs. “Right now.”

The words are spoken softly, casually, as if they don’t carry any weight. But somehow, they do. Lilia is never careless with what she says, never throws words out without purpose. She means it, and the realisation catches you off guard.

Your hands tighten slightly on the wheel, just enough to notice, just enough to feel something shift. Lilia remains quiet, her expression unreadable as the streetlights cast flickering shadows across her face.

“You’re being sentimental,” you say, trying to shake the feeling settling in your chest.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

Lilia exhales a small, amused breath. “And what’s so wrong with that?”

There’s no real answer. Nothing wrong with the way she’s sitting there, completely at ease, speaking like it’s the easiest truth in the world. As if of course this is her favourite part of the day. As if of course you should already know that.

Ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck, you focus on the road. “You’re only saying that because I’m driving you around.”

She scoffs, turning to you with an amused smirk. “Oh, cara . If I only liked you for your driving skills, we’d be in serious trouble.”

It throws you off—not the words themselves, but the way she says them. Teasing, but with something else beneath the surface. Something real, something you don’t want to look at too closely.

Clearing your throat, you shake your head. “So you just like wasting petrol?”

Lilia chuckles, shaking her head. “No,” she murmurs.

Then, quieter, almost lost under the music, “I just like you .”

Your heart stumbles, caught between one beat and the next, before your brain fully registers what she just said. Before you can react, before you can even process it, Lilia stretches, sighing as if she hasn’t just sent your entire evening into chaos.

“Anyway,” she muses, shifting in her seat, “you should turn left up here.”

She says it like nothing happened, like she didn’t just throw a conversational grenade into the quiet and leave you to deal with the wreckage. Your grip tightens around the wheel as you force yourself to breathe.

She has to be playing with you.

Because if she’s not, if she actually meant that, then you’re in serious trouble.

Keeping your focus on the road, you ignore the way your pulse is hammering far too loud in your ears. Lilia, perfectly at ease, stretches again, shifting in her seat, looking entirely unbothered after casually dropping I just like you into the conversation.

“You can’t just say things like that,” you mutter, trying to regain control of your own thoughts.

She turns to you, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

Exhaling sharply, you shake your head. “You know what.”

Lilia hums, pretending to think. “Oh. That I like you?”

Your pulse jumps again.

She’s messing with you. She has to be. But the way she says it, so easily, so casually , makes you hesitate. She doesn’t sound like she’s joking.

Risking a glance at her, you search for something in her expression, anything to confirm that this is just another one of her games. But she only smirks, resting her chin on her hand, watching you like she’s waiting to see how you’ll react.

“You say things just to wind me up,” you accuse, grasping at the familiar, at the safest explanation.

Lilia exhales a soft laugh, eyes gleaming. “Oh, cara ,” she murmurs smoothly.

“But what if I don’t?”

Your stomach twists, because this time, for the first time, you can’t tell if she’s joking.

For the first time, you think maybe, maybe, she actually means it.

You don’t have a response. Since Lilia Calderu first invited herself into your car, your routine, your space, you’ve always had something to say. A sharp remark, a dry comment, something to push back against her impossible presence. But now, you have nothing.

Because this isn’t just a passing comment. It isn’t playful teasing.

It means something.

And the way she’s looking at you, smirking but watching , waiting for you to slip, to react, only makes it worse.

Gritting your teeth, you keep your eyes on the road. “I think you enjoy getting a reaction out of me.”

Lilia chuckles, low and knowing. “That is true.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Of course it is.”

She leans back in her seat, gaze drifting lazily toward the road ahead. “But that’s not all of it.”

Your breath catches.

She doesn’t explain, doesn’t elaborate, just lets the words settle as if they don’t mean everything.

And maybe it’s better that way.

Because if she keeps going, if she says it outright, if she makes you acknowledge the thing that has been building between you with every drive, every glance, every almost, then you’re done for.

Rolling your shoulders, you inhale deeply, keeping your tone light. “You’re insufferable.”

Lilia sighs, entirely too amused. “But, cara , you keep picking me up.”

Your lips twitch, despite yourself.

Despite the weight of the moment, despite everything she’s just said, you let it pass. You let the tension settle back into something easier, something unspoken but understood, because you’re not ready.

Not yet.

But one day, you will be.

And from the way Lilia smiles, watching you out of the corner of her eye, you think she knows that, too.

It doesn’t happen the way you expect.

Not in some grand, dramatic moment. Not after a carefully timed confession or a lingering, loaded silence.

It happens in the car.

Of course it does.

The night is quiet as the city winds down, the distant hum of traffic fading as you pull onto Lilia’s street. Neither of you have spoken much since that conversation the other day. Not because the silence is uncomfortable, but because it isn’t, and somehow, that’s worse. It lingers, steady and unforced, neither of you rushing to fill it. Comfortable, familiar, dangerously close to something else.

You shift the car into park, fingers still curled around the wheel. “You’re home.”

Lilia hums, stretching slightly before unbuckling her seatbelt, but she doesn’t move to leave. She lingers, waiting. You don’t know for what, but something in the air changes. Slowly, deliberately, she turns to you.

This time, it’s different. There’s no teasing, no smug amusement, just quiet certainty as she studies you, her expression unreadable. She watches you in that way she does when she’s about to push, just far enough to see if you’ll break.

You exhale, trying to keep your voice even. “What?”

Lilia tilts her head slightly, considering you for a moment before speaking. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

Your heart stutters, your brain freezing mid thought. Lilia never hesitates to say things that leave you exasperated, but not like this. Not with this softness, this matter-of-fact certainty, as if she already knows the answer.

Your grip tightens on the wheel. “Excuse me?”

She hums, watching you carefully, as if you’re a puzzle she’s already solved. “You heard me.”

You shake your head, forcing a scoff, trying to push through the sudden heat creeping up your neck. “You are unbelievable.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “That’s not a no.”

You should argue, should roll your eyes and brush it off, but she’s still looking at you, head tilted, gaze steady, completely unrushed. The air inside the car shifts, closing in around you, too warm, too charged, the space between you impossibly small.

Clearing your throat, you shake your head, trying to level yourself. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Lilia exhales slowly, something amused, something knowing. “I can,” she murmurs, voice low.

And then she leans in, just enough.

The movement is subtle, a quiet shift that sends your stomach flipping, your pulse kicking up as the weight of the moment settles over you. You should push it away, should find something clever to say, should laugh like this doesn’t mean anything. But it does. It always has.

Lilia is watching you, her gaze flickering over your face, soft and knowing, waiting. She knew. She’s always known.

You should say something, should throw up some final defence before it’s too late. But she’s still there, impossibly close, and for the first time, you don’t want to pretend.

Exhaling slowly, you glance between her and the space between you, small, so small. “Lilia,” you murmur.

She tilts her head slightly, voice soft. “Yes, cara ?”

Your fingers flex against the wheel. If she smirked, if she turned this into another game, maybe you could resist. But she doesn’t. She just looks at you, patient, sure, like she knows you’ll come to her. Like she’s been waiting.

And so, without thinking, without hesitating, without giving yourself the chance to stop—

You close the distance.

Kissing Lilia Calderu feels like pressing your lips to something dangerous. She lets you kiss her, doesn’t rush, doesn’t push, just stays perfectly still, waiting, letting you decide. But the second she knows you have, she takes.

Her fingers curl around your collar, pulling you in, her lips moving against yours with a slow, devastating kind of certainty. The breath you let out is shaky, and she smiles against your mouth. That’s what undoes you. You deepen it, just slightly, just enough to hear her exhale, to feel the way she melts against you.

Then, finally, she pulls back, just enough to murmur, breathless and utterly pleased, “I knew you wanted to kiss me.”

You groan, dropping your forehead against the steering wheel as heat creeps up your neck. Lilia laughs, delighted, entirely too satisfied with herself. Just to make it worse, she presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek before slipping out of the car, moving with an ease that makes it clear she’s won.

Pausing at the door, she glances back, smirking. “See you tomorrow, cara .”

And just like that, she’s gone.

You sit there gripping the wheel, heart racing, breath uneven, completely finished. Because you know tomorrow will come, and when it does, you’ll pick her up again. This time, you won’t even pretend it’s just a favour.

The next time Lilia gets into your car, something has changed. She moves with quiet confidence, her gaze knowing as she fastens her seatbelt, entirely too composed for someone who kissed you and left like it meant nothing. The shift isn’t just in her, though. It’s in you. The air feels heavier, charged with something unspoken. Your pulse kicks up as she settles into the seat beside you, and despite the cool night air, your skin feels too warm.

She’s sitting there like nothing happened, acting as if the tension between you is the same as it’s always been. But it isn’t.

Gripping the wheel, you glance at her. “You’re quiet.”

She tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “Am I?”

You scoff, barely holding back an eye-roll. “Don’t play innocent.”

She exhales a soft laugh, her voice amused but deliberate. “Oh, cara . I’d never.”

The teasing is familiar, but there’s something else beneath it, something intentional. The silence that follows stretches too long, making the car feel smaller. You clear your throat, focusing on the road. “Where are we going?”

She runs her fingers absently along her knee, her movements slow and unhurried. “Does it matter?”

It doesn’t, and that’s the problem. The destination was never the point. She could ask you to drive for hours, and you would, just to keep her in the passenger seat, just to hear her voice, just to let this thing between you linger a little longer before it finally snaps.

She shifts slightly, crossing one leg over the other, her dress sliding higher over her thigh. You notice. She notices you noticing. When your gaze flickers toward her, she’s already smirking.

“You’re staring.”

Tearing your eyes back to the road, you shake your head. “You’re imagining things.”

She hums, fingers brushing lightly against her collarbone. “Mmm. Am I?”

The warmth pressing against your skin has nothing to do with the temperature in the car. She’s watching you, knowing exactly what she’s doing, waiting for you to react. The way she leans back, the way her fingers skim lazily over her throat, the way she studies you from the corner of her eye, all of it is deliberate.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you mutter, gripping the wheel tighter.

She barely suppresses a laugh. “Doing what?”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You know what.”

She shifts in her seat, the movement slow, calculated, the fabric of her dress sliding a little higher. “You’re the one getting distracted, cara .”

Your pulse spikes, but you keep your attention on the road, trying to ignore the way she’s looking at you, the way she moves like she’s already won. Your grip on the wheel tightens. “You’re a menace.”

Lilia smiles, but she doesn’t say anything. The silence that follows stretches too long, weighted and expectant.

Then she shifts closer, just slightly, just enough to send a warning through your entire body. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, quieter, something softer at the edges.

“Pull over.”

Your stomach tightens as you glance at her, pulse pounding. “What?”

Her gaze flickers over you, catching on the way your hands grip the wheel, the way your breathing has changed, the way you’re barely keeping yourself together. She watches, studying every flicker of restraint before she repeats herself, so casually, so devastatingly sure of the outcome.

“Pull over.”

This is the moment where you lose.

There’s no hesitation, no argument, no second guessing. Without thinking, you ease the car off the road. The moment it’s in park, Lilia moves. She isn’t rushed, isn’t desperate, just sure. She shifts toward you, already too close when you turn to face her. Her fingers slide along your jaw, tilting your face slightly, her nails scratching faintly against your skin.

Your breath catches as she studies you, her gaze dark and pleased, her attention flickering over your parted lips, the tension in your posture, the way you grip the seat like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. She leans in, breath warm against your lips, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Still distracted, cara ?”

You don’t answer because you can’t.

Without thinking, without hesitation, without giving yourself a chance to stop, you crash your mouth against hers like you’ve needed this for weeks.

Lilia gasps, and you swallow it, slipping your hands into her hair, tilting her head back as you kiss her deeper. She melts for a moment before recovering, smirking against your mouth, tugging at your collar as she pulls you closer, pressing against you like she’s wanted this just as badly. A growl escapes your throat as her nails scrape against the bare skin at the back of your neck, sending a sharp shiver down your spine.

Then, just to drive you insane, she bites your bottom lip.

That’s it.

That’s the moment you break.

You lose control too easily, the second her teeth graze your lip, the second she exhales, breathless and utterly pleased. Pressing her back against the seat, one hand curls around her thigh while the other tangles into her hair as you deepen the kiss.

She welcomes it, sighing against your mouth, fingers tightening around your collar, pulling you closer. She tastes like wine and something sweet, something unmistakably Lilia , and it’s intoxicating. You nip at her jaw, dragging your lips down the slope of her throat, and she laughs, low and delighted, like she knew this would happen, like she wanted to be proven right.

“Finally,” she breathes, smug and utterly satisfied.

Huffing against her skin, you press a slow kiss just below her ear. “You are so smug.”

She tilts her head, offering you more, fingers slipping beneath your jacket, nails scraping lightly against your spine. You shudder, and she feels it. She smiles, completely pleased with herself.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Her voice is sweet, taunting, eyes half-lidded as she watches you struggle to hold on to the last shred of control. She’s waiting for you to lose yourself completely, to give in, to let her win.

And god help you, you do.

You claim her mouth again, devouring the smirk off her lips as your hands slide beneath the hem of her dress, fingertips grazing heated skin. Her gasp stirs something dark and wanting in your chest, something that has been building for far too long.

Then—

A sharp knock against the window.

You freeze.

Lilia stills beneath you, her breath catching.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then—

Her lips twitch.

She giggles.

Groaning, you drop your forehead onto her shoulder, trying not to kill whoever just ruined this. Lilia, of course, is absolutely delighted, her voice teasing as she exhales against your ear.

“Oh, cara ,” she whispers, breathless, wrecked, and entirely too pleased with herself. “You poor thing.”

Gripping the wheel, you inhale sharply, forcing yourself to breathe. But one thing is certain, you are not driving her home yet.

Not until you finish what she started.

You don’t look at whoever knocked, don’t acknowledge them, don’t even care. Without a word, you shift the car back into drive, gripping the wheel tightly as you pull away from the curb. The silence is thick and unrelenting, pressing down on you like a weight neither of you can ignore. Lilia doesn’t speak, doesn’t tease, doesn’t do anything except sit in the passenger seat, her presence palpable in the quiet tension that lingers between you.

The city lights fade behind you as you drive further out, leaving behind the busy streets and the watchful eyes of strangers. The road stretches ahead, long and empty, the world outside growing darker with every mile. You don’t stop, don’t ask where you’re going, don’t explain. She doesn’t ask. She already knows.

The air in the car is charged, thick with anticipation, every passing second winding the tension tighter. The only sound is the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic beat of your pulse in your ears. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s weighted, filled with everything you were about to do before you were interrupted.

You don’t stop until you’re far from the city, where the roads are deserted and the only light comes from the dim glow of the dashboard. Pulling off onto a secluded stretch of road, you finally park, hands still gripping the wheel as you exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to release the tension coiled in your muscles.

“Get in the back,” you say, voice low and steady.

Lilia lifts a brow, amusement flickering across her face as she shifts slightly in her seat. “Oh? Are we in a hurry?”

Your patience is already razor thin, and she knows it. She’s playing with you, testing the limits of your control, pushing just far enough to see how much restraint you have left. Your hand moves before you can stop yourself, gripping her thigh firmly, fingers pressing into warm, soft skin as you drag her closer, your breath ghosting against her lips.

“Lilia,” you murmur, your voice a warning, not a request.

Something shifts in her expression, the smirk faltering just slightly as her breath catches. Her thighs press together beneath your hand, and in that moment, she understands. She knows you aren’t bluffing. She knows exactly how much you need this. She knows that if she doesn’t move now, you won’t hesitate to take her right here, seatbelt be damned.

