#Following through on my fic idea from yesterday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheriecoke · 4 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY — levi ackerman

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. your car breaks down before you can make it home for christmas. it leaves you with no choice but to call your ex-boyfriend.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. fluff, sfw, gn!reader, exes, christmas, light angst, second chance romance, soft!levi, modern au — 3.3k words

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. dropping the annual levi christmas fic. happy birthday to my beloved, he is such a special character to me and has gotten me thru some rough times :( forever grateful u exist levi ackerman. this was going to go in a completely different direction in my head but... alas the words lead me and i must follow. hope you enjoy!

Of all the things to happen on Christmas Eve, car trouble ranked among the worst. Which, naturally, meant that’s exactly what happened to you.

Something not too far from a blizzard had come in overnight, coating the roads in a thick, hazardous blanket. It looked beautiful, sure, but you were two hours away from where you needed to be on Christmas, and you figured — how bad could it be?

The answer was bad.

You’d skidded, blown out a tire (they were old, due for a change), and found your hood popped open with an odd smoke, stranded only 30 minutes south of where you’d come from. Your family was expecting you home by the evening, there to see everyone for Christmas Eve dinner.

At this rate, you’d be lucky if you made it for Christmas at all.

After cursing yourself profusely for not just taking an extra day off and leaving yesterday, you started scrolling through your phone, looking for assistance.

The towing company answered the line in a sharp tone, already dismissive of your worries. It was idiots like you that kept them working Christmas Eve, and their annoyance was evident.

“What can I do for you?” a man, testy and older, answered.

You explained the situation, and received a less than understanding response.

“Sorry, miss, but we’ll be two hours out. There’s been a few other incidents, and we’re short-staffed. We can give you another call when we free up.”

“But I need to be somewhere tonight. There must be something you can do?”

“Sorry,” he said again, but it was clear he wasn’t very sorry at all. “If I were you, I’d start making calls… See if there’s anyone brave enough to come pick you up in this weather.”

He hung up on you.

You groaned, throwing your hands up in the air. It was unlikely that anyone would want to be your savior tonight. Your family was still 70 miles away, and everyone else you knew had other plans for Christmas Eve.

But.

You knew this stretch of road well, were more familiar with it than most streets along here. It was a country highway that wrapped around the smaller town before leading you onto the interstate, one direction to your hometown, the other to the city you lived in.

Of course, it was here that your car had decided to break down, just ten minutes away from your ex-boyfriend’s house — a man you knew would be home, and certainly wouldn’t be afraid of the weather.

In fact, he was the only one that wasn’t a tedious drive away, that could save you from the unfortunate situation you’d found yourself in.

You squeezed your eyes tight, trying not to cry.

Calling Levi seemed your only choice — as pathetic of a choice as that was. You weren’t even sure he’d still have your number, or if he’d answer. But, your hands were becoming numb, the temperatures were dropping with the sun, and you weren’t sure how long you could stay out here without getting frostbite.

Still, on the second ring, you faltered, licking your lips.

Maybe this was a bad idea. It’d been three years, after all. For all you knew, he could’ve had a new partner, could’ve been engaged. He could’ve moved across the country without any warning — you had no idea.

Your hand started to fall away from your cheek, phone dropping with it. But the familiar tone stopped you, interrupting the third ring.

“Hello?”

You exhaled, unprepared for the wave of emotions that washed over you from that simple word. Levi sounded exactly like you’d remembered, his voice even, almost monotone, nothing in it betraying his emotions.

Still, it made your stomach twist. You couldn’t help but recall a time when that word had held a hint of affection in it.

“Levi,” you said, pushing away that line of thought to keep your voice steady. “You answered.”

He was, apparently, just as surprised as you were. There was a long pause on the other end, before he resumed talking.

“I almost didn’t,” Levi admitted, releasing a breath of air that had to have come through his nose. “I didn’t want to. But, I couldn’t think of a good reason you’d call me on Christmas Eve unless—”

“I’m so sorry,” you cut him off, apologizing. You pinched the bridge of your nose, shivering in the cold. “I wouldn’t be calling if I weren’t desperate. but my car broke down — I was driving back to my parents’ house, and the tow company can’t come yet…” you rushed through the story, sparing too many details. “But it’s freezing, and you were the closest person I could think to call.”

He went silent once again.

That was when you started to realize how crazy you’d been to call him. The last conversation you’d had was around this time of year, both of you stiffly walking through all the reasons you were worse for each other than you were better.

This was a horrible idea.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, shaking your head. Tears of embarrassment flooded your waterline. You weren’t sure they’d ever stopped. “This was stupid. Fuck. Forget it. I’ll—”

“Where are you?”

“What?”

“Where are you?” Levi repeated, insistent. “I only answered because I figured it was an emergency. Looks like I was right. So where are you?”

Your heart flipped at the notion that, even if it was a small part of him, he still cared.

After fifteen more minutes of shivering in your freezing car, you ended up back at Levi’s house. The same house he’d lived in for ten years, and probably would live in until he died.

Levi wasn’t a homebody — in fact, he liked to spend more time outside of the house than he probably spent in it. He traveled a lot, sometimes for work, sometimes for fun. But it was a home that had belonged to his mother, until she passed away when he was freshly eighteen.

Even if he hated living in this suburban town, you didn’t think he could stomach to part with the home he’d been raised in. One of the only things he had left of his mom.

It was almost heartbreaking, that you knew such intimate details about a person that had faded out of your life.

Levi’s house looked about the same, but Levi… Well, he looked incredible. As far as breakups went, he must have gotten the better end of it.

His black hair was lightly dusted with snow when he helped you out of his car, red cheeks a bright contrast against his pale skin. Time may have dulled your memory of him, but you could have sworn his eyes had gotten even more blue in the time you’d been apart.

God, he was gorgeous. How had you ever been with someone like him?

“Would you like any tea?” Levi asked, taking you to the kitchen. Not like you’d forgotten how to get there. You’d spent enough time in his house to know the layout, right down to the foundation.

“Sure,” you said, still shivering, even with the heat blasting in the house. “Thank you, Levi. Not just for the tea, but for helping me. I won’t stay long, I promise.”

Levi was rummaging through his cabinet, and looked over his shoulder, back at you. Something rest on the edge of his tongue, but he said nothing, busying himself once more.

The kitchen was the same as you’d remembered. None of the furniture had changed, but he’d added new appliances, changed out some of the cookware. Poinsettias were in the middle of the table, the only festive thing in the room.

You stared at them, and frowned, the tension between the two of you palpable. While you’d met each other once again like you’d never been parted, there still an underlying current of mistrust and uncertainty. A feeling that was expected to linger.

The break-up between you hadn’t been nasty, but you hadn’t parted on the best of terms, either. You and Levi had always argued… a lot. Half the time, it didn’t mean anything, but you couldn’t stop yourself from spitting something mean when you got angry.

It was your similarities that drove you apart, not your differences. You were both so neat, you fought over where things were meant to go. You were both independent, you grew frustrated with sharing space and compromises.