She doesn’t rush, she never does, but she listens. With slow, deliberate movements, she slips into the backseat, her dress riding higher as she stretches out against the leather, watching you with quiet, knowing amusement. The heat in her gaze is unmistakable, her body language an invitation you don’t intend to ignore.

Your jaw tightens as you inhale sharply, steadying yourself for just a moment before you follow, knowing there’s no turning back now.

The moment you shut the door behind you, Lilia grins, tilting her head slightly, fingers curling against her knee. “Finally joining me?” she purrs, voice smooth and teasing.

You don’t answer. There’s no hesitation, no thought beyond the heat coiling between you. You grip her hips, dragging her against you, pressing her back against the seat as your mouth crashes against hers. She moans, breathless and eager, hands fisting into your jacket, nails scraping along the nape of your neck as she pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss is hungry, desperate, every sound she makes only spurring you on. Pressing your thigh between her legs, you feel the sharp hitch of her breath as she grinds against you.

Instinct takes over, sharp and electric, as you push her dress higher, sliding your palm up the smooth skin of her inner thigh. The moment your fingers barely graze the damp heat between her legs, she whimpers—soft, needy, utterly wrecked. The sound freezes you, stealing the breath from your lungs. That single, helpless noise will be the death of you.

Leaning in, your breath skims over her lips. “Again,” you murmur, voice thick with want. “Let me hear you.”

For weeks, she’s teased, played the game, stayed in control, always knowing just how far to push. But now, she obeys. Another whimper, quieter but just as devastating, escapes her lips, and it’s enough to ruin you completely.

Your grip tightens on her thigh, spreading her legs wider, fingers dragging along the heat of her skin, not quite where she needs you but close enough to make her squirm. Her head tilts back, lips parting as she exhales a shaky breath. Smirking, you press your lips against the curve of her throat, letting your teeth graze just enough to make her shudder.

“You look good like this,” you murmur against her skin.

Lilia lets out a breathy laugh. “Like what, cara ?”

Your lips brush her pulse as your fingers skim higher, teasing, making her tremble beneath your touch. “Needy.”

She gasps, a real, helpless little sound, and that is what finally shatters the last of your restraint. There’s no more teasing, no more patience. Sliding your fingers beneath the damp fabric between her legs, you groan at how wet she already is.

Lilia moans, her back arching as her hands clutch at your shoulders. You swallow the sound, pressing your fingers deeper, slow and deliberate, curling just right—

She shakes beneath you, breath catching, nails digging into your skin as she moves against your hand, chasing friction, chasing you. You watch her, the way her lashes flutter, the way her body reacts to every touch, the way she falls apart beneath your hands.

“You love this, don’t you?”

Lilia nods, voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

You’re done for.

The second you give her what she wants, she whimpers again, thighs trembling as your fingers curl deeper, moving in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing her open, coaxing her closer. Her head falls back against the seat, lips parted as she gasps, body shuddering as she grinds against your hand.

Your smirk is against her lips, teasing, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Say it.”

She tries to speak, but her breath hitches as your fingers pick up their rhythm, slow but relentless, pushing her higher, closer, until—

“I—” she chokes out, her nails digging into your shoulders, her body taut with tension.

Then you flick your thumb over her clit, pressing down just enough, and she breaks.

“Fuck, yes—”

A growl rumbles from your throat as she shudders beneath you, her hips jerking, legs shaking. Watching her come undone is intoxicating. “That’s my girl.”

Lilia moans, high and helpless, and something about the way she completely gives in, the way she lets you take her apart, makes your own restraint snap. You kiss her deeply, swallowing every gasp, every breathless plea as your fingers keep moving, fucking into her with purpose, dragging her higher, right to the edge.

She’s close, you can feel it, the way her body tightens, the way her breathing turns ragged. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost pleading—

“Please—”

A groan tears from your throat as you press against her, curling your fingers one last time.

Lilia shatters.

Her body tenses, her back arching, head tipping back as she gasps, hands clenching around you as she comes apart completely. It’s beautiful.

You watch her, hold her through it, pressing soft kisses against her jaw as her body slowly, slowly comes down. Her breath is still uneven, fingers still gripping you like she’s afraid to let go.

Smirking, you run your nose along her cheek, murmuring, utterly pleased with yourself.

The moment you shut the door, Lilia smirks, breathless and utterly wrecked, but the glint in her eyes tells you she’s not done. She stretches out against the seat like she’s settling onto a throne, self-satisfied and pleased with herself, fingers trailing lazily up your chest as she tilts her head.

“Mmm. Just thinking,” she muses, voice smooth and teasing.

You narrow your eyes. “That’s never a good sign.”

She grins, wicked and knowing. “No, it really isn’t.”

Before you let her question it, you move.

You grab her by the waist, trying to shift her onto your lap, but the cramped space makes it awkward. She lets out a breathy laugh as she braces her hands against your shoulders, knees knocking against the seat as she tries to settle over you. It’s messy, uncoordinated, her dress riding up in the struggle, and by the time she finally straddles you properly, you’re both breathless for an entirely different reason.

Then, before she can say something smug about it, you grip her hips and press her down, forcing her to grind against your thigh. The laughter catches in her throat, replaced by a sharp gasp as the friction sends a shudder through her. Nails digging into your shoulders as she clings to you. She’s still soaking wet from earlier, still sensitive, still desperate, and now she’s grinding against you, rolling her hips as you force her to chase the pleasure.

Your breath is hot against her skin as you murmur, “What was that, princess? You wanted me to do something?”

Her thighs tighten around you, and she shudders. “Oh, fuck—”

You groan at the sound, gripping her hips tighter, guiding her, making her move exactly how you want. She whimpers, fisting your jacket, her body trembling as she grinds harder against your thigh.

“You talk too much,” you whisper, pressing your lips against the soft skin beneath her ear. The moan she lets out is high and breathless, her confidence wavering under your touch.

You slide your hands beneath her dress, fingers grazing along her bare waist, pulling her flush against you, making her feel every inch of your control. She exhales a shaky sigh, forehead pressing against yours, before her voice drops to barely a whisper.

“Touch me.”

Your blood boils. She’s already wrecked, already falling apart, and now she’s begging? You can’t make her wait, not when she’s pressing against you like she needs this, like she needs you again.

Your hand moves between her thighs, fingers teasing her, dragging along the heat of her skin before finally pushing against the soaked fabric between her legs. Lilia gasps, her hips rolling instinctively, chasing your touch. Her nails dig into your shoulders as she whimpers, desperate, wrecked, completely at your mercy.

“Fuck,” she whispers, voice broken, raw.

You smirk against her throat, dragging your lips along the delicate skin, teasing her, taunting her. “What was that, princess?”

She whimpers, body trembling as your fingers slip beneath the fabric and slide inside her. Her hips stutter, grinding down against your hand, her entire body reacting to you.

“You—” she chokes out, nails scraping down your back, “you bastard—”

You chuckle darkly, curling your fingers inside her, pressing against that spot that makes her shudder. “You don’t sound very convincing.”

Lilia’s breath catches, her hips jerking as she grinds against you, chasing every stroke of your fingers, chasing you. You love this, love how she’s already close, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

“Oh, fuck—”

You don’t let up.

You kiss her hard, devouring her moans, swallowing every gasp as you fuck her open, your thumb pressing against her clit, relentless, pushing her right to the edge.

Until she breaks.

She cries out, her back arching, her body trembling, thighs clenching around you as pleasure rips through her. You hold her through it, dragging her through every wave, savoring the way she falls apart in your arms.

When she finally collapses against you, breathless and wrecked, forehead pressing against your shoulder, you smirk, dragging your fingers through the mess between her legs, your voice low and teasing.

“Oh, princess—”

Lilia shudders, still trembling against you, but the second she gathers herself, you know—

She isn’t done yet.

The second she recovers from the wreckage you left her in, she moves. The shift is clumsy in the cramped space, her knee knocking into the seat as she struggles to maneuver herself, but it doesn’t stop her. She barely gives herself room before she presses into you, hands slipping over your body with a deliberate slowness, feeling, teasing, learning exactly how to unravel you the way you just did her.

Her fingers trail down your stomach, pressing over the fabric of your jeans, feeling the heat beneath, smirking when she finds you already aching for her. She’s smug, insufferable, dragging her palm over you through the denim, watching the way your breath catches, the way your body tenses. The teasing touch is just enough to make you squirm, not nearly enough to give you what you need.

You growl, grabbing at her hips, trying to grind up into her touch, but she just chuckles, dragging her nails up your stomach in lazy, infuriating strokes. “So impatient,” she murmurs, leaning in, her breath hot against your lips. “Let me take my time.”

She moves carefully, hands working at your jeans, shimmying them down awkwardly, shifting back as she struggles to get them past your thighs in the tight space. It’s clumsy, far from the elegant seduction she’s probably envisioning, and she lets out a frustrated breath when the fabric catches on the seat. You snort, arching a brow. “Having trouble, princess?”

Lilia glares at you, jaw tight, before yanking them down with more force, successfully freeing you but nearly kneeing you in the process. “Shut up.”

You chuckle, but it dies in your throat when she settles between your thighs, her hands spreading over your bare skin, smoothing upward, her nails scraping just enough to make you shudder.

She exhales softly, her expression shifting, losing its teasing edge, darkening with something else entirely. Her fingers trail between your legs, brushing over you just once, featherlight, enough to make your breath catch.

“Oh, cara,” she purrs, voice smooth, slow, utterly pleased. “You’re already so wet for me.”

Your stomach tightens.

She slides her fingers lower, pressing down just slightly, teasing, not yet giving you what you need. She’s watching you closely, taking in every reaction, every flicker of anticipation, every tiny twitch of your body beneath her hands.

You exhale sharply, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you force yourself to look at her, meeting her gaze head-on. “Stop teasing.”

Lilia smirks, dragging her fingers up again, slipping just barely beneath the fabric still covering you. “You want me to stop?”

Your jaw tightens. “You know what I meant.”

She hums, pretending to consider, before leaning in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just above your hip, fingers slipping fully beneath your underwear now, dragging over the slick heat between your thighs.

You inhale sharply, hips jerking at the contact, and she grins against your skin.

“There’s my good girl,” she murmurs, tracing a slow circle over your clit, barely applying pressure, just enough to make you whimper.

Your hands fist into the seat, your body twitching at the deliberate pace she’s setting. She’s barely even started, but you already feel too sensitive, too on edge, the anticipation almost unbearable.

She watches you, eyes dark, utterly absorbed in every reaction, and then, finally, finally, she slides her fingers lower, sinking one inside you, slow, controlled, teasing you with every inch.

Your breath shudders.

Lilia exhales a pleased hum, tilting her head, watching the way your thighs tremble, the way your body clenches around her.

“Oh, cara,” she purrs, curling her finger just right, pressing against that spot that makes you gasp. “You take me so well.”

You whimper, head falling back, nails digging into the leather seat as she strokes inside you, slow, deliberate, coaxing every little sound from your lips.

She leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Do you want more?”

You nod, words failing you, breath ragged.

Lilia chuckles, sliding another finger inside you, stretching you just right, her palm pressing against your clit as she picks up the rhythm, stroking deep, slow, torturous.

Your hips roll instinctively, chasing the pressure, and she groans at the way you move for her, how responsive you are, how easily she has you unraveling in her hands.

“So eager,” she breathes, curling her fingers again, pressing harder, making your thighs shake. “I could make you come just like this.”

You moan, head spinning, everything narrowing to the slow, devastating drag of her fingers inside you, the way she’s murmuring against your skin, the way her lips brush over your jaw, her breath warm, teasing, unbearable.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmurs, voice rough, admiring. “Falling apart for me.”

You whimper, grinding against her hand, chasing that edge she’s so carefully pulling you toward.

She speeds up, pressing her palm down, her fingers moving just right, just perfect, and it’s too much, too good, too overwhelming.

You cry out, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes over you, your thighs trembling, your breath shattering, everything breaking apart beneath her touch.

Lilia groans, watching you fall apart, letting you ride it out, stroking you through every wave, pressing her lips to your temple as your body slowly relaxes, your pulse still pounding, your mind hazy.

She stays there, holding you, pressing slow kisses along your cheek, your jaw, whispering things too soft for you to catch, things meant only for you.

And when you finally come back to yourself, breath still uneven, Lilia pulls back just slightly, her lips brushing against your ear, voice still rough, still teasing.

“Oh, cara,” she whispers, trailing her fingers through the mess between your thighs, utterly satisfied.

“You look so pretty when you beg.”

You roll your eyes.

Lilia is sitting there, hair a beautiful mess, her lips definitely too red but not from her lipstick, her thighs still bare. She’s smirking, entirely too pleased with herself, radiating self-satisfaction as she stretches lazily against the seat. You groan, throwing your arm over your eyes, already dreading the inevitable smug remarks. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Lilia chuckles, tilting her head, fingers idly tracing patterns against your stomach. “Like what, cara?”

You lift your arm just enough to glare at her. “Like you won something.”

She hums, her nails skimming over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge. “Oh, but I did.”

Your jaw tightens. Because she’s right, and she knows it.

You roll your head back against the seat, exhaling sharply, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. Big mistake. Lilia shifts, leaning in, her breath warm against your throat, her lips brushing against your skin, teasing, testing. Her voice is a soft, satisfied purr. “You were so sweet for me, cara.”

You shiver, and she notices.

She always notices.

Her lips graze your jaw, lingering just enough to make your stomach twist, and then, utterly pleased with herself, she whispers, “Would you like to do it again?”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling low in your gut, because you would. You absolutely would. And from the way Lilia watches you, lips curved, gaze half lidded and knowing, she already knows that.

You should feel sated, triumphant, satisfied, at peace. Instead, you’re lying in the backseat of your own car, exhausted, tangled up in Lilia, who looks entirely too smug. You groan, covering your face with your arm again. “I’m never driving you anywhere again.”

Lilia laughs, stretching beside you, unbothered, fingertips dancing absentmindedly over your skin. “Oh, cara,” she muses, voice like silk and satisfaction, “we both know that’s a lie.”

You tense, because she’s right. She always is. She knows you too well, knows exactly how to push you, how to unravel you, how to get what she wants.

You exhale, tilting your head and moving your arm just enough to glance at her, watching the way she smirks, the way she looks at you like you’re her favourite thing to toy with. You meet her gaze, let the silence stretch just long enough to make her think she’s won, then smirk right back.

“Oh, cara,” you murmur, voice low, teasing, throwing her own words right back at her.

Lilia stills for just a second, just long enough for her breath to hitch, for her eyes to flicker with something warm, something unguarded. But then she grins, shaking her head. “Stealing my lines now?” she muses, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

You shrug, exhaling through your nose, settling deeper into the seat. “You make it too easy.”

She hums, fingers still tracing faint patterns against your ribs, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Oh, baby,” she says, and you know, you just know she’s about to say something infuriating.

And you’re right.

She tilts her head, watching you with quiet amusement. “You know you’re driving me home.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You are the worst.”

She hums, entirely too content. “Mmm. But—” She stretches, arching her back, looking entirely too smug. “You keep picking me up.”

You sigh, shaking your head.

Because she’s right.

Of course she’s right.

You were always going to pick her up.

It should have changed after that night. After everything. But somehow, it doesn’t.

Lilia still texts you at inconvenient hours, still waits outside with her arms crossed, expecting you to pull up, still slides into the passenger seat like she belongs there, draping herself over the chair with a dramatic sigh as she adjusts the temperature to her exact preference. And you? You still pick her up.

Because of course you do.

You’d like to pretend there’s some resistance left in you, some shred of dignity after what happened in the backseat of this very car, but there isn’t. There never was.