You were both stubborn, and never admitted to being wrong, even when it caused a rift between you and split you apart for good.

Of course, the worst issue was your tendency to bottle up your feelings, rather than talk through them. A problem that Levi shared — meaning that every little thing between you was brushed under the rug, only to trip you up later.

Levi brought the steaming mug over, pushing it to you across the table. You took a small sip of it, blinking at him over the edge of ceramic.

“My favorite tea?” you asked, recognizing the taste of it immediately. “You remembered.”

“I wasn’t sure if you still liked it, but I’ve kept it around anyway,” Levi said, and, as if realizing what he’d admitted, continued, “It grew on me. I drink it now.”

You smiled. It was small and sad, mourning all the things you’d lost, but the sentiment warmed you all the same. You remembered Levi loved earl grey in the mornings, and chamomile before bed. In the fall, he preferred rooibos, the color and flavor reminded him of the autumn leaves.

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t like any of those things, anymore.

“I’m glad you like it now,” you said, humming. “You never did, before.”

It sounded like a jab, even if you didn’t mean it as one. Levi stiffened, only slightly, before he released the tension and snorted, tightening his grip around the mug.

You glanced at his hands, slender and pale, veins purple under his skin. Hands that had once roamed all over your body, slipped inside you, pulling you apart from the seams.

That wasn’t a path you wanted to go down. You blinked, pushing away that line of thought as your stomach flipped, and prayed he hadn’t noticed your staring.

“Anyway,” Levi coughed, clearing his throat.

You nearly shrunk from embarrassment, certain that he had discerned your thoughts, but Levi wasn’t looking at you at all. His eyes were fixed on the clock across the room, watching the hand rotate around the frame.

“You were visiting your family. How have they been?”

Safe conversation, easy conversation. The kind that you could have had with any stranger, even if Levi knew all your family by name, knew your Christmas traditions. You repeated old history anyway, like you were meeting him for the first time, sharing weekend plans with an acquaintance before going your separate ways.

The two of you chatted for a while, sipping on your teas, all the while, avoiding the topic of his holiday plans — if only to sidestep the discomfort that came with hearing he had none. Not that that was shameful, of course. Plenty of people did nothing for the holidays, didn’t want to.

But, Levi had always come home with you for Christmas, for five years. Everyone loved him. Although you’d been nervous, at first, Levi fit right in, made himself comfortable with those that you cherished. He was polite, even though his sarcasm often bled through. But, that only made him funnier, in the eyes of everyone you held dear. They’d always given him two sets of gifts — for Christmas and his birthday — excited to watch him open them.

Levi had always been so stoic when he responded with a stiff thank you, but you could see how touched he was, how pleased to be integrating himself so easily into your life.

He’d made your holidays better than they’d ever been.

Now, he spent them alone.

You couldn’t help but feel like your breakup had taken something special away from him, something he should’ve gotten to keep, even whilst you were separated. Maybe you could invite him home with you, just so your cousins could play one more round of cards with him and lose.

Melancholia flowered in your chest, and you, then, yearned for those moments, the ones you’d kept so dear.

How had everything gone so wrong?

Your conversation stalled. You looked at each other, unsure what to say next.

Shifting anxiously in your seat, you stood, as if for the first time realizing that you were in Levi Ackerman’s house, and you shouldn’t have been. That you were having cordial conversation with a man you swore to never speak to again, and it was like falling back into a routine, it was normal.

And that was the worst thing about it — you knew why’d you’d broken up, but right now, you could hardly recall a good reason.

“I’m sorry,” you said for the millionth time that evening, eyes flashing towards the clock. It had only been thirty minutes, but the snow was getting worse and your tea was cold. “I should call my parents and let them know I won’t be home tonight. Hopefully the roads will be—”

“Wait.” Levi reached out, grabbing your hand before you could stand and make your exit.

Your eyes flashed down to where you touched, at the same time his did, before you uncomfortably broke away. Levi blinked, then chewed the inside of his cheek, his mouth still drawn into that unexpressive, thin line.

“What?” you asked, after too many seconds of silence.

Levi inhaled, then dropped his head, jaw working as he looked away. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, over the past two years.”

Your breath caught in your chest. “About?”

You already knew the answer.

“When we—” He licked his lips, eyes narrowing at the microwave, before they met your own. “Decided to end it.”

Decided to end it. What a harsh way of putting it, but you supposed it was true. A final round in the passionate romance you’d had. A break-up seemed too simple for what you’d been, when it had ripped your heart out of your chest.

“Oh,” you said, swallowing.

“I know you might not want to have this conversation,” he said, nodding to himself. “But I need to say what I should’ve a long time ago. That I’m sorry.” Levi’s eyes were on you then, a more intense shade than you’d ever seen before. You froze, feeling unable to move, locked in the storminess of his gaze. “So many things were my fault. All the times I was dismissive, the times I was angry. All the times I didn’t communicate when I should’ve.” He released a breath, and despite his bravado, you realized he was just as nervous as you were. “I didn’t know how to love you like you wanted, and I’m sorry that I did such a bad job of it.”

You blinked, watching him shift in his chair. “Levi…” you said slowly, softly, the word agonizing as it left his lips.

“I know that doesn’t make it right, but I need you to know. I am sorry. You deserved better.”

That, alone, brought you close to tears, that he seemed to be taking the blame for all the things that went wrong. Putting it on himself, when it was both of you, incapable of working together. “Levi, I’m sorry too,” you blinked back your tears, setting aside your pride. You’d already lost enough dignity, what was a little more? “You loved me just fine. Maybe I just couldn’t appreciate what I had. I never tried hard enough to make it work.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No,” Levi huffed, “it’s—” But then he stopped, gathering himself, catching the fall, right back into the same old routine. You looked down at your hands, embarrassed. “We weren’t bad for each other. Nothing we ever did was bad for each other.” It sounded like a question, even if it wasn’t.

“It must have been,” you said, in a small voice. “Otherwise…”

Otherwise, you’d still be together.

Levi smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched on the table. “I should’ve called you, when you left. I shouldn’t have let you walk away.”

“But you did.”

“I did,” he breathed. “And I regret it every day of my life.”

You looked up at him, eyes shining at the realization. He still wanted you, maybe even still loved you.

And as much as you cared for him, as much as your heart still bloomed in your chest at the sight of him, you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

“Levi—” you began, hoping to dispel the conversation. But he didn’t let it get that far, voice cracking at the start of his sentence.

“I mean it. I think about it all the time. About you. You were my friend as much as you were my partner, and I wanted you forever. I miss you. I—” Levi cut himself off, there, at the growing look of fear on your face, the knowledge that he was going to let something slip he shouldn’t.

It tugged at your heartstrings all the same, and you looked away, wrapping yourself up in your arms.

Silence fell across the room, the only sound the howling wind outside, a flurry of snow crashing against the window. Levi waited, patiently, for you to be the one to break the silence — and you summoned up all your courage, all your honesty, for a response.

“I would be lying, if I said I didn’t think about it too… What it would be like to try again.”

Levi looked up, blue eyes narrow, but sharp with anticipation. “You—”

“I miss you too, Levi.” It felt like carving your heart out of your chest and handing it to him on a platter. “But it couldn’t be like it was before. Where we talked to each other about everything except for what really mattered. We can’t.” you swallowed, shaking your head. “I can’t do that again.”

“I know.” Levi licked his lips. “Is that something… You would want?”

Was it? Was Levi truly what you wanted, or were you not thinking clearly, only remembering the good times amongst all the bad. Were you just yearning for an idealization of love, a feeling that you’d been missing since splitting with Levi? Was it him you really wanted, or just someone to call your own?

But you knew the answer. It was obvious.

“Yes,” you answered, so quiet you weren’t sure he could hear it. “I would… I do want that. Maybe that’s why I didn’t hesitate to call you tonight.”

Levi didn’t smile, but his eyes brightened, the storminess fading away so they looked like the sky. The cloud of grey above him melted away, and he seemed even younger than he had before, caught in the promises of adoration, akin to a boy in a schoolyard.

“You can spend Christmas with me. Your birthday,” you said, hesitantly, not knowing if you’d even make it home, if you’d be stuck here. If that kind of invitation was not yours to give. “If that’s something you’d want.”

“It is,” Levi answered softly, without questioning it, gripping your hand across the table. “I would’t want to spend it any other way.”

You smiled at each other, then, caught up in the glow of Christmas lights and the snow outside, a shaky vow holding between you. Maybe things wouldn’t change — maybe they would go back to how it’d been before, neither of you ever saying what you really meant. Maybe you’d hurt each other worse than you ever had before.

But you loved him — you loved each other. And that could be enough.

thank you for reading! ❤︎ reblogs and comments are appreciated!!! i might write a pt 2 if there is enough interest, but i wanted to finish this before christmas ◡̈

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hereforuconnwbb · 19 days ago

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The Study of Us - CHAPTER 2

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 6.4k

warning: language, mention of injury

heres chap 2 guysss !!! im tryna follow the ideas u guys gave me, so im not 100% sure if its exactly what yall had in mind, but im gonna slowly build it up from here 🤞🏽 hopefully there’s no mistakes and it all makes sense cause i wrote the last bit of this chapter and read through this half asleep 😭 anywaysss hope u guys enjoy 🫶🏽

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

It was still early, but the campus was already alive. The buzz of conversation, the shuffle of students walking to class, and the occasional skateboard rolling past made it feel like the world had hit play again. Paige stood by one of the low stone benches just outside the library, sunlight hitting her face while a gentle breeze played with the hem of her hoodie.

She was early, way too early, but she’d never admit she was nervous. Her phone was in her hand, thumbs scrolling through Instagram, even though she hadn’t really seen a single post. She kept checking her reflection in the dark screen anytime it dimmed. Hair was decent. Fit looked casual but intentional. Nothing screamed I’m trying, even though she absolutely was.

Calm down, she told herself for the twentieth time. It’s just tutoring. You need help. That’s all it is.

A group of students passed by laughing, and Paige looked up, spotting Caroline a few feet away walking with her coffee, headed her direction. She was with Aubrey, Ice, and KK all of them talking shit about something and laughing loudly. Paige already regretted her decision to come to this part of campus.

Caroline smirked the second she saw Paige. “So,” she said, greeting her with a little side hug. “You texted Azzi?”

Paige gave her a side-eye. “How do you already know that?”

“She told me last night,” Caroline said innocently, sipping her coffee.

Aubrey lit up. “Wait, wait, you messaged her? Already? Damn, that didn’t take long.”

KK raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on? Who’s Azzi?”

Caroline turned to her with a smile. “Azzi’s my best friend. She’s super smart. Paige needed help with some classes, so I suggested Azzi could tutor her.”

“And I said I was fine,” Paige muttered.

“And then you texted her anyway,” Aubrey said, grinning. “Knew you would. Couldn’t go under 24 hours without seeing her again.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige said under her breath, adjusting her bag strap to have something to do with her hands.

Ice laughed. “Hold on, is this the same Azzi girl that Aubrey said had you all flustered yesterday?”

Aubrey nodded proudly. “Yup. Paige met her once and forgot how to talk.”

“I didn’t forget how to—geez, will you all chill?”

KK leaned in toward Ice. “Now I really wanna see what this girl looks like.”

“You might get your chance,” Caroline said casually, checking her watch. “She’s got class with me in a few minutes. She’s probably walking up now.”

And almost on cue, a voice called out from behind them.

“Hey, Caroline!”

The group turned and spotted Azzi walking up to the group of girls, backpack slung over one shoulder, her braids swaying slightly as she walked. The sunlight caught on her hoops, and Paige went completely still.

Azzi looked laid-back and composed, like she hadn’t just unknowingly walked into a firing squad of nosy basketball girls. She gave Caroline a warm smile before her eyes moved naturally to Paige and paused. Her smile lingered, just a bit softer now.

“Hey, Paige,” she added.

Paige nodded quickly. “Hey.”

They made eye contact, and it was enough to set off another wave of chaos in Paige’s chest. She was hoping no one would notice, but of course, the girls clocked it instantly.

Ice nudged KK and whispered, “Yeah, I get it now.”

KK nodded slowly. “Mhm. She’s got that calm, pretty energy. No wonder Paige’s out here acting like a freshman with a crush.”

“Shut up,” Paige hissed through gritted teeth, though her ears were turning red.

Azzi looked toward the two new faces in the group, a little curious but she does recognise them. Caroline jumped in. “Azzi, this is KK and Ice our teammates. KK, Ice, this is Azzi.”

Azzi offered a polite smile. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“You too,” KK said, still smirking. “Heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

Aubrey was barely holding it together. “We didn’t even say anything yet,” she said, laughing. “But sure, Paige. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

“Liar,” Paige muttered.

Azzi glanced at her, still smiling, and Paige felt the air shift again so subtle, but it was there. That unspoken thing sitting between them that no one was addressing. Paige quickly looked away before her teammates could start up again.

“Welp, I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Caroline said to the group. “Azzi and I have class.”

“Later,” Aubrey called as Caroline and Azzi started walking away. Aubrey turned towards Paige with a smirk so evil Paige felt it in her bones.

Paige groaned. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

“Oh, I’m saying everything,” Aubrey said gleefully. “The way you just shut down when she looked at you? Paige Bueckers, the ultimate rizzler herself, turned into a puppy.”

Ice laughed. “And she didn’t even do anything. She just said hi”

“Fuck off,” Paige muttered, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be mad. Not really. Because yeah, Azzi hadn’t done anything. And yet here Paige was, heart racing from a single look.

—-----------------------

Azzi settled into her usual seat beside Caroline in the lecture hall, her notebook already open, though the pen in her hand wasn’t moving. The lecture hadn’t even properly started yet, but even if it had, she knew she wouldn’t be paying attention right away.