One evening, she gets in, stretching luxuriously as she settles into the seat, utterly unbothered. You glance at her, unimpressed. “You do have a driver’s licence, right?”

She scoffs, looking at you like the question alone is insulting. “Of course I do.”

You hum, drumming your fingers against the wheel. “Ever use it?”

Lilia shrugs, smirking. “Not when I have you.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You are so spoiled.”

She leans in slightly, voice mockingly sweet, her lips grazing your jaw just to be obnoxious. “And yet, cara—”

You groan, already knowing what’s coming. You finish her sentence for her, “I keep picking you up.”

She grins, and with an exasperated sigh, you put the car into gear. Because, once again, she’s right.

No matter how many times you threaten to make Lilia take the bus, no matter how often you grumble about being at her beck and call, you always pick her up. And she always waits for you.

It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is, how natural. How seamlessly your life has shifted to accommodate her presence in your passenger seat. And the worst part? You like it.

One evening, you’re parked outside her flat, engine running, waiting for her to come down. The usual. Except tonight, she doesn’t rush. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with a look you can’t quite place.

You frown, rolling down the window. “What?”

She hums, tilting her head. “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

Lilia steps closer, bending slightly to rest her arms on the edge of the window, her gaze warm, knowing. “I’m just wondering something.”

You sigh, already tired. “Which is?”

Her lips quirk slightly, but there’s something softer in her expression. “If I stopped waiting for you,” she murmurs, “would you still show up?”

The question shouldn’t make your chest feel tight. You should roll your eyes, scoff, say something dismissive and move on. But you don’t.

Because you know the answer.

And so does she.

You inhale slowly, grip tightening on the wheel before exhaling, resigned. “Get in the car, Lilia.”

She smiles, pleased, like she’s just confirmed something for herself. Then, as always, she slides into the passenger seat like she belongs there.

Because, of course, she does.

And you? You were always going to pick her up. No matter what.

#lilia calderu #patti lupone #lilia calderu x reader #agatha all along #agatha all along fanfic #my fanfic #maybe one day i'll like my writing today is not that day

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realcube · 8 months ago

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SUMMER SUNSHINE ༊*·˚

summer hcs + drabble w/ hq men

characters ☀ bokuto, nishinoya, ushijima, kageyama & oikawa

tws/tags ☀ ts! all, gn! reader, water gun violence, slightly suggestive, mentions of drowning, swearing & parent!kageyama. overall sfw.

BOKUTO KŌTARŌ

☀ lives for the pool !!

☀ once he gets msby money , he defo buys a house with a big ass pool

☀ as soon as it slightly exceeds 20℃ he will be BEGGING you to swim with him and have a pool day

☀ and remind him that since it's a pool in your own garden, he can swim in it whenever he wants on his own and you don't have to be there with him

☀ but he protests by saying he just wants to spend time with you and it's 'no fun' without you

☀ PLS just go with him

☀ he will so make it worth your while

☀ he spends most of his time swimming and doing tricks in the water and cool dives

☀ and he'd want you to get in with him so y'all can swim about together, little mermaid style

☀ but even if you don't want to do that, and would rather chill on the grass/ on a floatie with a good book or tanning

☀ he will find a way to involve you by getting you to take pictures or videos of his water backflips and handstands and stuff 😭

☀ firstly so he can send the tapes to his friends and secondly so he can show off to you

☀ bc clearly your boyfriend is gifted not only in the volleyball department but he's also a diver????

☀ and if you do swim about with him, he'd be so pleased by that and y'all would have so much fun together

☀ but he has so much stamina that you'd end up tired out way before he is

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you trudge out of the water, making your way back towards the pool lounger. it takes bokuto a couple minutes to notice you are gone because he is busy checking how long he can hold his breath underwater, but eventually he does, then he rushes over to you. "(y/n)! what are you doing?"

"i'm going to rest, bo. i'm so tired." you pant, flopping face-first down onto your towel and nuzzling into the soft fabric. bokuto quickly lays down next to you and turns his head so he is making eye-contact, partially pushing you off because the lounger is big but definitely not spacious enough for two people, let alone one as muscular as bokuto.

"but you didn't even get to see how long i can hold my breath for!" he whines, doing a poor job at sounding frustrated as he gently moves a wet strand of hair out of your face.

you sigh covertly, heavy eyes drooping shut, "why don't you show me now?"

"but we're not under water."

"that doesn't make a difference, sweetie." you reassure him, and he nods thoughtfully, as that did make sense. wow, he has such an intelligent, s/o! he beamed a this own internal monologue, before promptly inhaling sharply so his cheeks were full with air, then squeezing his nostrils shut.

and that is how you got peace and quiet for around two minutes and nine seconds. (he almost passed out)

NISHINOYA YŪ

☀ y'all are always travelling all over the place

☀ swimming with dolphins, hiking through forests, skydiving, lounging at some of the most gorgeous beaches in the world

☀ it's almost like eternal summer for you two

☀ you've basically seen and lived it all so one of the most novelty ways you could spend your summer, is just at home

☀ enjoying the little things; like sitting in front of the fan in searing heat, or barbequing, or water balloon/water gun fights

☀ oh noya loves water gun/balloon fights !! and he gets into it too!!

☀ v competitive, even with you , whom he loves the most in the entire world, but he's still gonna kick your ass lol

☀ it can get a little childish but it's essential to channel you're inner feral kid to stand a chance at winning a water gun fight 😌

☀ he loves chasing you around, getting you soaking wet, and hearing your little laughs and yelps

☀ but he also likes when you're equally as competitive as him

☀ and try to hide and sneak up on him

☀ or if you use an ice bucket 😭 he'd scream and have to get you back for that one

☀ don't let him anywhere near you with that ice bucket though.. especially in a light-colored shirt.. his intentions are not pure

☀ omg he uses psychological warfare too

☀ like if you're beating him and spraying him he's like 'alright alright you got me!!' and drops his water gun/balloon and puts his hands up in surrender

☀ so when you stop, he throws his arm around you and pulls you in for a drenched hug and kisses over your cheeks and face

☀ then , as you both close your eyes and you lean in for a proper kiss, he pulls out a tiny water pistol he had hidden in his shorts and squirts you in the face and laughsss

☀ and it's only a tiny amount of water so it doesn't do any real harm but it's the TREACHERY that got you

☀ smh you had to give that man a taste of dirt after that

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you have him cornered, he frantically pulls the trigger of the water gun but nothing comes out; he's got no ammunition left. a sinister smile inches across your lips as you creep towards him, "final words?" you say dramatically, thinking about where you should spray him first.

his expression contorts into one of dismay and fear when he realises there is no way out, and his breathing falters. eyes drifting closed, he is about to accept his fate...

...until he hears a familiar chime in the distance.

"wait, (y/n)!" he calls, just as you are about to aim your water gun.

"ugh, what?" you groan.

"do you hear that?" he pauses, the silence allowing you to also hear the tune ring from afar.

"the ice-cream van?" you cock an eyebrow, you're face exhibiting all fifty shades of unimpressed, "do you really think i'm going to pass up revenge for ice-cream?"

"i'll buy you an ice-cream sandwich!" he bargains.

you narrow eyes at him, threatening stance unwavering.

"and a slushie!" he adds.

your eyes-widen, and you instantly drop the gun, pivoting on your heels towards the front door, "hurry up, then!" you urge, and noya is hot on your tail, brimming with laughter.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

☀ with some more time-off during the summer, you suggested ushijima find a new hobby to keep him occupied while you were at work

☀ when he asked you for suggestion, you told him just to do whatever he felt like, but you did also mention that there was a flower bed in your garden that looked awfully bleak and unkempt

☀ it was a mere recommendation though, and if he didn't want to do it, that was more than alright

☀ after all, with the amount he makes, y'all have more than enough to hire a gardener to fix it for you. or just a landscaper who will fill it in and build a gazebo on top or something

☀ but ushijima takes your words as command and if you, his favourite person in the world, wants to see flowers in that bed. then he will put flowers in that bed!!! it's just that simple

☀ although he doesn't know where to start, but after some time browsing blogs and online articles, he comes to the conclusion that he best place to begin was to buy some flower seeds and starters

☀ and toshi , being the man he is, has somewhat of a natural green-thumb

☀ and these flowers and thriving in no time

☀ while he is outside, you mostly just stand by the window with a tea/coffee in your hand, watching him work in his cute little straw sun hat you bought him, occasionally calling out to him and saying he's doing such a good job, to which he will look at you and flash a small smile

☀ because you don't pay very much mind to him and his gardening antics bc you assume it's a phase that is going to pass as soon as another game season starts

☀ but no , his gardening hobby is here to stay

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you come home after a long day of work, utterly tired and sore. you hobble into the kitchen with the intention of tossing your bag on a chair before you head upstairs, but are pleasantly surprised when you're met with a romantic sight.

ushijima has set the dining the table with the finest cutlery and cloth, upon which there was three candles that illuminated the area. the aroma of your favourite meal also wafted through the air, so your gaze darted around the room, until you noticed it two plates of it on the kitchen counter, which ushijima carefully transfers to the table.

once he sees you enter, he stands up straight and makes his way over to you, with his hands hidden behind his back, planting a firm kiss on your cheek.

you smile, and lean into him, gazing up with a foolishly wide grin, "what's all this?"

"dinner." he states plainly, then reveals what was behind his back. a large bouquet, filled with all kinda of different and colourful flowers. you gasp at the sight, hesitant to hold such a beautiful masterpiece.

"this is stunning, toshi." your voice shakes with emotion, as you sniff the flowers to soak in their sweet smells, "where did you get this from?"

"i grew them."

your eyes widen, as you look between the bouquet in your arms and your stoic boyfriend, who appears dead-serious. "you did? but there are so many." you can hardly hold them all.

"the garden was fruitful."

the tears that previously welled in your eyes spilled over your cheeks, and you push yourself into him to bury yourself in his strong chest. "thank you so much, wakatoshi. this means so much to me." you sob, your tears dampening the fabric of his shirt.

ushijima is rather taken back by your reaction. he expected you to be apprecitive but he didn't understand how some flowers had moved you to tears, though he rubbed your back comfortingly, none the less.

what he decided in that moment was that he would be gardening for the forseeable future. regardless of how many hours squat in the blistering heat or chilling winters it would take, he would grow a bouquet filled with all your favourite flowers for every season. because your smile alone makes every single arduous hour worth it.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

☀ during summer he has less hours training with the adlers so he wants to spend every free moment he has with you + the kids

☀ just doing random domestic stuff

☀ he's the type of dad who wants to spoil them rotten and take them to all sorts of fun places

☀ like monday it's the fair, tuesday it's the waterpark, wednesday it's the zoo, thursday it's the softplay.. and so on

☀ if it wasn't for the fact he has a terrible history in booking his own flights, he would have flew the kids to disneyland by now

☀ but he's so high intensity in such a short amount of time bc he feels like he needs to spend as much time with them as he can right now otherwise when he goes back to work they are gonna forget all about him

☀ but you're like they don't have the energy for two days out in a row 😭 so kags needs to find something he can do in the house with them

☀ so he buys one of those massive jungle gyms for the back garden to keep them entertained

☀ but the two things he didn't account for:

☀ 1) he would need to build it himself

☀ which he fails at so bad but he CAN'T ask you for help otherwise you'll think of him as a useless husband (you won't but that's his thought process)

☀ so it takes him like ten days to build it properly

☀ but even when he finishes it looks unstable so you're like 'kags.. test it out'

☀ and he gets mad defensive and is like 'do you not trust my abilities?!?!'

☀ and you're like 'ok if you're not going to test it out, i will'

☀ and when you start walking towardshis construction he is literally sweating bc he knows it's fucked up

☀ so he's like 'fine!! i'll test it' and lo and behold it collaspes over him and y'all need to hire a professional to fix it

☀ 2) the other thing he didn't take into consideration is that the kids want him to play on it with them .. meanwhile he is 6'2" and quite frankly cba

☀ he tries to play with them from outside the jungle gym but your kids are menaces and won't let up until their dad goes down the slide with him

☀ and that's the story of how your husband got caught in a tube slide 😞

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your kids got bored of the jungle gym quickly and were now asking for something else to play with in the backyard. however, after the construction incidient, your confidence in kageyama's handiness has plummeted enough that you do not trust him to build a trampoline, so instead you buy some chalk and tell him to draw some games on the concrete like snakes and latter or hopscotch.

it's simple enough, but it's been taking him quite a while. so, you whip up some fresh lemonade and bring it out to check upon him, "how's the drawing going, tobio?"

he looks up at you, wipes the sweat off his forehead, and happily takes a drink off your tray, then takes a large gulp. "thanks, babe. and it's going fine. 'm almost done."

he says, and stands up to show you the whole game. he chose hopscotch, and draw all the numbers in cute little hearts. admittedly, some were a little wonky but the effort is so sweet. you smile brightly, and place a kiss on his cheek, to which he can't help but smirk. "looks grea—"

just as you are about to utter a compliment, something out of the corner of your eye that causes your heart to plummet. you stare at the error for a moment, and blink a couple times to ensure you aren't imagining it. once you establish for certain what you're seeing is correct, you sigh and say, "kags. draw a three for me."

he raises his eyebrows but doesn't question it. he gets on his knees and draw a three seperately from the hopscotch grid, and to your dismay, it looks like "Ɛ", just as it appears inside the heart.

you look between his sweet, innocent face, and the messed up three he had just written. your children were in their formative years so you didn't want them to learn their numbers from this faulty hopscotch grid, but you also couldn't bring yourself to correct kageyama and watch his ego crash again. so, you bite your tongue and force a smile, "good job." you pat his back and press another kiss on his cheek, "i'm gonna head inside. maybe later we can talk about sending our kids to private school."

internally he is rather jarred by the sudden change in conversation, but he brushes it off and gives you a final squeeze before you walk away.

OIKAWA TŌRU

☀ takes you to the beach ofc !!!!

☀ would love to see you dress up in a swim suit or sun dress in theory bc you look so hot

☀ but in practise, when y'all actually go to the beach and he realises other people can see how hot you look as well, that puts him off and makes him a lil jealous

☀ but!!! thank the lord he is sexy and he knows it bc as soon as a guy merely looks in your direction, he will have his arm wrapped around you in seconds

☀ or start applying sunscreen to your back or chest , and if you're like 'tōru , i've already got my spf on' , he'd just go 'well you can never be too safe! 😇 don't want you to burn, sweetheart!!'

☀ meanwhile he is covertly death-glaring the ppl checking you out

☀ so yeah pls don't get insecure bc no one hits on you while you're at the beach , it's all oikawa's doing

☀ might play beach volleyball or make a tiny sand castle with you if you ask nicely but mostly wants to chill and tan and soak up the sun

☀ and take pics :p

☀ ok you might think he is an ego maniac for this but he so wants you to take candids of him and all sorts of other pics while he is posing

☀ him laying on the towel , looking up at the camera with his sunglasses lowered , winking

☀ ARGH

☀ he's so photogenic it makes you mad actually

☀ but you still take pics of him bc it's kinda fun telling him what poses to do and stuff 😔 you're like 'you need to give me photo creds...'

☀ bc if the artistic vision is left down to him, he's gonna want you to take photos of him jogging across the beach, with his hand running through his hair like in baywatch smh

☀ you upgrade his instagram game sm

☀ omg his follower probably know when he got a s/o / which photos are taken by you vs him bc his feed goes from looking very bland and thrist-trappy to being a literal pinterest wet dream

☀ like even if y'all are in a down-low type of relationship, it's just SO obvious when he gets a partner

☀ also his fans/followers LOVE you even if they don't know who you even are bc he hasn't hard-lauched yet / you want to stay private and they have to give you some silly fandom mystery person name like "gfkawa"/"bfkawa" or "towsnbp" (the one who shall not be photographed)

☀ they are STILL obsessed

☀ and dw he takes pics for you too

☀ and he takes that shit seriously too , like he will lay on the ground, balance on one hand or literally do an aerial if that is what it takes to get your best angles

☀ you're naturally gorge though so he doesn't need to try that hard, but he's willing to !!

☀ he's pretty good at taking pics too and you always come out looking stunning but that always drives him CRAZY

☀ oh and he's always taking candids of you (especially at the beach) without having to be asked and he obliges when you ask him to show you but if you want him to send you the photos so you can post them, he's gonna be like , 'erm no these are mine thank you 😗'

☀ he's not sharing!!!

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you're laying down on your towel, enjoying the sun and although your eyes are closed, you notice when the warmth is suddenly blocked by a tall body in the way. you open your eyes to see oikawa standing over you, smiling, "you look beautiful, (y/n). lemme take a picture."

you nod, blushing, and hand him your phone. he snaps a couple shots of you, for which you pose. he grins once he done, scrolling through them.

you frown, sitting up and making a grabbing motion at him, "let me see!"

he kneels down besides you and tilts the phone over so you can scroll through the pictures he took, and as usual, they are quite nice, in your opinion. though oikawa gazes at them with eyes sickeningly sweet and sappy. you watch as his thumb moves to send the photos to himself, and you pressed your cheek against his arm and purr, "awh, thank you, sweetie. you did su— oi, what're you doing?!"

you bark, watching him delete the photos off your phone after they're finished sending, and you snatch the device out of his hand too late as they are already gone. you glare and him and he simply shrugs, with an innocent aura, "you looked too good. i didn't want you posting those anywhere."

he explains, and you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. you should've expected his behaviour from him. "now the only photos i've ever looked nice in are gone. thanks, loserkawa."

"they're not gone. i still have them." he commented, squishing your cheeks, amused and enamoured by your little sulk, "and we both know those aren' the only photos you've ever looked good in. you're beautiful in every single one."

you pout, shaking your head out of his grip and flopping back onto the towel. he laughs and taps your nose, planting a kiss on your cheek too, "wow, and you call me a drama queen."

457 notes · View notes

o-sachi · 8 months ago

Text

Every Single Thing I Have ₊⊹ One Shot

ଳ Character; Michael Kaiser (Bllk)

ଳ Tags; mostly fluff, a bit of angst (happy ending), soft mihya, gn reader, no y/n

ଳ Note; inspired by Two by Sleeping at Last!

Selfish. Manipulative. Cold.

Those were the words often associated to him. You were well aware of what he was like on the field or how he treated others. But you could never seem to agree with them.

To you, Michael Kaiser was the most selfless and loving person you've come across in your life.

Sweetheart, you look a little tired When did you last eat? Come in and make yourself right at home Stay as long as you need

You knew the hardships that came with dating a football star. Everything else you could stomach, but to be away from him for weeks on end was something you couldn't overcome. So, whenever he left the country, he'd tell you to stay at his place for the time being. It's not quite the same as having him around, but to live in his space was comforting enough.

You'd sleep in his bed, occasionally use his clothes, and even bathe with his shampoo at times—all just to feel that he's right here with you. Sometimes he wonders why you haven't moved in yet.

You'd always say that you want to be financially stable first, not wanting to freeload off of him. But he scoffs each time.

"Love, I don't give a shit about that. I just want you here in my home," he'd always say.

His place was as good as yours. Parts of the apartment were decorated how you'd want it. You even had more products in the bathroom than he did. He'd integrate you in every particle of his life if he could.

Whenever he was around, he made sure you lived like royalty. You aren't allowed to lift a finger on his watch.

"Mihya, can you please just sit down for a moment? You just came home from practice remember?"

As always, he'd ignore you. "I'm only making dinner. No big deal."

"We can have our food delivered, so you can rest. Y'know?"

"And have you eat junk like fast food? No thanks," he retorts. Truthfully, as much as he cared about your health, he actually wanted to cook because it would be faster than waiting for a delivery. It had been hours since his last meal. It was often like that when he had practice. Time flies and eating becomes an after thought. But he never tells you that; he never wants you to worry about him.

You grumble. "Please, Mihya? I'll order us some food and you come here and cuddle with me instead."

You drive a hard bargain, he thought. Food can wait. He shuffled towards you on the sofa and plopped right beside you. His tattooed arm drapes over you in an instant.

You smile, knowing the hold you had over him.

Even with the bags under his eyes, he was still so handsome. Cupping his face, you caressed his cheek with your thumb. "Have you been sleeping well? Look at these bags."

He offers a lopsided smile in return. "If you think I'm ugly just say so."

You giggle at his dramatics. "You are literally the most beautiful man I've laid eyes upon," you say while pinching his cheek. "But seriously, are you getting enough sleep? You work too hard sometimes." He sighs, leaning into your touch. He brings up his hand to hold yours. "I get to sleep beside you later no? That's all that matters to me, love."

Tell me, is something wrong? If something's wrong, you can count on me You know I'll take my heart clean apart If it helps yours beat

If there's one thing in the world he hates more than himself, it was to see you in pain. Your tears were his kryptonite. Part of him hated to see you cry because he loved you too much. But another hated it because it reminded him of all the times he would cry when he was younger.

Hot salty tears triggered him; it stirred unwanted emotions within him. But he had to suck it up whenever you needed a shoulder to cry on. One of you had to stay strong and he'd gladly be the one to fill in the role.

He'd hold you—cradle you until everything was alright again. "Shhh, it's alright I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Kaiser had you in his arms. His grasp was as gentle as his words. It soothed you. Even if your eyes were swollen and muddled with tears, you could still see the pain in his eyes. It tugged at your heart knowing he felt so deeply for you. You'd go on a tangent about how cruel and unfair the world is—and he would agree. He had many things to say as well, but he had to put you first.

You'd cry and cry until you can't anymore. Exhaustion takes over and you simply pass out on his bed, unaware of the inner turmoil brewing inside of him. Kaiser sat beside you, weary face buried in his calloused palms. He wanted to cry as well.

But he couldn't because then you'd wake up.

It's okay if you can't find the words Let me take your coat And this weight off of your shoulders

You were the luckiest person in the world. Kaiser was everything—handsome, talented, financially stable, loving, and secure. At least... that's what you thought.

It wasn't your fault that he had an ongoing battle in his mind. If you knew, no doubt that you would help him. But he made sure to leave you disillusioned with his well-crafted facade.

When he's with you, he's all smiles. He's always strong enough for the both of you. When you're down—he's there to lift you up. And when you're at your highest—he's just right behind you, cheering you on.

He only wallows in his self-pity when he's alone—when you're far away from him. He couldn't bear the idea of you finding out how weak he truly was. He was scared that one day you'll realize what piece of trash he is for lying to you all this time.

Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss I will love you with every Single thing I have

"Love, what do you want for your birthday?" You hum, tapping a finger on your chin as if to show him you were thinking hard. After a while, you come up with your answer.

"I just want you. That's all." His eyes widen for moment, but he quickly composes himself. He knew you were a simple person, but he expected something material... something of value. To think you'd settle for something so little was preposterous.

"That's all? You don't want a necklace or?"

Then your eyes light up. Ah... there it was. He got his hopes up too early. Of course, you want something expensive—something nice that actually had value and—

"How about we make those friendship bracelets? Y'know like we could DIY them with our own beads then make each other a bracelet? Can weeee?"

"For your birthday?" he asked quizzically. Kaiser was taken aback. What about the necklace? Were you really that easy to please? "Yes, for my birthday. I mean... we could go out to dinner or something. I'm fine with anything as long as you're there." He falls silent. Kaiser had never felt this before... the feeling of being needed. He knows he probably looks like an idiot, staring at you like he had seen a ghost. But he couldn't help it. His heart was throbbing and that was the only thing he could focus on.

Your expression drops as soon as you see his blank stare. "Hey... I mean, if bracelets aren't your thing then—" He cuts you off with a hug. It took you a while to reciprocate because it came out of nowhere. Sure, he hugs you all the time, but this hug in particular felt heavy—like it had some meaning behind it.

"Mihya? Are you okay?" you ask, wrapping your arms around him in response. And he'd hold you tighter. He'd screw his eyes shut, savoring your warmth as if it was only temporary. "Let's do those bracelets... just tell me where we can buy the beads."

He would gladly buy every single kind and more. He'd give you everything... everything that he could.

Like a tidal wave, we'll make a mess Or calm waters, if that serves you best I will love you without any strings attached

You liked to repay him in little ways. Of course, you weren't required to do so, but you wanted to. It felt like a crime to not give back to the overwhelming love that he offers up to you.

That's why you found yourself in his kitchen at 10 in the evening, hunched over on the counter and eyeing the sorry excuse of a cake you just made.

He had recently won a practice match. It wasn't anything major, but you made it a point to celebrate every single achievement of his. However, it was the first time you attempted to bake something for him. You had envisioned for him to come home from practice and be greeted by a freshly baked chocolate cake.

But you messed it up. Somehow, it ended up both undercooked and overcooked. It was impressive in its own right.

You wanted to start over from scratch, but he was already on his way home. In fact, you were so absorbed in your failure that you missed the sound of the door opening and closing.

"Love? Where are you? I smell something burnt..."

He pokes his head into the kitchen and finds you slumped over with a brown lump on a plate in front of you. He walks over to you and rubs your back comfortingly.

"I wanted to make a cake, but... it looks like shit."

He laughs. "What for?"

Your sad eyes met his amused expression, arms instinctively wrapping around him. You were embarrassed by your subpar baking skills that you had to hide your face from him. "The practice match you won yesterday." His chest booms with laughter and he brings a hand to gently caress your hair. "It's alright, love. I appreciate the gesture." Peeling away from him, you couldn't help but look at the cake with disdain. "Yeah, but it's inedible."

Kaiser raises an eyebrow at you. He picks up the fork nearby and takes a piece of the cake. It was gooier than what you expected. "Hey! Don't eat it!" But it was too late, he had shoved the piece in his mouth and was already chewing. You watched in horror as he swallowed what might be undercooked batter.

"Tastes like cake to me." Your jaw drops. "You could've eaten the cooked part you know?" "Heh, where is the cooked part you speak of?" You pretended to be offended. There probably wasn't any perfectly cooked parts on this cake, but he didn't have to rub it in your face like that.

But you both laughed it off. You spent that night with him chatting over your poor chocolate cake. Kaiser was just happy that you went out of your way to do something for him. Truly, he didn't need anything in return. He loved you because... that's what he thinks he was made for.

The cake was shit, but for some reason it tasted so good when he ate it with you.

It's okay if you can't catch your breath You can take the oxygen straight Out of my own chest

As perfect as you deem your relationship to be, of course, there were misunderstandings here and there. They were usually fixed with a simple "sorry" and a warm hug.

But this time was different. It was a full blown fight. Perhaps both of you were tired and frustrated. Neither of you even noticed it had turned into a shouting match—not until Kaiser felt a familiar and haunting pang in his chest.

Images of his father crossed his mind. He was reminded of the hurtful things the old man hurled at him. Suddenly, he lost the will to fight back. It wasn't long before you noticed the shift in the atmosphere.

Silence enveloped the both of you as you stood apart from each other. You had never seen this expression on his face before. As much as he hated vulnerability, he croaked out words faster than he could realize.

"Please don't leave me."

It was soft enough that if it were any lower, you probably would have missed it. You were frozen in place. You were fighting, but it had never occurred to you the desire to leave him. Why would he say such a thing?

"Mihya?" You cautiously walked towards him and took his hands in yours. "I never thought about leaving you." He focused on the way your thumbs brushed over his knuckles. It was foreign to him—how he could be shouted at and comforted right after.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to think that way," you apologized.

Then... a tear rolled down his cheek. You swore your heart fell to your stomach. Kaiser had never cried in front of you before.

"Mihya? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I promise I'm not going to leave you..."

Your hands let go of his to hold on to his arms instead. "Please talk to me..."

He tried to hide his frown by lowering his head, but his sorrow was palpable. "You promise?"

"I swear on my life."

Your promise only served to coax more tears out of him. As much as he hated his current display of emotions—he couldn't avoid it. The warmth, the happiness, and the security you offer up to him was too much to bear.

He used to think he wasn't deserving of anything close to love, but here you were—proving him wrong time and time again. Maybe... just maybe... he did actually deserve it.

His dream of being loved could become true after all.

I know exactly how the rule goes: Put my mask on first No, I don't want to talk about myself Tell me where it hurts

After that particular fight, you became more observant of him. You felt stupid that you didn't notice his pain sooner. He was too good at concealing his true feelings that you were fooled into thinking that he was okay. But he really wasn't.

However, you knew better than to force it out of him. Slowly but surely, you tried to help him open up to you. But your efforts were futile. He'd always wave it off and smile at you. It was the same smile that had tricked you in the past.

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"What about you, love? Have you been taking care of yourself?"

"Don't mind me. I'm strong, right?"

But Kaiser was a liar and you knew. He wasn't fine and he wasn't as strong as he made himself out to be. You both had your own pains, but you wanted both of you to overcome them together.

A frown crossed your face whenever he dismissed your worries, but you knew better than to force it out of him. All you could do is wipe the frown off your face and etch a small smile instead.

One day... one day he'll tell it all to you—when he isn't scared anymore.

I just want to build you up, build you up 'Til you're good as new And maybe one day I will get Around to fixing myself too

Kaiser thought he was suffocating. But wasn't he asleep? Ah... he was dreaming. There were times when he applauded his mind for being so excellently vivid at imagining the field. He was a master of metavision after all. But this cursed ability made his dreams feel all too real.

The hands that gripped his neck felt far too tangible, like there were fingers constricting his air flow. And those eyes... those eyes that detested him like he was nothing more than trash. The hatred was so conspicuous that it made him sweat in a fully airconditioned room.

After struggling for what seemed like forever, Kaiser snapped out of it. He sat up in bed and looked around. As expected, he was met with darkness; the faint light filtering through the window barely illuminated his bedroom. Frantically, he looked to the side and was pacified momentarily by the sight of you sleeping peacefully next to him.

You had rolled over to the farthest side of the bed, unaware of what was happening to him. Kaiser pulled his knees towards him, resting his elbows on the peaks and burying his face in his palms. He desperately wanted to calm down his racing heartbeat.

Why did he have to infiltrate his dreams? Didn't he torment him enough already? What did he do in his past life that made him deserve this kind of torture? Why?

Why?

Too caught up in his thoughts, Kaiser hadn't noticed the way you stirred in your sleep or how you had noticed that he was awake. Before he knew it, arms had snaked around his waist.

"Why are you still awake?"

You were still groggy, so perhaps you didn't notice the distress written all over his face. But you squeezed him tighter. Your instincts told you that he needed it. And he needed it badly.

"Come back to bed. I'll hold you."

He does what he was told. You slowly pulled him back into bed with you, never letting him go. You scoot closer to him as humanly possible. Kaiser didn't mind that you left no space between the two of you. If he was going to be suffocated, it might as well be by your embrace.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

He felt your breath fan against the warm skin of his neck. Your lips lightly brushed the sensitive skin as you spoke. He reached up to caress your arm, trying to reciprocate the affection you were giving him.

He only hummed in response, not wanting to elaborate further. You were sleepy as it is; there was no need for him to snap you out of your rest for his sake.

"I'll be fine... I have you with me." That's right, he thought. He had you. Everything would be fine if he had you.