Her thoughts kept wandering.

Specifically, to the text she’d gotten the night before. From Paige.

She hadn’t expected to actually hear from her, not after how Paige had brushed off the idea of tutoring like it was unnecessary, even laughable.

Azzi had stared at the message for a solid minute before replying.

Even now, she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about it.

“Earth to Az” Caroline murmured, nudging her gently with her elbow. “You’ve been zoning out for the past five minutes. Thinking about someone?”

Azzi blinked and turned toward her, caught but trying to play it cool. “No. I mean—sort of. Just… thinking.”

Caroline’s smirk said she wasn’t buying it. “Thinking about how Paige Bueckers finally caved and texted you for tutoring?”

Azzi let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “I told you last night. I was just surprised she actually did it. She looked so confident yesterday like she was going to fake it till finals.”

“Well, she is confident,” Caroline said, half-amused, half-approving. “But academics? Paige only pretends she doesn’t care. Inside, she’s stressing big time when she’s behind. Girl’s too proud to admit it most of the time.”

Azzi tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t expect her to be the kind to reach out. Especially to someone she barely knows.”

“She knows who you are,” Caroline said, shooting her a look. “You’re the quiet one who actually takes notes and doesn’t worship the ground she walks on. That probably intrigued her.”

Azzi gave her a look. “I don’t worship anyone. I just… don’t care about basketball or any other sports.”

“Exactly,” Caroline grinned, tapping her nails against the desk. “That makes you different. Refreshing, even.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, unsure how to take that. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think I’d actually be tutoring her. It feels weird.”

Caroline turned more fully toward her, her expression softening. “Weird because you don’t know her, or weird because she was lowkey flustered around you?”

“I don’t think it was anything like that,” Azzi said slowly, trying to sound firmer than she felt. “She was probably just nervous about needing help. That’s all.”

Caroline tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “Sure. That’s all.”

Azzi sighed. “I don’t even know her. Like, I’ve heard of her, obviously, but we’ve never talked until yesterday. And it was barely even a conversation.”

“You don’t need to know her to notice when someone’s acting different around you,” Caroline said, her tone a little more knowing now. “I’ve seen Paige with a lot of people. She’s got this… guard. But with you? She was definitely off her game.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was starting to feel the flutter of nerves deep in her chest. “You’re reading into this too much. I’m just going to help her study, that’s it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Alright, fine. Just tutoring. But don’t act surprised if she tries to flirt in her weird, awkward way.”

Azzi snorted, brushing her hair behind her ear. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Caroline teased with a wink.

Azzi leaned back, glancing up at the slowly-filling lecture hall. “I’m not trying to get involved in anything messy. I’ll help her study. That’s it. No weirdness, no distractions.”

Caroline raised both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not saying you like her. I’m just saying… keep your eyes open. Paige Bueckers may be all cool and untouchable to the rest of the world, but around you? Something’s shifting.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, letting the words hang between them as the professor started setting up slides at the front of the room.

She wasn’t crushing on Paige. She didn’t even really know her.

But there was something about the way Paige had looked at her outside, something a little tentative, a little unsteady, that stuck in her head longer than she wanted to admit.

Azzi shook herself out of it and looked down at her notebook again, forcing her mind to focus on the lecture.

Just tutoring. That was all this was.

Right?

—-----------------------

It was 10 minutes to 3, and Paige was sitting stiffly on one of the benches just outside the library steps, her jacket zipped all the way up despite the mild afternoon warmth. She kept pulling at the zipper down halfway, back up, then down again like it was a dial for her anxiety. Her foot bounced restlessly, her fingers twitching every few seconds to check her phone, even though it hadn’t buzzed.

Aubrey was fully stretched out beside her, taking up way more space than necessary like this was a casual trip to the beach instead of her best friend’s slow descent into chaos. One arm was draped over the back of the bench, the other cradling a half-empty iced coffee that had long since lost its chill. She watched Paige out of the corner of her eye with a grin that kept creeping up every time Paige adjusted something for the hundredth time.

“You know,” Aubrey drawled, lifting her cup to her lips, “if I had a dollar for every time you checked your reflection in your phone screen, I’d be rich enough to drop out and live off vibes alone.”

Paige didn’t even look at her. “I was fixing my hair.”

“That the same ‘fix’ you did 3 minutes ago? Or the one right after you dabbed your hoodie with water to flatten that invisible wrinkle?”

Paige groaned and let her head fall back against the bench. “Why are you even here?”

“Entertainment. I live for this.” Aubrey shifted slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “Besides, watching you spiral over a girl you met yesterday is 10 times more fun than whatever I was gonna do with my afternoon.”

Paige turned her head slowly to give her the most deadpan look imaginable.

Aubrey beamed back. “Seriously though, you’re killing me. You’ve checked your lip balm, like, four times. What’s the difference between ‘subtle shimmer’ and ‘barely there glow’? They’re the same.”

“They are not the same,” Paige snapped, immediately regretting how fast she said it.

Aubrey’s laugh rang out loud enough to make a student walking by turn their head. “You hear yourself right now?”

Paige pulled the hood over her head and groaned into it. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You just hate that I’m right.”

There was a moment of silence as Paige exhaled slowly, pulling the hood back off and sitting upright again. Her knee was bouncing now, the nerves nowhere near subtle.

“I just… I don’t know,” she mumbled, eyes flicking toward the library entrance. “She’s really…”

Aubrey perked up. “She’s really what?”

Paige shook her head quickly. “Forget it.”

“Nooo, no, no. Don’t back out now. Say it. I need this.”

Paige sighed and looked out across the quad like the grass was gonna give her strength. Her voice dropped just above a whisper. “She’s really pretty.”

Aubrey clutched her chest like she’d been waiting her whole life to hear it. “There it is!”

Paige frowned, eyes still ahead. “And seems smart. Like, scary smart. But not in a loud way. In a ‘makes you feel dumb without even trying’ kind of way.”

Aubrey raised her brows, clearly loving this. “Damn. You’re gone.”

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, folding her arms.

“I’m just observing. You’ve had a crush for a solid twenty-four hours and you’re acting like it’s prom night.”

“She’s tutoring me. That’s it.”

“Mhmmmm. You mean she’s ‘tutoring you’ and you’re ‘definitely not falling apart at the seams’ while trying to remember what two plus two is when she looks at you?”

Paige glared. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re in denial.”

“I’m gonna throw your coffee across the quad.”

“I’ll buy another one. Worth it.”

Paige groaned again, running her hand through her hair. “God, what am I even doing? I’m acting like a middle schooler.”

“You’re acting like a college student with a gay panic problem,” Aubrey said with a shrug. “It’s fine. It’s cute. Just maybe stop adjusting your jacket every time someone walks by or they’re gonna think you’re shoplifting nerves.”

Paige looked down at herself and huffed, trying to smooth it down one more time before stopping mid-motion, catching herself. “Damn it.”

“See?” Aubrey grinned, nudging her. “You’re spiraling. It’s kinda adorable.”

Right then, Paige’s phone buzzed. She yanked it out like it was on fire.

2:57pm

Her breath hitched. She shot a glance at the entrance.

A flash of dark curls pulled into a ponytail appeared just inside the glass doors of the library.

“Oh shit,” Paige whispered, standing up too fast. She quickly brushed invisible dust off her sweatpants, glanced down at her sneakers, frowned at a smudge, then looked back up.

Aubrey watched with a lazy smirk. “You good?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Paige muttered. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’s about to fail basic math but win the gold in gay panic.”

“Okay, seriously. Stop talking.”

“I’m done,” Aubrey said, hands up in mock surrender. “Go learn some equations and maybe flirt like a human person while you’re at it.”

Paige took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her pants, then started walking toward the library steps.

Aubrey called out one last time, “And maybe try not to stare at her!”

Paige didn’t even turn around. She just lifted her hand behind her and gave Aubrey the finger as she reached the door.

Her heart was pounding. Her palms were a little clammy. But she was walking.

Paige let out one last breath.

The second Paige stepped through the library doors, it felt like her shoes were too loud. Like every step echoed through the entire building even though the carpet was doing its best to muffle them. She tugged her hoodie sleeve down over her palm, eyes sweeping over the rows of tables until she found her.

Azzi was near the far corner, by the window. The sunlight filtered through the glass, catching the edge of her curls and lighting up the gold tones like some kinda magic effect from a movie. She had a pencil in hand, lightly tapping the eraser against the page, her other hand flipping through a worn notebook covered in neat little tabs. She looked focused. Comfortable.

Paige was very much neither of those things.

She hovered for a second, literally just stood there, trying to remember how walking worked before finally forcing her legs to move. Her palms were sweaty again. Her backpack felt too heavy. She hoped her hair wasn’t doing anything weird.

Azzi looked up right as Paige reached the table. “Hey,” she said, a casual, soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Paige’s brain glitched for a second. “Hey,” she said, and it came out a little too fast.

Azzi closed the notebook and motioned to the chair across from her. “You’re on time.”

“I’m always on time,” Paige said, slipping into the seat like her limbs were made of static. She regretted the joke immediately. “I mean, usually. Sometimes. Not like always always, but—”

Azzi raised a brow, amused. “You’re good. I’m just saying I expected a minute or two buffer.”

Paige laughed nervously and tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie again. “Yeah, no. I was already out here. Early. Just, you know… prepping.”

Azzi gave her a look like she was trying not to smile. “Prepping to be tutored?”

“Exactly.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath and opened a different notebook, one already half-filled with notes. “Ok. So I looked over the syllabus and the last few slides from class. Want to start with the stuff from earlier in the week?”

“Please,” Paige said, dragging out the word like it physically pained her. “That whole section might as well have been written in some foreign language.”

“Alright,” Azzi said, flipping to the page. “We’re still on systems of equations and matrix transformations. Did you get the basics?”

Paige hesitated. “Define basics.”

Azzi didn’t even blink. “Like… what a matrix is?”

“…Is that the Keanu Reeves one or the number box one?”

Azzi snorted, shaking her head. “Okay, let’s start with the number box one.”

She turned the notebook around and slid it across the table so Paige could see. Her handwriting was crazy clean. Paige immediately noticed how she circled everything in soft, pastel highlighters—blue for definitions, pink for formulas, green for notes. It was weirdly calming to look at.

“So this,” Azzi said, tapping the first example, “is a 2x2 matrix. Two rows, two columns. Easy enough?”

Paige leaned in a little, squinting at the page like it might bite her. “Yeah. I think I remember this part.”

Azzi looked up. “You’re allowed to say you don’t. No judgment.”

“I mean, I kind of remember it. It’s more like it shows up and I recognize the face, but I don’t remember the name.”

Azzi laughed again, light and genuine. “Alright, we’ll reintroduce you.”

She walked Paige through the basics, what each position meant, how they worked when you multiplied them, the reason why flipping them could screw everything up. Paige nodded, trying to focus on the numbers, the shapes, anything that wasn’t Azzi’s voice being low and patient or the way her curls bounced when she looked down to write something.

At some point, Azzi switched to a blank page and turned the notebook so Paige could try a problem herself. She watched closely as Paige worked through it slowly, brow furrowed, tongue slightly poking out the corner of her mouth.

“You’re overthinking it,” Azzi said, voice soft. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Paige huffed and leaned back, pencil pressed between her palms. “One step at a time is how I ended up failing that quiz.”

“True,” Azzi said, grinning. “But now you’ve got me. Upgrades.”

That earned a real smile out of Paige. “Yeah. This is definitely better.”

Azzi looked at her for a second, then tapped the page. “You’re actually not far off. You just missed one sign. Wanna try again?”

Paige nodded, gaze flicking back down to the numbers.

She could do this.

Well… she could try.

And maybe, just maybe if she didn’t totally embarrass herself, there’d be more study sessions like this. Not that she was hoping for anything.

—-----------------------

The soft hum of the library was like a low lullaby, comforting in its quiet, yet full of the sort of focused energy only a place of learning could have. Books, notebooks, and pens were strewn across the table between them, yet all Paige could focus on was Azzi.

Azzi was reading the textbook aloud softly, walking her through another set of equations. Her voice was calm, steady, yet there was an underlying intensity in the way she spoke, like she genuinely wanted Paige to understand. Every now and then, Azzi would pause and ask if Paige was following, looking at her over the top of her glasses, and Paige would just nod though most of the time, her attention wasn’t entirely on the lesson.

She caught herself again, staring. Azzi’s hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands framing her face, and those glasses—those damn glasses. Paige had to fight the urge to look away every time Azzi adjusted them, because the way they sat on her face, giving her an effortlessly smart, put-together look, made Paige’s stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t quite figured out.

Azzi wasn’t even trying to impress anyone. She was just sitting there, leaning over the textbook, completely engrossed in helping Paige. Her calm demeanor was almost too much for Paige to handle sometimes like the sort of quiet confidence that was magnetic.

She caught herself again, looking at Azzi’s profile as she read. The way her lips moved as she pronounced the words, her fingers subtly tapping on the page as she went through the steps in the problem.

“Paige?” Azzi asked, her voice snapping Paige out of her daze. “You still with me?”

Paige blinked and tried to clear the fog in her head. “Yeah, sorry,” she said, focusing on the math in front of her. She quickly scribbled a few numbers down, even though she was far more focused on the way Azzi was looking at her now, brows furrowed in concern.

“I said we can move on to the next problem if you’re ready,” Azzi added, voice softer now.

“Yeah, I think I got this one,” Paige lied, her words more rushed than she intended. She was trying her best to concentrate, but the math seemed to fade into the background as she found herself distracted by the soft rhythm of Azzi’s voice and the quiet rustling of pages. The way Azzi’s fingers traced the lines of the book as she found the right spot. The way her eyes would flicker from the textbook to Paige every few seconds to check in on her, making sure she was following along. It was like everything Azzi did was just too perfect, too natural, and it made Paige feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Do you want me to slow down? I know this part can be tricky,” Azzi offered, her eyes searching Paige’s face for any sign of confusion.