Kaiser still had lingering feelings of pain inflicted by the violent hands and the hateful scrutiny of his father. But he hoped that one day you'd wash those feelings away. Kaiser hoped that your gentle touches and loving gaze would make him anew.

Somehow, maybe, you could fix the disaster that was Michael Kaiser.

I don't even know where to start Already tired of trying to recall When it all fell apart

He knew it was wrong to rely solely on you. Happiness came from loving oneself—they say. But it was impossible. Every time he let himself alone with his thoughts it would always make him spiral.

Kaiser watched from the marble counter as you swayed your hips to the funky music that played in the kitchen. You were cooking some fancy dish that he forgot the name of.

As you observed every movement you made, he slowly started to entertain the idea of finally opening up to you. But, as always, the same thoughts hindered him.

What if you look at him differently? What if it pushes you away? What if you realize that maybe his father was right?

It was unlikely, but not impossible—at least that's what his mind would say. But then he was reminded of your face. He could melt whenever he recalled the soft expression on your face as you told him you'd always be there for him.

So... maybe...

"Hey."

You turn around at his call. "What's up?"

He gulps. This is it. "Can we talk after dinner? I have something I want to tell you."

You almost dropped your spatula. "Is it bad? Because if it's bad I won't be able to eat a bite of what I made."

He chuckled. Typical you.

"Don't worry. I just want to tell you a story."

I just want to love you, to love you To love you well just want to learn how, somehow To be loved myself

You were never this engrossed in a story before. No words escaped your mouth. Instead, you nodded along with every word he spoke. You could tell that he was trying his utmost best to keep a neutral face, but your heart broke knowing how caged he must have felt.

He poured his heart out. Kaiser was still scared, that much was true. But he was a point of no return. You already knew much of it, so what was the point of hiding any of his remaining emotions?

He bared it all for you, not missing a detail. He wanted you—desperately wanted you—to understand what he struggled with. He figured that if you did, maybe he'd finally find peace in himself knowing that the person he loves still accepts him despite his faults.

I will love you without any strings attached And what a privilege it is to love A great honor to hold you up

When he exhausted himself of every tidbit of his life, he stared at you and your dumbfounded expression. You had so much to say to him, but at the same time, you didn't know what to say. You wanted to mutter anything—literally anything to at least let him know that you were listening.

"I love you, Mihya."

You blurted out the first thing that came to mind. But really, it was the only thing on your mind. Everything that you wanted to say—the comforting words, the advice—everything boiled down to those 4 words.

He was a troubled man, that much you knew. You weren't ignorant of his attitude when you weren't around. And you knew that he was always keeping some part of himself hidden even from you. Just like him, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders.

Kaiser finally trusted you enough with this. And now you understood why he was such a selfless lover. He valued you so much to the point that he thought you were the best thing he would ever have in his lifetime and he would be a massive idiot to let you go.

He did everything in his power to make you happy and to make you feel loved.

So, wouldn't it be right for you to do the same?

You smile and take his shaking hands in yours. A beautiful promise falls from your lips:

"And I will love you with every single thing I have."

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser x reader #kaiser blue lock

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swee7dream · 5 months ago

Note

hiii i saw that request are open for jae ( I CANNOT COPE WITH THE NEWS) so i was thinking if you could write about a fluff kind or drabble?!?! of maybe yn helping jae to cut his hair before enlisting but he has so much hair and like WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO LEAVE YOUR FLUFFY BIG HEAD BF BALD but yea kinda like cute couple-y moment?

military wife duties jeong jaehyun x female!reader

genres established relationship , fluff , angst if u squint warnings female reader , mention of enlistment (◞‸◟；) author's note when nahyuck enlist i will genuinely crash out like i will need to be put under watch dpwm . tysm for the request ! i will miss valentine boy so bad , , tag list @aeriaeri @mystarsohee @iwontlettheselittlethingsslip

“How could you do this to me? To us? I… I thought you loved me, Jaehyun. Does all our time together mean nothing to you?”

“Baby…” He holds your wrists, the sensation barely felt. “It’s just hair.”

“It’s not just hair!” you whimper, lip quivering. “Hair holds memories, Jae. You don’t get it.”

“Believe me, I do. I’m not excited to get my hair buzzed either.”

Your tears, hysterical and warm, Jaehyun’s dimples come out at the sight without even thinking about it.

“Please don’t make me do this.” Your lip quivers.

“I’m sorry, darling.” He pouts, but you can tell it’s ingenuine. “But either you do it or Jungwoo does it. And you saw what he did to Taeyong.”

“Can’t I just cut my hand off instead?”

That makes him burst out in laughter.

“No, you can’t. I won’t allow it.” He brings your hand up to kiss the back of it.

“Can I go in your stead?”

“I mean, you can go… but I’d still have to go too.”

“Okay.” Your voice cracks. “I’ll sign up for the military right now. We can go together.”

“No.” He pecks your nose. “You have to stay right here in our cozy home and live your regular-schmegular life from before I left so that when I come back we can pick up right where we left off. Yeah?”

“I’m gonna miss you so much…” you drop the shaver on the bathroom floor and throw your arms around Jaehyun. “Please don’t die. You can’t die. If you die, I’ll kill you. I-”

Your paranoid ramble continues, your voice getting higher and higher until you sound like the loveliest mosquito Jaehyun’s ever heard.

“I won’t.” He pulls back to see your face. “I won’t die, okay? I’ll call you whenever I can, visit as often as possible, it’ll be like I never even left.”

“But you will! You will leave and I’ll be alone and you’ll be bald.” You sob at the last word. “You’ll be bald…”

“…is that what you’ve been focusing on?”

“You look so good with long hair. You’re the handsomest man in the world but when you have your hair long you’re the most handsome guy in all of the galaxies… I’m gonna lose my boyfriend and his hair. Life is so hard.”

“I know,” he pats your head, pressing his back against the toilet for enough space to let you sit on his lap. “Life is so hard, isn’t it?”

“So hard…” You nod, wiping your tears with the back of your hands. “’m sorry, Jae. You’re the one going to the military and here I am, making a new ocean with tears.”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He hums. “Think of it as crying for the two of us. I don’t think it’s set in yet that I’ll be away for almost two years—” You let out a small whimper at the reminder. “—but I’m sure I’ll cry just as much when I’m on the way. More probably.”

“I hate this.” You pull him in, digging your nose into his shoulders to take in his smell and try to imprint the moment as a core memory in your mind.

“…I always could go to prison instead.”

You groan.

“No. No prison. Just… bald.” You sigh, looking up at him and digging your fingers through his cloud-like white hair. “Just bald, egg-headed Jaehyun.”

“Hey, calm it before I buzz your head too.” He flicks your forehead with his teeth dug into his lip. “Then it won’t just be me that’s ‘egg-headed’. Honestly. Where do you come up with these things?”

“Twitter.”

“I thought you said you deleted Twitter.”

“…I lied.”

“Of course you did.” Jaehyun takes his turn now to sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You love me.”

“I do.” His gaze softens and disarms you completely.

“I love you too.” You curl yourself back into him.

“I’ll marry you. You know that, right?” He looks at you.

“…yeah. I know.”

It’s not the first time the subject has been brought up. Jaehyun is a traditional romantic, you learned this within the first three months of your relationship.

Candlelit home dinner dates, weekly sent bouquets, random appreciation sonnet-like messages. Jaehyun has always been open about his desire for matching bands and golden anniversaries. And though you might not have always wished for the same thing, as the days passed holding Jaehyun’s hand in your own, how could you not start having similar dreams?

“You can’t die.”

“I told you, baby. I’m not going to die-”

“You have to come home safely so we can get married when you come back.”

Jaehyun’s eyes light up for only a second before he smashes his lips against yours, eager and clumsy at the thought of exchanging rings. It's your first time expressing your desire to walk down the aisle so openly, a day Jaehyun sometimes felt would only happen in his dreams. His mind buzzes with ideas for the venue, his suit, your dress.

“Cut my hair,” he says, and you feel him breathe on your face.

“It’s not gonna make you enlist any faster, you know?”

“I don’t care.” He smiles.

“…alright.” You pick up the shaver off the ground.

“Why do you have so much hair?” You frown, trying to see where his hair ends and his scalp begins. “Are you a man or a beast?”

“Depends on the location. For example, if it's the bedroom-”

Bzzzt!

“Oh...” You purse your lips. “Jae.”

“…what is it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What did you do…?” He whispers.

“You’re handsome enough to pull it off, I promise.”

“Oh my God.”

author's note hi ! another jaehyun request coming soon i'm just terrible at deciding on endings lololol . also, renjun is BACK injeolmis CHEER !!!!! would love to write more for renjun so lmk if that's something that interests u :>

p.s. i made a ko-fi . don't feel obligated to do anything with it, but if u ever win the lottery, like my writing, and don't know what to do with it , well . . . gestures vaguely .

#jaehyun x reader #jung jaehyun x reader #jeong jaehyun x reader #nct jaehyun x reader #nct jaehyun fluff #jaehyun fluff #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 scenarios #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct 127 jaehyun #jeong yoonoh

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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 4 months ago

Text

Love & Liabilities: Chapter 5 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: While you prided yourself on your ability to always put your work above everything else, what happens when you find yourself haunted by a ghost from the past? (A ghost who brings baked goods, waters plants, and enjoys reminding you of what you’ve been missing)

Word Count: 4.4k

Warning: 18+ Minors Do Not Engage! Mommy Kink, degradation kink, light choking, dirty talk, blow job, strap-on sex

A/N: Lawyer!Agatha is back! Finally returning to this fic and planning on updating as regularly as my schedule will allow. If you'd like to be added to my tag-list, feel free to let me know! (if you changed your handle or aren't on here but were previously please lemme know and I'll add you back) Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy- would love to hear what you think!

Tag-List: @chiar4anna @harknessshi @neverfindmegone @ris-ris-mind @tr333sus @sabstance-blog

Previous Chapter

Present Day

If there was one thing you had learned from practicing law, it was that the world was filled with misconceptions. For many, misconceptions were nothing more than what the word suggests; small errors. However, as a prosecutor you found yourself unable to revel in that life of luxury.

In your line of work, a misconception could result in something as trivial as having difficulty filling a jury due to anyone with a beating heart finding an excuse to be sent home. Or to the more extreme case of a criminal being able to walk with no consequences.

However, occasionally the opposite would occur, where the details of a case become so warped and misconstrued that someone innocent is found to be guilty.

But, you weren’t supposed to worry if a defendant was innocent when your entire job revolved around proving why they were guilty.

That’s what made the past few days so confusing.

You had looked over the files Agatha accidentally left behind, and found they held more questions than answers. As crazy as it sounded, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was an accident, as any normal person would never compromise such sensitive details to their opponent.

But then again, most people weren’t Agatha Harkness.

To your knowledge, one set of the hospital records, Wanda Maximoff’s records, were previously sealed, and you didn’t want to imagine what the attorney had done to acquire them.

You did wonder if perhaps this was some sort of trap that Agatha was hoping you’d fall into in order to incriminate you, because if there was one thing your former lover prided herself on it was always being ten steps ahead of her opponent before obliterating them in court.

But that was surely just your paranoia talking.

A few days after Agatha’s impromptu break in you finally finished combing over every last possible piece of information you could gather from the hospital records. The two patients, one of them being Wanda Maximoff, had been involved in a car wreck. Wanda had been eight months pregnant at the time.

The second patient, Victor Shade, died shortly after being rushed into emergency surgery.

You had scanned and searched the records for more information, perhaps on Wanda’s pregnancy, or even the severity of her injuries. But, and you were nearly certain this wasn’t a coincidence, the majority of the pages were missing.

It didn’t take you long to guess who most likely had a perfectly manicured hand in that.

Agatha Harkness was single-handedly the most pompous, deceitful, domineering individual you had ever encountered, but she was also the most intentional. Every movement she made was calculated, and you knew she had these papers for a reason.

You weren’t Agatha, nor would you wish that particular curse on your worst enemy, but you knew her better than anyone. Or at least you did, for a time.

Closing your eyes as you rested at your desk, you briefly recollected how intimately acquainted you once were, before remembering how much had changed in the time since.

As you opened your eyes, they landed on the files and a small voice in the back of your head suggested you try calling Agatha. Just to give them back to her.

You did already get all the useful information that was available, you reasoned. Knowing Agatha, she’d likely question why you had waited so long, but you already had an excuse for that.

You were fairly busy after all, and your paralegal was on vacation, so your normally clear desk now had a mountain-sized pile of papers that made your head spin if you stared at it for too long. If Agatha complained you’d just lie and say they had gotten lost until you sorted through everything.

Besides, you thought bitterly, Agatha lied to you plenty, about things of far greater importance than this.

Checking the time on your phone, you wondered if nine pm on a Friday night was too late for a phone call, but Agatha had always been nocturnal, often working until the early hours of the morning. You used to find her passed out, slumped over her desk in the home office of the apartment you shared, and you’d drag her back to bed.

Your cheeks grew hot at the reminder of how you’d convinced her to follow you.

Clearing those thoughts from your mind you scrolled through your contact list until you landed on her name. There were a handful of times over the years where you considered deleting it, or blocking her number. But there was this unyielding force within you, prohibiting you from ever following through with it.

Knowing Agatha you wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow cursed you.

Your stomach did sickening flip flops as your index finger trembled, hovering over her name. This is ridiculous, you reasoned, finally pressing down, turning on the speaker setting as you set your phone on the edge of your desk.

Unfortunately, instead of a familiar ringing noise, you were alarmed to hear an automated message, telling you that the number had been disconnected, before the line went dead.

She changed her number?

Your heart sank as you stared at the bright glow of your phone screen, the contact seeming to mock you. Letting out an agitated sigh, you snatched the device, holding it in your palm. Your hands were unsteady, and you hesitated for a moment, eyes locked on her name. The purple heart that accompanied it had been your idea, her signature color. It felt fitting at the time.

Without another thought, you swiped your finger to the right, permanently deleting the contact before shutting your phone off and tossing it in your bag, leaving your office without another thought.

She changed her number.

You’d like to say you spent your weekend with your work laptop and phone shut off, enjoying your two days away from the office. But that would be a bold faced lie. You wouldn’t call yourself a workaholic, on the contrary your hours weren’t nearly as intense as when you were still in corporate law.

Billable hours were a gift from the devil herself, truly.

You weren’t a workaholic, but you were a perfectionist. It was a matter of pride to be detail oriented, to be willing to go the extra mile and find the smallest flaw in a case. It’s what drew you over to the litigation side of things to begin with. Contracts, as thrilling as they could be, didn’t provide the rush of adrenaline being in court granted you.

It was ironic, you swore up and down this side of law could never interest you, but now you couldn’t imagine practicing anything else.

Well, you could, at times, as brief flashes of conversations with the one person you’d felt safe enough to share them with replayed in your brain. But that was a dream you’d given up on a long time ago, among other things.

As it turned out, time could change a lot.

When Monday morning came rolling around, you repeatedly hit snooze on your alarm, not quite feeling rested from your weekend. You took your time for once, even making yourself breakfast. With your paralegal still on vacation you realized how dependent you had become on her for the smallest of things, meals included.

You should really talk about getting her a raise.

Despite your leisurely start to your morning, you were still out the door before most of the city was awake. You loved the chaos of Manhattan, the crowds of people and thralls of traffic were a warm contrast to the environment you had grown up in. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy a morning commute that took under a half hour, as your Lyft zoomed through the relatively light traffic for a Monday morning.

Since you worked all weekend your email inbox was manageable, and you marked a few messages to reply to later that morning. You were thankful for the lighter workload, as it allowed you to solely concentrate on your case.

The ticking time bomb of the one month continuance wasn’t something you wanted to worry about just yet.