But the truth was, Paige wasn’t confused about the math at all, she was distracted by Azzi’s presence, her calmness, the way her voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She gave a small shake of her head. “No, I’m good,” she said, though her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Azzi nodded, returning her attention to the problem at hand. She explained the next step slowly and clearly, but Paige’s mind wasn’t really processing it. Instead, she was watching the way Azzi’s lips moved as she spoke, the way her fingers tapped the paper, the way her glasses slightly slid down her nose as she read the equations. Paige couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool Azzi seemed. She looked so unbothered, so calm in her own skin, and it was something Paige both envied and admired.

The longer they sat there, the more the air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken things. Paige could almost feel the weight of the silence, but not in an uncomfortable way, in a way that made her want to lean forward, ask Azzi about her life, about everything that made her the person she was. And yet, every time she tried to get her words together, her thoughts scattered like smoke in the wind.

“Paige, are you sure you’re following?” Azzi asked again, this time with a small frown forming between her brows. She wasn’t accusing or frustrated; just genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paige quickly said, shaking her head as if to clear the distraction. She forced herself to focus, finally pulling her eyes from Azzi’s face and onto the equation in front of her. “I think I get it now. Thanks for being patient.”

Azzi smiled softly. “No problem. You’re doing great, really. You just need to take a breath every now and then. You’re trying too hard.”

Paige bit her lip, trying to suppress the chuckle that almost slipped out. “Trying too hard?” she repeated, her voice teasing. “I’m not trying hard enough for this?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her eyes softening as she leaned back in her chair. “Well, maybe you should try a little harder. You’re already getting the hang of it.”

Paige felt a little flame of pride in her chest at Azzi’s praise, but at the same time, she couldn’t shake the sensation of being drawn to the way Azzi sat there, calm and composed, like she had everything under control. And Paige was… well, a mess of emotions she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

She forced herself to focus back on the book, willing her mind to follow the equations instead of her thoughts, but it was getting harder with each passing second. She glanced back at Azzi, who was quietly writing out steps on the page. Azzi’s head was tilted slightly, a sign of concentration. And it hit Paige then how deeply she was starting to care for this girl. How much more than just math sessions she was starting to crave.

“Alright, I think I’ve got it,” Paige said finally, trying to focus back in, her voice steadying now.

Azzi looked up and nodded, smiling again. “Good. See? You’re getting it.” She paused, and for a moment, Paige thought she saw a flicker of something in Azzi’s eyes—something warm and unspoken. But then it was gone, hidden behind the coolness of her usual composure.

Paige nodded, forcing her eyes to stay on the page, though her thoughts felt like they were running a mile a minute.

“Alright, let’s take a short break before we do the next one,” Azzi suggested. “You’ve been at this for a while now.”

Paige didn’t protest. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and let herself relax for a moment, her gaze slipping to Azzi again, just long enough to catch her watching her with that same quiet focus. That same soft intensity that made Paige’s heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to.

Paige didn’t mean to do it—didn’t mean to let the curiosity slip out, but the words came before she could stop them.

“So, uh, what made you agree to tutor me?” Paige asked, her voice softer than usual, as if she was treading into unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but something about Azzi seemed different. Quiet. Like there was so much more beneath the surface.

Azzi paused, her hand hovering over her bag, and then looked up at Paige. For a brief moment, there was that same familiar flicker of something behind her calm demeanor, but Azzi quickly masked it with her usual composed smile.

“I dunno,” Azzi said after a beat, voice casual, “You seemed like you needed help. And I guess I’m a sucker for helping people out, especially if they’re willing to put in the work. You seem like you actually care about getting it right.”

Paige nodded, appreciating the honesty in Azzi’s voice. “I do. I just… get distracted sometimes.” She chuckled softly, but the sound felt more nervous than anything.

Azzi smiled again, a little warmer this time. “Yeah, I noticed.” She shrugged slightly, picking up her notebook and tucking it into her bag. “I like helping people. I used to tutor a lot when I was in high school. It just feels good, you know?”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What else? You seem like you’ve got other stuff going on. What do you do for fun when you’re not helping people like me?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, clearly considering whether to answer. Paige almost regretted asking, but then Azzi sighed, almost reluctantly.

“Well, it’s a bit of a random fact, but I used to play basketball. Like, competitively.” Azzi glanced up at Paige, her eyes not quite meeting hers. She continued quietly, “I stopped playing a few years ago. Tore my ACL in a game, but that’s not the reason I quit. I just… lost the love for it, I guess.”

Paige blinked, surprised. She hadn’t expected that. Azzi, with her calm confidence, so different from the athletes Paige was used to, didn't seem like the type who would’ve played a sport like basketball. “You played? For how long?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers tapping against the desk idly. “Since I was a kid. But by the time I hit high school, I wasn’t really feeling it anymore. It wasn’t about the injury. I could’ve come back after the rehab. But after a while, I just realized it wasn’t my thing anymore.” She paused for a moment, eyes flickering to Paige, then away again. “I guess I was just… over it.”

Paige couldn’t help the slight frown that tugged at her lips. She knew how much basketball meant to her. The idea of walking away from it, losing that love—she couldn’t imagine it. “So, what did you end up doing after that?”

Azzi gave a small smile, almost wistful. “I got more into school. Focused on things I could control, you know? It’s where I found my rhythm again.”

It was almost like she was shutting that chapter down, not wanting to revisit it. But Paige didn’t press further. It was clear that basketball, once a major part of Azzi’s life, had faded into something she didn’t want to talk about too much.

“Sounds like you figured things out,” Paige said softly, leaning back in her chair, watching Azzi carefully. “I respect that.”

Azzi finally met Paige’s gaze, her expression softening a little. “Yeah, well… I guess everyone finds their own way eventually.” She gave a slight shrug, as if brushing the conversation aside, before turning her focus back to the textbook in front of them. “We should get back to it. I think we’re almost done with this chapter.”

Paige hesitated for a moment, a thousand questions swirling in her head, but she could tell Azzi wasn’t quite ready to share more. And for now, Paige was okay with that. She’d already learned something important—that Azzi was much more than the quiet, composed classmate/tutor sitting across from her. There was depth to her, layers that Paige would have to be patient to peel back.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Paige finally said, refocusing on the math in front of her. “Let’s finish this up.”

As Azzi started explaining the next set of equations, Paige felt a little more settled. They were getting somewhere, and for the first time, Paige wasn’t just focused on the math in front of her. She was focused on Azzi, her presence, the way she spoke, the little things she hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just about the lesson anymore. It was about being with Azzi, understanding her in ways that went far beyond equations and textbooks.

—-----------------------

They finished the last practice question with a shared sigh of relief. Azzi leaned over, checking Paige’s final answer with a quick glance, then nodded in approval.

“Yep. You got it.”

Paige blinked down at the scribbled page. “Wait… I did?”

Azzi chuckled, a genuine laugh that made Paige’s chest feel weirdly warm. “You’re improving. You just need to stop second-guessing yourself.”

“Easier said than done,” Paige muttered, setting her pencil down and rubbing at her temple. “But I’ll take the dub.”

Azzi started to neatly organize everything back into her bag. “I think that’s enough math for one day.”

“Agreed,” Paige said, stretching again. “My brain’s officially fried.”

Just as she grabbed her water bottle and leaned back in her chair, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the library.

“Yo, Azzi.”

Paige looked up and instantly regretted it.

Strutting toward them like he owned the place was Jace McCallister—tight end on the UConn football team, cocky smirk permanently etched on his face, confidence dripping off him like cologne. Paige knew him. Everyone did. He was loud, flashy, and flirted like it was a full-time job. The kind of guy who wore his jersey to class and thought everyone should thank him for showing up.

Azzi glanced up, face unreadable. “Hey.”

Jace leaned casually against the edge of their table, not even glancing at Paige. “Just wondering when our next session is? You free this week?”

Paige’s brows knit. Our session?

Azzi nodded politely, unfazed. “Yeah, I think tomorrow. Same time?”

“Perfect.” He flashed her a grin. “Can’t say no to learning from the smartest girl on campus.”

Azzi’s lips pulled into a tight, polite smile. “Well thank you.”

Jace chuckled and finally glanced at Paige, as if just noticing her. “Oh. Hey, Bueckers.”

“McCallister,” Paige replied, voice flat.

He raised a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a tutor too.”

“She doesn’t,” Azzi cut in smoothly before Paige could answer, her tone calm but firm. “We’re just going over some extra stuff.”

Paige didn’t say anything. She just watched the exchange, something unsettled building in her chest. She knew Jace. Knew his reputation. And the way he was looking at Azzi now, like she was the next thing to win over, made her stomach twist.

She shouldn’t care. It was just tutoring.

But still.

Jace winked, then tapped the table. “Catch you later, Azzi.” He turned and walked off, not a single ounce of subtlety in his swagger.

Paige stared after him, jaw tight.

“Ugh,” she muttered under her breath.

Azzi looked over. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said quickly, shaking her head. “Just… don’t like that guy.”

Azzi tilted her head, curious. “Why not?”

“He’s a walking ego,” Paige said, grabbing her stuff. “And he’s a player. Like, in every sense of the word. He’s not exactly subtle about who he hits on.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Just zipped her bag and stood up. “He’s harmless.”

“Sure,” Paige muttered, a little sharper than she meant to. “Just be careful, okay?”

Azzi blinked, surprised at the tone. Paige ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

“Sorry. That came out weird. Just forget it.”

Azzi gave her a long look, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

They walked in silence toward the library exit, Paige internally screaming at herself. ‘It’s not that deep. She’s not yours. You’re literally just studying.’ But no matter how many times she told herself that, her clenched jaw said otherwise.

As they stepped out into the afternoon sun, a small group of girls standing near the library steps caught sight of them—specifically Paige.

“Oh my god, that’s Paige Bueckers,” one of them whispered, eyes wide.

Before she could even react, one of them stepped forward, all smiles and nervous energy. “Hi! Sorry, we don’t wanna bother you, but could we maybe get a picture? We’re huge fans.”

Paige blinked, caught off guard but immediately smiled.

“Of course,” she said, already stepping toward them, voice warm and friendly. “What’s your name?”

One of them nearly melted. “I’m Sam. This is Ava and Kayla.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Paige said, handing her phone to one of them after snapping a few selfies together. “You guys coming to the game on friday?”

“Yeah! We can’t wait! Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Paige said sincerely. “I’ll try to put on a show for y’all.”

They grinned, waved, and scurried off giggling, still whispering to each other as they walked away.

Azzi stood a few feet back, arms loosely crossed. Watching.

Paige turned toward her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Azzi shook her head slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I just… didn’t expect that.”

“Didn’t expect what?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “You being… like that. With people.”

Paige tilted her head. “Like what?”

Azzi gave her a soft shrug. “I guess I thought you’d be more… I dunno. Big-time athlete energy. Standoffish. You’re not.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, amused. “So you thought I’d be a bitch?”

Azzi smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it, though.”

Azzi’s smile widened just slightly. “Maybe. A little.”

Paige laughed. “Damn. That’s cold.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on her, more thoughtful now. “You surprise me. In a good way.”

And Paige couldn’t help the flutter in her chest as they started walking again, side by side.

They walked in silence again for a bit, the quiet not uncomfortable—just filled with a weird hum Paige couldn’t place. It clung to her like static, buzzing beneath her skin every time she glanced over and saw Azzi walking next to her, face calm, unreadable as always.

When they reached the small fork in the path outside the library, Azzi finally slowed to a stop.

“This is me,” she said, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

Paige stopped too, a little slower. “Right. Yeah.”

Azzi looked up at her. “That wasn’t too painful, was it?”

Paige snorted. “I mean… there were a few moments where I considered setting my notebook on fire.”

Azzi smiled. “But you didn’t.”

“Thanks to you.”

There was a beat of quiet. Paige swallowed and scratched at the back of her neck. “So… when do you wanna do this again?”

Azzi tilted her head, thinking. “I’m free Thursday evening. If that works?”

Paige nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Azzi gave her a small nod. “Okay. I’ll text you.”

“Cool,” Paige said, trying not to sound weird. “Coolcoolcool.”

Azzi’s brows lifted just slightly. Paige looked down at the ground, internally facepalming.

Azzi smiled again, more to herself this time. “You’re kind of strange.”

Paige looked up. “Rude.”

Azzi started walking backwards slowly, smirking. “But I mean that in a good way.”

Paige watched her go, lips twitching. “Sure you do.”

Azzi turned around and gave a small wave over her shoulder. “Later, Paige.”

Paige stood there for a second too long after she was gone, staring at nothing in particular. Then she finally exhaled, rubbed her hands over her face, and mumbled under her breath.

“Fuck.”

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

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #wbb #ncaa wbb #wnba basketball #wnba #dallas wings

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saltcxrcle · 2 months ago

Text

foggy glasses ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: sam loves it when you wear your glasses

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x gn afab!readerノwc: 1.4k warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, fluff, loverboy!sam, reader described to have glasses/contacts, smutty, making out, tit sucking, glasses kink? (i have no idea if that's a thing lol), praise, reader is called 'good girl', a follow up to heart-shaped glasses but can be read as a standalone, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own a/n: wrote this in two hours last night bc i got inspired to write this from mads' feedback on my other fic that i posted yesterday and i couldn't resist making it smutty LOL so thank you @tusk-rumours for inspiring me for this <3 sam winchester masterlist

SAM LIKES—NO, HE LOVES IT WHEN YOU WEAR YOUR GLASSES.

Not that Sam didn’t like you without them. He loves any and all versions of you—you consumed every thought of his regardless of the situation. But there was something about the sight of you in your glasses that made something inside of him wake up. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but he did know that he didn’t hate it one bit.