Strolling into your building, you were unsurprised to find you were the first person to arrive for the morning. Walking past some of the potted plants near your office door, you frowned, stopping in front of them and examining tiny droplets of water on the leaves.

Did someone water them recently?

Maybe one of the janitorial staff did it, you concluded, shaking the thought from your mind as you fumbled around for your keys. Pulling them out from your pocket, you went to unlock the door, but were alarmed to find the door was already unlocked.

You didn’t have to open the door fully to know she was there, but you did anyway.

Swinging the door open, you found Agatha already in your office. Only this time she was sitting at your desk, her feet perched up on the edge, her shiny black loafers reflected by the light. She was engrossed in reading something, her thick black rimmed glasses hanging low on her nose.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” you hissed, slamming the door shut behind you.

Agatha didn’t look up from whatever she was reading, but you watched her lip curl upwards, forming a cruel smirk. “Good morning to you too, dear. Muffin?”

It was then you noticed the box of baked goods on the edge of your desk. The sweet aroma of pumpkin and chocolate wafted through the room, they were always your favorite.

No. You knew what she was doing.

“I already ate, thanks,” you coolly replied, dropping your work bag near the door, before locking it. “You can’t keep breaking into my office. Do you have any idea what my colleagues would say if they saw you coming and going?”

Agatha hummed, dramatically flipping the page, and you felt a wave of anger rush through you.

“That sounds more like your problem than mine,” Agatha unhelpfully pointed out, finally setting her papers down to look up at you, and removing her glasses. “Although to be fair, it’s almost insulting how easy it is to get in here. You should really talk to someone about investing in more advanced security measures.”

“What are you doing here?” You questioned, folding your arms across your chest.

“Are you not happy to see me?” Agatha asked, fake pouting as she put her arms behind her head, the bottom of her dress shirt riding up, exposing her toned stomach.

Agatha gave you a sly grin, and you quickly averted your eyes. She was unbelievable, really.

You don’t know what you ever saw in her.

Clearing your throat, you took a deep breath.

“What are you doing here, Agatha?”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” Agatha explained, kicking her feet off your desk, standing up. She pulled what she was reading up from a stack of papers, waving it in front of you. “You had something of mine.”

The file she had left behind.

You fell quiet, and Agatha took the opportunity to approach you, tilting her head to the side.

“What a naughty girl, keeping something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Ignoring the embarrassing rush of heat that threatened to pool between your thighs, you glowered at her.

“Save it, Agatha. You left those here and I had no way of getting in touch with you,” you spat out, quickly losing whatever patience you had attempted to hold onto. “Who the hell changes their number nowadays?”

You froze, and Agatha’s eyes widened for a brief moment, before taking a step closer to you, stroking her chin with her thumb.

“I should feel flattered you saved my number all these years later,” Agatha teased, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You tensed at her change of tone, her words having too strong of an impact on you.

“Is everything a joke to you?”

Agatha paused, thinking over your words, a calculated grin forming as her blue eyes gleamed. “No, actually. The spousal support I owe my ex wife, for example? Not funny at all, although I’m sure she gets quite the kick out of it.”

You found it rather unsurprising that Agatha managed to marry someone even more deranged than she was, but the difference being you actually liked the ex wife more than the attorney in question.

You’d probably have gone mad as well if you had ended up marrying her.

“You have your papers, get the hell out of my office,” you ordered, not in the mood to continue arguing with her.

Frowning, Agatha set the file on your desk, coming closer to you as she brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear before leaning in, breath hot against your skin.

“Do you really want me to leave? If I recall, you used to enjoy our little games.”

Closing your eyes, you tried to ignore the pleasurable sensation of her voice echoing in your ear, as you rubbed your thighs together, wishing she didn’t cause this strong of a reaction anytime she spoke to you.

“I want nothing to do with you,” you reminded her, stifling a gasp as the attorney blew in your ear.

“Are you sure?” Agatha mocked, her fingers playfully tugging on your blazer. “You’re so stressed, not that I blame you. Imminent doom tends to leave one feeling tightly wound.”

“I hate you,” you breathed out, but your words held no weight as you didn’t move away from her touch.

“Yes, good,” Agatha cooed, pushing you backwards until your back hit the desk, towering over you. “More of that.”

This needed to stop, you knew it needed to stop. Each time you let her back in it did more harm than good. She was parasitic, infecting you with the need to be consumed by her and her alone.

“Agatha,” you protested, shifting your weight around, unintentional brushing against her pelvis, and your eyes widened, shooting her an incredulous look. “You didn’t.”

Agatha feigned innocence, pressing her hips flush against yours, and you moaned at the direct contact, feeling the strap she was packing under her pants. “I didn't do what, dear?”

Your body betrayed you as you craved more friction, and Agatha leered, situating her hands on your hips to help you grind against her. Each roll of your hips made you lose whatever sense of self control you were barely grasping onto. The reminders of why this was dangerous territory slipping away as Agatha’s grip on your hip tightened.

The attorney raised one of her hands to roughly grasp your chin, forcing you to look up at her.

Gasping, you closed your eyes, not wanting to look at her. “You seriously put that thing on to come over here?”

“Bold of you to assume I wore this for you,” Agatha murmured in your ear and your eyes shot open, glowering at her.

Your taste in women was truly questionable.

“I hate you,” you said, choking back a whine as Agatha’s lips latched onto your neck, nipping and sucking on your exposed skin.

“I know you do,” Agatha said mockingly, the hand she had on your hip, moving to the front of your dress slacks, skillfully unbuttoning them. “That’s why I can smell you, isn’t it?”

“You’re insufferable,” you groaned, wriggling out of your pants as they fell around your knees, letting out a pathetic whine as Agatha ran two fingers over your underwear.

“Soaking through your panties like a whore,” Agatha growled, moving the thin fabric aside to touch your aching cunt, feeling how soaked you were. “Is all of this for me?”

“Fuck,” you moaned, head falling back as you gave in to her once more. “Agatha, please.”

Agatha moved her fingers through your slick, finding your clit with ease as she rubbed, kissing the sensitive spot under your jaw. “Please what?”

Bucking your hips up you tried to indicate what you needed, and Agatha seemed to take the hint, teasing your entrance and you let out a guttural moan, trying to fuck yourself on her fingers.

Letting out a disapproving hum, Agatha removed her fingers, smirking when you cried out in disappointment. She raised her hand, her fingers dripping as they circled your mouth as you parted your lips.

“Suck,” Agatha whispered, forcing you to take her fingers in your mouth. “Show mommy that you deserve her cock.”

Your cunt clenched at that, the ache becoming more unbearable every second you were left empty. Greedily taking her fingers you sucked them clean, whining at the taste of yourself on your tongue. Agatha let out a low groan as she forced them deeper down your throat, fucking your mouth.

“Such a good slut,” Agatha praised pulling her fingers out, lightly slapping your cheek. “So obedient when your mouth is full. You just want something to suck on, don’t you honey?”

Breathless, you barely recognized the sound of the whimper that escaped your lips. Agatha released you from her grasp, moving to settle into your high-backed leather office chair, index finger curling in a come hither motion, beckoning you to join her.

“On your knees,” Agatha ordered, removing her slacks to reveal her strap-on.

The dark purple cock was thick, and bigger than what you had grown accustomed to taking in the past few years, and you felt your cunt clench at the thought of having it inside you, stretching you out. Mouth watering you dropped to your knees, and Agatha leaned back in the chair, wrapping her hands around your hair to position where she wanted to.

“Desperate fucking whore,” Agatha degraded you, each word making you drip more than the last. “Make mommy come and I’ll consider fucking that greedy pussy.”

Wasting no time you eagerly leaned forward, tongue swiping out to lick at the head of the toy. Patience had never been the attorney’s strong suit, and she tugged on your hair, forcing you to take more of the cock down your throat.

“Fuck, good girl,” Agatha moaned, eyes locked on your own as she watched you struggle to take so much at once. “So pretty for mommy when you struggle.”

Her words served as encouragement for you to put on a show, forcing yourself to take her to the hilt. Choking around the strap you felt tears begin to swell in your eyes as you breathed through your nose, and Agatha groaned louder than before.

“That’s it baby. Swallow me,” Agatha hissed, fucking your face as her hips thrusted harder than before, getting off on using you as her own personal sex toy.

Swearing, Agatha’s hips stilled, face contorted in pleasure as she came, eyes rolling to the back of her head, fingers intertwined in your hair as she tugged on the strands to the point where you let out a muffled moan. Panting, the older woman released her grip on your hair, signaling you were allowed to remove your mouth.

Her strap was covered in your saliva as you caught your breath, but Agatha didn’t allow you much time to recover, a feral look in her eyes as she rose from her chair, yanking you up by the hair to face her. The attorney’s blue eyes were clouded with lust as she impatiently spun you around, bending you over your desk.

The humiliation of being exposed this way was too much, and came to the conclusion you could get off like this alone. You didn’t have to look at Agatha to know she was smirking, pulling on your hair again to make you arch your back.

“Tell me you missed this,” Agatha murmured into your ear, hands groping every inch of your body she could reach. “Tell me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You were almost too far gone to fully think about the implication of what she was saying, but not enough to give in so easily.

“You wish,” you threw out, moaning louder at Agatha’s responding slap against your ass.

“Tell me,” Agatha growled, spanking you again, harder than before, cackling at the way your body reacted to it. “So fucking pathetic, no one else can fuck you like this, can they? ”

You remained silent, trying to restrain yourself from climaxing before you felt her inside you again. Agatha spanked you a third time, the slapping sound echoing throughout your office.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” Agatha threatened, and you could tell she was just as far gone as you. “Tell me you missed this.”

“I…I missed this,” you breathed out, the unsaid words hanging heavy in the room, as both you and Agatha knew what you really meant. What she was really asking.

You missed her.

Agatha rubbed the tip of the strap up and down your cunt, and you whined. She had been torturing you with the teasing, all you wanted was for her to be inside you.

“Mommy, please,” you said, nearly crying.

Without warning Agatha pushed inside your entrance in one thrust, making you take her to the hilt. You nearly screamed, her strap almost painfully deep and your walls fluttered around it. You were so full, the only thought on your mind was how you wanted her to stay inside you forever.

Giving you a moment to adjust to her size, Agatha tugged on your hair again, kissing your neck as her hips rested flush against yours. After a few moments she began to move, thrusting slow but deep, staying buried in your cunt.

“That’s it baby, squeeze my cock,” Agatha moaned, making you feel every inch of her. “Good fucking girl.”

“Mommy,” you whimpered, listening to the obscene sound of your hips thrusting against each other, the noise filling the office.

“No one else knows what a slut you are, do they?” Agatha mocked, increasing her pace as she fucked you even harder. “You’re just mommy’s little cocksleeve.”

“Fuck yes,” you moaned, feeling a familiar tightening as your cunt pulsed around the attorney’s cock.

“Say it,” Agatha grunted out, moving at an erratic pace. “Say you’re mommy’s cocksleeve.”

“I’m mommy’s cocksleeve,” you said obediently, relishing in the deep groan that left Agatha’s lips, the sound causing you to clench.

You were so close, you could feel it.

Agatha could tell you were nearing your peak, as she wrapped an arm around your waist, lithe fingers finding your clit and rubbing in time with her unwavering thrusts. Every second teetering you closer to falling off the edge of pleasure.

“Do you want something?” Agatha teased, as you were left breathless after a particularly hard thrust.

“Please,” you begged, not caring how desperate you sounded. “Please I need to…”

“You need what, slut?” Agatha jeered, removing her fingers from your clit, bringing her hand to wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly. “What do you want?”

“Mommy, please,” you pleaded, gasping as the attorney choked you, the delicious burn nearly causing you to finish.

“Come for mommy, baby,” Agatha said, voice hoarse as she kept her hand wrapped around your throat. “Soak my cock.”

You felt yourself let go, body rippling in pleasure as you came, sporadically moving your hips to meet Agatha’s thrusts as she helped you through your orgasm. The attorney grunted before her hips stilled against yours with one final deep stroke, staying inside you as you came down from your high.

Removing her hand from your throat, Agatha stroked your cheek, a stark contrast to how roughly she just fucked you. You let out a deep sigh, collapsing against your desk. It was unclear how long she stayed inside you before she pulled out, chuckling at your little whimpers from being left empty.

“I never understood why you enjoyed running so much,” Agatha said suddenly, body still pressed against yours as she left kisses on every inch of bare skin she could find. “I’ve always found this to be a much more…pleasurable form of cardio.”

You laughed, the sound echoing throughout the room as you felt your heart rate begin to go back to normal. “Funny, Agatha. Very funny.”

Peeling herself off of you, the attorney gently turned you around before settling back in your chair, allowing you to rest on her lap.

“That was…” Agatha trailed off, brushing your damp hair out of your face.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. Agatha didn’t have to finish her thoughts, you knew what she was implying.

You wish this could be easier, this gravitational pull you had towards one another; that things weren’t so majorly twisted between the two of you that you could invite Agatha to dinner and try again. Or to even just have a conversation that didn’t start with an argument and end with both of you naked.

But that wasn’t the reality of the situation, which finally came back to you as you finally caught your breath.

This couldn’t keep happening.

“I have a lot of work to catch up on,” you said suddenly, clearing your throat as you got off the attorney’s lap. “Um, thanks for…”

“For the muffins?” Agatha jested, avoiding your eyes as she stood up, helping you find your clothes. “Your sweet tooth is hard to forget.”

You smiled for a moment, a bittersweet feeling overtaking you as you let her words hit you.

“Yeah, for the muffins.”

Agatha finished redressing, her brown hair splayed messily over her shoulders as she unsuccessfully attempted to tame it. You grabbed a spare hair tie from a drawer in your desk, and held it up to her. Agatha nodded, turning around, allowing you to gather her hair and pull it back. You swore you heard her sigh as your fingers combed through the tousled locks, but you quickly secured it, taking a step back.

The attorney turned back around, an uncertain expression on her face, eyebrows furrowed, her frown line becoming more prominent as she stared at you, deep blue eyes boring into your own.

“You read the hospital records,” Agatha stated, in a tone so certain you questioned why she chose to say it at all.

“Of course not,” you lied, but Agatha’s piercing gaze saw right through you as she arched an eyebrow. “Okay, fine. Yes, I did.”

“And?” Agatha prompted, looking expectantly at you.

“And what?” You questioned, motioning to where the file lay abandoned on the opposite side of your desk. “The majority of the pages are missing. There’s nothing useful there.”

Agatha’s eyes shifted, looking to the ground for just a second, and when she looked back up her signature smirk had returned. “Of course, right as always, dear. I’ll see you in court.”

She snatched the file in her hands before leaving your office, slamming the door shut, leaving you alone, and wondering what the hell just happened. A sinking feeling in your gut was suggesting this case was far more complicated than you had been led to believe.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness fanfiction #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha harkness x fem!reader

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the-unidentified-author · 23 days ago

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The Lord, The Lady and The Long Winter | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Chapter 2/5?: The Wolf of the North

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 - Comming soon

Cregan Stark x House Baratheon Reader

One or more parts in this story will include the following:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW}, smut, minors DNI, new relationship, arguments, harsh words,longing, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another 🚨SLOW BURN🚨

Summary: You’re betrothed to Cregan Stark. The pair of you navigate this relationship of convenience and perhaps even find love.

Word Count: 3,317

*Not my Gif

A/N RANT: I find writing easy. I just splat ideas down on the page. It’s the editing that really gets me. I spend so much time deleting and rewriting, googling synonyms because somehow I’ve managed to use the same word 4,000 times in the last twenty sentences. Agonising over the wording and then Word for some reason trying to make me spell things in american. Then the grammar actually sends me over the edge, Word telling me that there should be a comma, so I add a comma and then no that’s wrong there shouldn’t be a comma there. It actually makes me go feral. Anyway, if anyone wonders why it takes me so long to post more parts, these are some of the reasons.

Chapter 1

It had taken a little over a month for your father and your entourage to reach the castle of Winterfell. As you journeyed, the number of layers and furs you wore in the carriage increased, each piece a necessary defence against the northern chill. It was the last day of the trip, and you were thankful it had finally come to an end, eager to sleep in the same bed for more than one night in a row. You stepped up into the carriage and turned to your father, who was already seated, his expression one of calm reassurance. "Almost there," he said, his voice steady as he attempted a smile.

You averted your gaze, sitting down and looking out at the landscape that unfolded outside. A heavy blanket of snow cloaked the ground, transforming the world into a vast, seamless expanse of white. The trees stood tall and skeletal, their branches laden with frost that sparkled like diamonds in the weak and low winter sun. Occasionally, the wind howled through the barren branches, sending a shiver down your spine and creating an eerie symphony that filled the otherwise still air.

The world outside seemed lifeless, devoid of colour and warmth—how you longed for the vibrant greens and the golden hues of the south, of home. You hadn’t seen an animal for more than a week, and the silence felt oppressive, magnifying the sense of isolation that you felt. Your mind wandered to what your sisters would be doing right now, likely studying or playing in the garden with your mother watching sewing something beautiful as she always was. A lump formed in your throat as you thought about how long it would be until you saw them again. This new landscape was as much a part of your new life as your upcoming marriage; it revealed in its stark beauty but also served as a constant reminder of the challenges that lay ahead. With the shutter closed, you felt a growing knot of anxiety within you, the weight of the impending changes heavy as the snow that blanketed the ground.

At some point, you had fallen asleep, though you couldn't recall when. The anticipation of the day had kept you awake through most of the night, and the uncomfortable seat of the carriage left your body aching. But then, the resounding blast of trumpets heralding your arrival jolted you from your sleep.

“Are we here?" you asked, glancing at your father, whose expression was distant, as if lost in thought.

"Yes," he replied, turning his gaze to meet yours.

"How long do we have before meeting the Starks?" you asked, smoothing your clothes and hoping the nap hadn’t left your hair in disarray.

"Lord Stark will greet us as soon as we step out of the carriage," your father replied, straightening in his seat.

"What? Aren’t we meeting in the hall after we've freshened up?" you exclaimed, taken aback by the immediacy, realising just how soon you'd face the man who’d share your future.

"Ah, but they're Northerners," your father said with a dismissive wave, "They'd find you lovely even in rags." The carriage lurched forward, jolting you both, as your heart raced.

You thought you would have just a little more time, a chance to gather your thoughts and brace yourself for the momentous introduction. Panic rose inside you as it became clear you had mere minutes before meeting the man who would be your husband.

Your heart raced with a flurry of questions and doubts. Would he be as the tales described—harsh and unyielding as the Northern winters—or might there be warmth beneath the layers of fur and Stoic silence? The uncertainties swirled, each more daunting than the last, wrapping around your thoughts like a relentless blizzard.

You fidgeted with the edge of your cloak, trying to calm the rising tide of unease. What if your mannerisms seemed too foreign, your presence too delicate for the rugged North? At this moment, you realised your entire future might rely on one singular, daunting introduction.

You focused on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale slowly to five, as your mother had taught you to do in moments of unease. Her voice echoed in your mind, recounting stories of Lord Cregan Stark and how he had become the embodiment of his house’s strength. At just seventeen, he had fought for power against his uncle, rallying the North to his cause and earning the legendary title of the Wolf of the North.

Now, at twenty-five, he was widely renowned as the most powerful man in the region, with whispers even calling him the King in the North. His influence stretched far, untethered by the intricacies of southern politics. In the refuge of your measured breathing, you hoped to draw some comfort from the formidable reputation of the man who would soon become your husband. Could a man so brilliant at war be kind?

The carriage came to a rest, jolting you back to the present, you looked at your father, who attempted to give you a reassuring nod as the door of the carriage swung open. He moved through it first, giving you a precious few moments to prepare yourself before he turned and extended his hand inside the carriage to help you out and down.

The cold hit you first, making you draw a sharp breath, the icy air burning your lungs. For a brief moment, you looked around and watched as snowflakes danced in the chilled air, touching gently on Winterfell's ancient stone façade. You stepped out, the snow crunching beneath your feet, you were thankful for your father's firm grasp on your hand, worried for a moment that without it, you would slip.

The northern air was sharp and invigorating, a biting chill that seemed to permeate the very fabric of everything it touched. It was the kind of cold that, if endured for too long, would nestle deep into your bones, leaving a lingering reminder of the North’s untamed power. Pulling your thick cloak more tightly around yourself, you sought its warmth and comfort, a shield against the relentless chill.

Your father stepped forward with the practiced grace of his station, turning to address the Northerners who had assembled to witness your arrival.

"Greetings House Stark, I am Lord Borros Baratheon, of the House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End. I have come to present to you, my daughter." His voice was, steady and confident. It carried over the soft whisper of the wind, acknowledging the strength of the Northern families and the significance of the union that would soon bind Baratheon and Stark.

He turned to you and gestured for you to step forwards, and you did, curtseying to the group. Your eyes swept over the crowd of Northerners—a sea of rugged faces hardened by the winter landscape. And there he stood, amidst them, undeniably Cregan Stark. His towering form was enveloped in commanding furs, every inch the lord who embodied the unforgiving north. He looked younger than you thought he would, hearing stories of how the north aged you beyond your years made you worried about what you would be confronted with up getting here.

Cregan stepped forward with an elegant grace, offering a formal bow. Yet, the warmth in his eyes spoke an unspoken promise of understanding and curiosity.

"Welcome to Winterfell," his voice resonated, deep and steady, his accent thick.

Your father and Cregan began discussing the plans for the coming days, their voices a steady hum amidst the towering stone walls of Winterfell. You followed closely behind them, the chill of the Northern air slowly giving way to the warmth of the hall, its fires crackling and casting flickering shadows that danced across the ancient stone.

Eventually, you found your place on a chair, one of many surrounding a small table strewn with maps and parchments that detailed the intricacies of alliances and strategies. The gathering of lords settled into their respective seats, enveloping the table in a sense of purpose and gravitas. Your father leaned forward, engaged in discussions about the expectations of this union, emphasising duty and honour—the very fabric of noble life.

As they spoke, a few lords occasionally cast friendly glances in your direction, but you could sense the unspoken rules that governed the conversation. This was not the sort of assembly where women were expected to voice their thoughts; instead, you listened intently, absorbing the dialogue around you. It was both fascinating and daunting, a whirlwind of responsibilities that felt far removed from the warmth of family gatherings you had known.

You were taken aback that they allowed you to sit at the table at all, a privilege that your father would never have granted you in the South. Perhaps the customs were different in the North, a notion that intrigued and unsettled you. As your gaze wandered around the assembly, it landed on one woman at the table—until that moment, you hadn't realised she was among them.

Dressed in masculine attire, she seemed to blend right in with the lords surrounding her, sitting tall and confident as they addressed her with the same respect reserved for their male counterparts. It was a striking sight, one that momentarily pulled you from your anxious thoughts about the future.

Then, the unexpected happened; she caught your eye and offered a warm smile that brightened her otherwise stern countenance. Heat rose to your cheeks as you realised you had been staring. Quickly, you turned your attention back to Cregan, the man you were to marry, feeling the weight of the room around you as you grappled with the complexities of your new reality.

Cregan Stark was a striking figure to behold, towering head and shoulders above your father, making it instantly clear why others held him in such high esteem. His presence conveyed more than mere physical stature; as soon as he began to speak, his demeanour and the way he carried himself revealed the essence of a man of honour. Unlike the tall men of the South, who seemed like a gust of wind might send them hurtling over the battlements into the sea, Cregan's stature was built broad and firm.

The cloak draped over his shoulders only added to his impressive build, yet you could tell at a glance that this was a physique forged through hard work and rigorous training, not by indulgence in luxuries. Every movement hinted at discipline and strength, an embodiment of the Northern spirit you had heard so much about.

Your eyes focused intently on his face as he spoke, captivated by the way his shoulder-length brown hair framed his features, catching the light to highlight the rugged lines that undeniably spoke of his Northern lineage. Cregan had a strong jaw, lending a chiseled quality to his visage that perfectly complemented the air of unyielding determination he exuded.

But it was his piercing blue eyes that truly drew you in—striking and deep, they seemed to hold an entire world within them. In contrast to the often stark demeanour he carried, those eyes contained an unexpected warmth, like a flickering flame against the cold backdrop of winter. There was a kindness in their depths, a silent promise that perhaps beneath the fierce exterior lay a man capable of tenderness and understanding. With every glance, you felt the pull of his gaze, an invitation to see beyond the bravado and discover the complexities that made him who he was.

He turned and met your eye, and it took you a second to realise that he had asked you a question, you looked around the room at the lords. All poised to listen to your response. You looked to your father for guidance.

"You'll have to excuse my daughter, the journey north has been long. However, I do think that she has enough strength left to accept your suggestion of a tour of Winterfell." he smiled at Lord Stark, who looked from you to your father, an understanding smile playing on his lips as he worked out you hadn't been paying attention.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t expose your lapse in concentration, just stood and shook your father's hand. You stood too as all the other lords stood and moved towards the door. You watched as they filtered out of the room, your father and Cregan being the only two aside from yourself still left in the room.

"Well, I would say that no chaperone is required, it is said that no one in the realms have as much honour as the Starks." your father said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked between the two of you.

He nodded and gave you a small smile and turned to leave the room, the guards at the door opening and closing the door. You felt the resounding boom of the door closing in your chest as it seemed to echo around the entire room. The room seemed smaller as you looked from the door to Lord Stark, he looked so much more intimidating now it was only you in the room.

"My Lady, what part of Winterfell would you like to see first?" he asked stepping towards you.

"I- I don’t know." you whispered, finding it too difficult to look him in the eye.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to your cloak which you had removed and placed on the back of your chair.

You nodded, he carefully picked it up and placed it over your shoulders, you moved your hands to do up the buckle that would secure it to your body and turned to Lord Stark. The massive sword slung across his back caught your attention, its hilt visible above his shoulder—a symbol of the strength and legends whispered in the halls of your childhood home. It seemed a natural extension of him—an embodiment of Cregan Stark, the warrior and the lord.

He smiled down at you, warmth and friendliness lighting up his features. With a gentle tilt of his eyebrow, he extended his elbow towards you, inviting you to take it.

"Well, I shall show you my favourite parts of the castle, and then we'll join your father and the other lords for a late tea," he said, his deep voice smooth and rich, like honey.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, as you took his hand and allowed him to guide you out of the room. Agreeing to marry someone you had never met was undoubtedly a gamble, fraught with uncertainties. Yet, with this match, a sense of hopefulness stirred within you—a feeling as if you had struck gold in a world tarnished by rusted steel.

Your thoughts drifted back to the moment you first learned of your betrothal. That night, your mother had remained by your side, holding you close as you cried, part of you mourning your childhood and the other terrified of the future. She assured you that everything would be alright, words you initially dismissed as just the comforting words you say to someone when they're crying.

But now, with time and distance, you started to see that moment in a different light. There was a certainty in her voice that had been unwavering, and it made you wonder if she had played a part in your match with Lord Stark. Her confidence lingered in your mind, suggesting that perhaps this match carried more promise than you dared to imagine in those initial, tear-filled moments.

Winterfell was a beautiful castle, said to be one of the oldest still standing. As Cregan showed you around, you noticed something different in the way he spoke. Unlike most men, who seemed more interested in proving themselves smarter than you by belittling or over-explaining, Lord Stark had a unique approach.

His way of speaking about the castle and its history felt more like listening to a passionate teacher than a rehearsed lecture. He engaged you with stories, making each tale and detail come alive, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of respect and curiosity grow within you. It was refreshing and made you appreciate not only Winterfell, but also the man guiding you through its storied halls.

He had suggested that the two of you look out over the battlements before retiring to the great hall for something to eat. The climb up to the battlements was more challenging than you had anticipated. The stairs were far narrower than any you had navigated at Storm's End, making you marvel at how men clad in armour could swiftly manoeuvre them during times of war. Yet, as you reached the top, the sight that greeted you was nothing short of breathtaking—a vast, snowy landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. There was a vast expanse of forest in the distance, but even that was coated in snow.

Your home back in Storm's End prided itself on its massive walls for protection against invaders. However, here at Winterfell, the tall walls paired with its isolated, formidable position in the North presented a different kind of strength. The harsh, unforgiving landscape surrounding Winterfell seemed an ally to its defenders, an icy gauntlet capable of claiming the lives of unprepared southern soldiers long before they could even reach the walls. The beauty and latent power of the scene sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the resilience required to thrive in this raw and rugged part of the world.

"There is a small moat hidden by the snow at the bottom of the wall," Cregan began, his gaze shifting to you with a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he was sharing a secret of the North only a few were privy to. "If aren't aware of it and attempt to climb the wall, you sink into snow taller than a man."

You withdrew your hand from the warmth of your fur muff, moving to grasp the metal handle fixed to the wall, hoping to steady yourself for a better view over the battlements. The chill of the metal immediately shot through your fingers, contrasting sharply with the cozy warmth of the muff.

"Agh," you gasped, yanking your hand away from the frigid metal.

Before you could even check for injury, Cregan Stark's gloved hand enveloped yours with a surprising gentleness. He looked down at your hand, his thumb softly brushing across your palm, sending a tingle through your skin. "Careful, My Lady," he murmured, his voice carrying a deep, soothing timbre. "Warm hands stick to cold metal. You could lose some skin if you're not careful."

You grimaced at the thought and glanced back at the metal, reassuring yourself that none of your skin lingered there. "It burns,” you whispered, eyes dropping to the red mark on your palm.

Cregan's gaze met yours, holding a mix of concern and something unspoken. He raised his hand to his mouth, biting the finger of his glove and pulling it off, his breath misting in the cold air. He placed his large, now bare hand over yours, its warmth seeping through your skin, soothing the sting of the cold. His touch seemed to linger longer than necessary, then he removed his hand from yours and pulled the glove from his mouth.

"Careful my Lady, the cold burns sometimes more than fire." He remarked, eyes locked on yours, before slipping his hand back into the glove with deliberate care. "We ought to get you some gloves." His voice carried both practicality and an undercurrent of tenderness that surprised you.

He offered his arm once more, and this time, as you looped your arm around his, the touch felt more intimate, more charged. You tucked your hand back into your fur muff, your hand still feeling the ghost of his.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark #hotd #hotd fanfic #Lord stark #hotd cregan #fanfic #slow burn #i wrote this for me #winterfell #cregan fanfiction #cregan smut #house baratheon

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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago

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I Want You Only - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note:Whatever costume designer put Jensen Ackles in that Giants jersey in S3 you're a hero this one's for you.

Title from Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary/Warnings: You and Ben go shopping. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, pre-established relationship, smut (fingering, mirror sex, semi-public sex)

“I’m not fucking wearing that.”

You sigh, turning the fabric of the shirt between your fingers. “It’s a nice shirt, Ben, and it’s good quality, so it won’t tear-“

“I don’t give a fuck about it tearing.” Ben grumbles, half hanging around your body as his chin rests on the top of your head, glowering at the shirt. “It’s pink.”

“It’s light red-“

“It’s fucking pink, Sunshine.”

You try again, angling your head back to press a kiss to his jaw. “Stained white-“

“Pink.”

“Fine, pink. But,” you lean to the side, holding Ben’s glare with your sweetest, most innocent expression. “Why is that bad?”

He narrows his eyes, like he knows it’s a trap but isn’t quite sure how yet. He’s right, it is a trap—Ben’s not dumb, he’s just old and paranoid and grumpy—but, if he listens to you, it could result in an excellent new shirt, some ice cream, and a reward blowjob.

You’re not worried. Ben always listens to you.

“Girl color.” He grunts, and you wrinkle your nose at him.

“Girl color.”

“That’s what I damn said-“

“And why,” you drawl, leaning your head back onto his shoulder as you give a look of mock thought. “Is a girl color bad?”

“It’s not bad-“

“But you won’t wear it.”

“I’m not a fucking girl!” Ben snaps, and you can feel the sore, hot feeling of something like embarrassment covering his skin.

You let out a long, slow breath, tapping your fingers on his arm as you figure out how to work with this. You know Ben isn’t opposed to women as whole anymore—you being a stronger supe than he is and the tenth half-lecture half-joke about real gentlemen respecting that women are better at things sometimes had gotten the message through—but there are still these small remnants of the past stuck in his head. Small reminders that he is indeed a dinosaur, and the change is slow and long, but effective. And you know how to move with these ideas, how to point out that they’re, logically, kind of fucking stupid in a way he’ll understand, but it takes gentle words, an unmoving will, and a flat expression.

Luckily, you have all three.

“It’s a color, my love.” You say, holding his gaze. “And if I’m trying to buy it for you, do you really think you’ll be any less of a man to me because you’re wearing it?”

He scowls, muttering, “No.”

“And are you going to look bad in it?“

“I look good in damn everything,” he grumbles, and you can’t stop your small giggle.

“You do, you grumpy old ass. And do you think anyone,” you reach your free hand up, tracing your fingers over his beard. “Is going to look at you and think you’re not an overly masculine testosterone factory-“

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks-“

“You give a fuck what I think-“

“That’s not the same, I fucking love you-“

“Well I,” you give him a soft, adoring smile. “Think you’ll look very handsome and strong in pink. I think I love you because you’re you, not because you’re a man. I think you should wear the pink shirt, dumb dumb, because it’s just a color.”

Ben frowns, his jaw clenched, but you can feel his concrete resolve fading and crumbling, rebuilding back into pure care and rough affection as his hands start to rub on your hips.

“Fine.”

Your smile grows wide and bright, and you grab one of his hands in yours, moving it to the shirt. “Look, it’s soft, feel it-“

Ben doesn’t get to feel the shirt, because he rips his hand from yours, grabs your jaw, and tilts your head full back for a kiss. It’s long, and hungry, and leaves you dizzy as he holds you against his chest.

I’ll get the fucking shirt, brat. For you. Stop trying to damn convince me.

You nod, a little stupidly. Yeah. Okay.

Ben pulls back with a smirk, and scans over your open features, the pride and love glowing in his body as he swipes a little bit of drool away with his thumb. You’re hungry.

As if on his command, your stomach growls, and you just groan, closing your eyes as he chuckles.

“Stop doing that, Ben-“

“I’m not doing a damn thing, beautiful.” Ben nips at your nose, his grin growing. “Not my fault I know my fucking wi- woman. Let’s get you some food.”

You hum, and grab the shirt to add to your small basket of Ben clothes. Mostly jeans and solid color t-shirts, as well as one Hawaiian shirt to rub in Butcher’s stupid face and a pair of gray sweatpants that you’d been incredibly adamant be added to the collection. It all fits in one bag, adding to the collection of lingerie that’s all going be ripped off your body before the week is over, boring men’s boxers, and the makeup you don’t need but had fun explaining to Ben.

He’s carrying the rest of it—your clothing—because there’s more of them. The lingerie and makeup fit in tiny paper bags barely bigger than your forearms, and Ben’s boxers get stuffed in his still-small bag of clothing, but you have at least five bags of mostly cheap, poor-quality shirts and shorts and pants and skirts. It’s by design—clothing tends to be the most frequent victim of the fire aspect of your powers—but you still don’t love it. You don’t love how nothing in those bags feels like you. You don’t really need anything expensive or permanent, but you’d like to feel like you, at least a little.

You always feel like you with Ben. Under his attention or trading teasing words or tucked into his side. He guides you out of the shop, and you let him lead you through the mall, find a place that serves what he deems to be acceptable food—even if there are no burgers—and sit you down at a small, fancy table. He keeps some part of himself on your body the whole time, whether it’s a hand on your waist, or an arm over your shoulders, or a knee pressed a little between your legs. It’s a little intoxicating, and does absolutely nothing to help you focus on anything but Ben.

But you don’t need to focus on anything but Ben right now. This week is just for you both to do stupid things like shop and touch each other and eat. All you need to spare thought to is Ben, big and warm around you, certain and attentive across from you, so fucking handsome and strong and always good. Grumpy and old, but good.

All yours, and good.

“I’m proud of you,” you hum, watching him all but inhale the restaurant’s largest available pizza. “You managed to get through all the underwear shopping without fucking me.”

“You didn’t fucking wear any of them.” He grumbles, a large glob of sauce falling onto his chin. “All you’re wearing right now is my boxers, and that’s fucking-“ Ben cuts himself off, his love and hunger starting to pound at your chest. “That’s fucking hot. Let’s find a bathroom-“

“You are not fucking me in a public bathroom, Benjamin-“

“I’ve already fucked you in a public bathroom, Sunshine.” He winks at you, and you flush. “And it doesn’t have to be a bathroom, we can find a changing room-“

“No. No public sex, you horny cunt.” You glare at him, but your voice has lost a lot of its authority, because Ben’s grinning at you, and his knee is pressed to yours, and he’s swiped away the sauce from his beard and he’s licking his fingers clean just like he does after you cum on them-

“Seems like someone,” Ben drawls, and you can’t really think outside of his deep, teasing voice or handsome, insufferable, smug grin. “Has a real damn horny cunt, and might need me to fuck it before she starts drooling again-“

“Shut up.” You mutter, glaring at your plate of meatballs as Ben laughs. “You're such an asshole.”

He shrugs. “You love it.”

You sigh. “I do.”

Ben’s smile turns wide and smug, and you can feel something glowing and devout glowing along his ribs as he gives a satisfied nod and returns his attention to the pizza.

“I can call the taxi when we’re done.” You hum, poking at your plate with a fork. “It might take a minute to get here, so I can do it now-“

Ben freezes, frowning at you. “Why.”

“To go home? I mean we could walk, but it’s really far and we have a lot of bags-“

“I understand the fucking taxi,” Ben drawls your name, still frowning. “Why the fuck would you call it now.”

You blink at him, tilting your head. “So we can get home sooner-“

“We’re not done here.”

“I mean we’ll pay the bill-“

“No, Sunshine, the mall. We’re not done at the fucking mall.”

“Oh.” Your brows draw together as you try to figure out why his words are so firm, why there’s no ache or soreness in his body, but still stone-like care wrapped over your skin. “What?”

“You need more clothing.”

You look between the large bags—spilling out from under the table—and Ben, your voice becoming dry. “I really don’t think I do, Pretty Boy.”

“You hate all that shit.” He snaps, waving his hand to the same bags. “We’re getting you something you like. And don’t,” he raises one finger, pointing at you with a stern glare that makes your gut warm. “Try to fucking tell me you’re fine, or it doesn’t matter. I can fucking feel you, darling, and you hate it.”

You swallow, forcing words out as your whole world dissolves to Ben. “I don’t, I don’t love it, but it’s not worth getting more, I just burn through everything so it would be a waste of money-“

“If it makes you happy, it’s not a waste of fucking money.” Ben grunts, holding your gaze in that way that makes you feel entirely vulnerable and stripped apart for him to care and adore, and yet so incredibly safe. “We’re not leaving the mall until you get one damn thing you like. Got it?”

You don’t really have anywhere to be, or anything to do. You still have a disgusting amount of arguably stolen CIA money. Ben’s knee has somehow wedged itself fully between your legs, and you can feel his ardor roaring in his chest as he pays your bill, as heat starts to grow in your core, where Ben is just too far to touch.

“Got it,” you whisper, and Ben nods, grabbing your hand as he stands and helping you out of your seat.

“Good.” He kisses the side of your head, grabbing all the bags before you can protest or insist on carrying at least a few of them. “Let’s go.”

It takes two hours and four shops to find something. Ben is, predictably, incredibly unhelpful in making choices, because while the man is full of countless opinions about what he’ll wear, he has next to no thoughts on what you should wear.

“What about this?” You extend what might be the fiftieth dress from the rack for his to survey, and Ben—the dickhead—just shrugs.

“Get that.”

“Well, I don’t know if I want it-“

“Why the fuck not.”

“I don’t know if it would look good on me-“

“Everything looks fucking good on you, beautiful.” Ben grunts, and you sigh.

“That’s not helpful, Benjamin-“

“It’s the damn truth-“

“It’s your truth.” You lean your head on his shoulder, continuing to frown at the dress. It’s a nice dress, and it is a color that usually looks good on you, but it’s revealing and expensive and fancy, and you haven’t worn anything like it in four years. “You’re incredibly bias in my favor, my love. Other people who aren’t in love with me might think I look bad in this.”

“Nobody with fucking eyes is going to think you look bad,” Ben says your name in the shell of your ear, and you might have whimpered. “Get the damn dress.”

“But I might not-“

“You’re going to look fucking hot.” Ben doesn’t waver, moving to cage your path away from the dress. “You like it?”

You swallow, and nod. “I do, but-“

“If you try it on,” Ben mutters. “And prove me fucking right, will you buy the damn dress?”

“Yes-“

Ben’s moving before you can protest any further, somehow holding every bag on one arm so he can grab the dress, shove it into your hands, and guide you to the dressing room.

You’ve never seen him pout more than when the saleswoman hands you a key and tells him he can’t go in with you. You can feel it, sour and soft around his heart, and it would make you sad if you didn’t know he just really wanted to see you naked.

I’ll be right back. You lean down to where he’s dropped on a bench, kissing over his beard with a gentle smile. I love you.

I love you too, Ben mutters, pulling his violent glower away from the saleswoman to kiss you fully, tangling his hand in your hair and almost making you collapse onto his lap. Be fast.

You try to be. You don’t really love leaving Ben out there anymore than he likes it, mostly because he’s either going to start interrogating anyone else who tries to enter the changing rooms—where you are, where he can’t go, which to his overprotective, paranoid head, means where you’re in danger—but a little bit because this place is cold, and Ben is warm, and this is his stupid idea so he should have to help you.

Are you almost done.

It’s been three minutes, Pretty Boy. You frown at the mirror, readjusting the fabric and turning at awkward angles to try and see yourself better. Give me a minute.

There’s a pause, and then, Do you look hot.

I don’t know, Ben, I’m not the best judge of my own appearance-

Let me see it.

You roll your eyes at your own reflection. How.

I don’t fucking know, come out here.

You flush, glancing at your discarded clothing on the bench. I, um, I can’t.

Why the fuck-

I had to take off your boxers. They were too long.

Ben doesn’t respond, but a wave of hunger so powerful it almost knocks you off your feet crashed through your body, and suddenly the instinct of Ben, Ben, Ben starts to grow in your body. Everything feels sharper, and smells like pine, and there’s a feverish glow rioting in your chest only moments before the door to your changing room bursts open. Ben stomps in, his eyes on yours almost feral and blown out with lust, and he kicks to door closed without sparing a look behind him.

He scans you up and down, nostrils flaring as his throat bobs, and you feel the hunger grow insatiable as he gives a short, rough nod. Before you can open your mouth, ask how the hell he got in or remind him of the no public sex again rule, he’s moving, and you don’t really care about anything else anymore. Ben’s walked you backward, pressing you against the mirror and caging you between his arms, and when his mouth crashes into yours he’s ravenous. The kiss is brutal and long, stealing your breath in barely a moment and ruining you with just bruising lips and a tongue down your throat.

Ben-

Fucking Christ. He groans, and the sound rolls through your body, making you whimper. You’re so fucking perfect.

Please, Ben, fuck, please. You’re not sure exactly what you’re begging for, but you know you need Ben. That he’s big and strong and warm around you, and his mouth has dropped to suck and bite on your neck, and you’re grinding down onto his thigh but it’s not enough, it’s never enough, you need Ben and you’ll never have enough-

He spins you around without warning, wrapping an arm around your waist, trailing a warm hand down your stomach until it’s under your dress, and starting to rub your clit with two expert, broad fingers.

You’re a goddamn marvel, he mutters in your head, grabbing your chin with his free hand and forcing your gaze onto the mirror. Prettiest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, darling, so fucking wet and good for me.

Ben-

Look at you. His mouth starts to trial over your collarbone, smirking at your breathless, needy sound as you squirm in his hold. So fucking beautiful, all the damn time. When you’re getting smart with me, he nips at your shoulder, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. Bossing me around, his fingers leave your clit, but before you can moan in protest they’re shoved deep inside you, pumping and scissoring as his thumb continues to play with that bundle of nerves. Getting fucking wrecked on my hand. Always so perfect, Sunshine.

God, you let out a loud moan, unable to care who might hear you as Ben’s fingers crook against the sweet, spongy spot inside of you. Benjamin, fuck, please-

Want to cum, darling?

Yes, yes please-

His fingers are gone in a second, and you make a desperate noise of protest that turns into a half-scream as his cock shoves into you from behind. You’d have fallen over if Ben hadn’t pinned your body upright, and fuck this is everything, Ben is everything, he’s splitting you open and groaning and kissing over your shoulders and throat and jaw, and Ben-

Fuck, he grunts your name in your head, setting a brutal, skin slapping pace that makes your eyes roll back in your head. You’re fucking perfect, strangling my fucking cock, taking me so good, so fucking pretty, Sunshine, so fucking wet and good for me-

Please, you reach behind you, trying to angle his face to yours. Ben, fuck- Please-

Ben’s hand trails back up your stomach, pulling one tit out of the dress and rolling your nipple between his fingers. Cum for me, beautiful, soak my fucking cock-

You spasm around him, shivering and shaking and making lewd, needy sounds as Ben fucks you through your orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic as he watches you in the mirror.

Good girl, so fucking good, fuck- He pinches your nipple as you grow slack in his arms, taking everything he gives you as your body grows sensitive. Fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect-

Ben, you whimper, your body already overloading as he drags you back to the edge, his cock hitting every right spot in your cunt. Ben-

He buries his face in your neck as he cums, muffling his groan on your skin as he spills into your body. It sends you over the edge with him—everything hazy and your vision blurred with the pure, blissful feel of Ben—and when you both come down you’re panting and flushed and squeezing around Ben’s softening cock, still twitching inside you.

“Buy the stupid dress, Sunshine.” Ben mutters, kissing your neck and holding your gaze in the mirror. “You look like a fucking work of art.”

You’re going to have to buy the dress now, because Ben’s fucked you in it and it smells like his salty, heady cum. But he’s also not lying, because you look a little wild and dazed, but you are beautiful. It’s easy to believe that when Ben says it, because his voice is always borderline stern, and he doesn’t lie. Ben could tell you anything about yourself, about how good and perfect and beautiful you are, and as long as he’s like that—his release dripping down your thighs, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his hands tracing patterns on your hips—you’d believe him.

And you think there are worse fates than that, so you smile, and nod, and give in.

Ben makes it so impossibly simple to smile, and nod, and give in.

End Note: She crumbled under 0 pressure to have sex in public (again). Same.

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