Sam always stole a kiss from you when you had them on. Whether it was when the two of you were in the kitchen quietly making breakfast, clothes slightly wrinkled from sleep, or if the two of you were alone in the library and sat right next to each other. Hell, he even stole a kiss from you when you were walking past him in the hallway as you made your way to the bathroom.

You didn’t exactly understand why he’d kiss you at random times but never protested having Sam’s lips against yours. You didn’t think that it was because of your glasses, but you proved wrong when you were relaxing in your shared room with him.

You were lounging in bed, just wearing your pajamas that you didn’t bother to change out of for the day since there wasn’t a hunt, and you didn’t plan to go out that day. You were reading a book that you had been meaning to read. You were so absorbed in your book that you didn’t notice Sam leaning on the door frame, looking at you with a fond smile as he took in your relaxed form.

You glanced away from your book for a moment, your eyes catching a body in the doorway, and you smiled when you recognized your boyfriend staring at you.

You pushed your frames up your nose bridge. “Hey.” You smiled at Sam before looking back down at your book.

God, you look so beautiful right now. Sam thought to himself before kicking off the door frame and making his way further into the room and towards the bed.

You paid no mind to Sam as you were reaching the end of the page you were on—before the book was swiped from your hands. “What the hell?”

You looked up to see a satisfied smirk on Sam’s face as he slid your bookmark into your book—he must have grabbed it while you were reading and placed your book on the nightstand.

You let out an annoyed noise. “Excuse me? I was reading that.” You let out an amused scoff, letting Sam know you weren’t mad at him.

“Really, I couldn’t tell? Besides now you’re not.”

“Yeah, because someone grabbed my book from my hands.” A huff escaped you as Sam turned from your nightstand to face you.

Sam let out a chuckle. “Sorry, honey.” Sam was sitting on your side of the bed, by the edge, as he leaned towards you, his eyes filled with mirth.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure you are.”

“How can I make it up to you?” Sam was in a playful mood tonight, which never failed to make you smile. He grabbed your hands as he looked at you with a small pout on his lips—his hazel eyes were wide and pleading, but a glint of amusement flashed through them.

“Hmmm.” You pretended to think for a moment. “You can make it up to me by letting me finish the page I was on.” You sent him a mocking smile.

“I can do anything but that.”

“Well then, I’m out of ideas.” You shrugged.

A smirk pulled at Sam’s lips. “I can just show you.”

“Show me?” You questioned with a raised brow.

“Yeah, show you,” Sam repeated as his eyes darkened, and a jolt of anticipation went through your spine at the familiar glint in his eyes.

“Then show me.”

Sam smirked before bringing your left hand up to his soft lips, pressing gentle kisses on your knuckles. His lips slowly trailed up your hand, leaving a burning trail in his wake as he made his way up your arm, pulling your loose shirt off of your shoulder and pressing hot kisses along your skin.

Your breathing became a little heavier as he left sloppy kisses on your exposed collarbone and neck. His lips eventually made their way to your face, kissing your jaw and cheeks before they hovered over your lips, brushing against him.

He was teasing you, and the both of you knew it. You met Sam’s heated gaze as his eyes raked over you.

“Still want me to show you?” Sam breathed against your lips.

“If you don’t I’ll leave the room right now.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Sam’s chest as he finally placed his lips against yours, instantly drawing you in for a passionate kiss that lit the familiar fire that Sam’s lips never failed to ignite within you. You responded with the same fervor that Sam had—leaning up to meet him, and your right hand found its way into his hair. You pulled at the chestnut strands, pulling a groan from him.

Sam’s lips never failed to make you feel like he was consuming you—his tongue swiped at the seam of your lips, and a soft sigh left you at the feeling of his tongue dancing against yours. The feeling of his lips against yours made you lose any sense of time or space. Every sense was dialed up to ten and drowned out anything else, leaving you to just focus on Sam.

The familiar burn in your lungs signaled that you needed air, but you didn’t care, wanting Sam to devour you whole as the two of you kept kissing. Sam eventually pulled away from you, a small whine leaving you as you chased his lips. An amused chuckle left Sam, pressing soft kisses on your jaw and down your neck. Your eyes were closed as your head rolled back against the pillows.

Sam’s hand grabbed the hem of your shirt and slowly pulled it up, revealing your bare skin underneath it. You peeled your eyes open to help him take your shirt.

Somehow, during your heated makeout session, your glasses had fogged up slightly, and you could barely make out the fact that your position had changed and Sam was hovering over you now, in between your open legs.

You made the move to take them off, but you felt Sam grip your wrist before you could.

“Keep them on.” Sam’s voice was thick with desire as he looked down at your heaving bare chest as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“What?”

“Keep them on. Please.” Sam let go of your wrist as your own hand fell from your glasses.

Your mind was spinning before it clicked. “You like me in my glasses don’t you?” You said with a sly smile on your face.

“Yeah, I do.” Sam kissed you hard and rutted against you—being able to feel his hard cock pressing against the denim of his jeans.

“Who knew you had a thing for glasses.” You said when his lips made their way to your breasts, a soft moan escaping you as you felt his warm mouth lick and start to suck at one of your nipples, his free hand kneading at your other boob.

He took the hardened nub in between his teeth, biting at it lightly before letting go. “I have a thing for you in glasses.” He clarified before switching to your other breast. Sam sucked at your breast for a moment before kissing his way down your body, nipping at your skin occasionally. His hands found the hem of your sweatpants and pulled them off as he reached your core.

Sam clicked his tongue at you. “Hey. Keep them on.” Sam ordered sternly when he saw you trying to take your glasses off again when you noticed them beginning to fog up from the amount of heat your face was emitting.

You hesitated before sliding them up your face again—you wanted to feel Sam’s mouth on you. Who needed to see when you had your boyfriend’s talented mouth on your soaked cunt.

Sam kissed your inner thighs before pulling your damp underwear to the side. He pressed a small kiss to your clit, making you jolt slightly at the sensation.

A slight smirk appeared on his face as his eyes flicked up to look at you. “Good girl.”

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lixiesfreckless · 6 months ago

Text

Sugar & Spice | h. j.

A Sugar Across The Hall bonus scene

➸ synopsis: in reality, Joshua Hong can never say no to you.

➸ starring: joshua hong x reader

➸ word count: 1.9k words

➸ general content: boyfriend!joshua, kissing, slightly more than kissing lmao

➸ warnings: suggestive content, brief mention of alcohol

➸ rating: TV 16+

➸ author’s note: this can be read as a stand-alone BUT…happy one year anniversary to my magnum opus, sath. I love it to death, and I’m still not done writing for these characters, but for now, you get a much needed not-quite-hallmark-channel-approved scene. and before you get it twisted, this is and will always be dedicated to my beloved @ashonheavenscloud , but I’d like to give special thanks to @catboyieejeno for always encouraging me to stir the pot <3 love you guys a ton mwah

♫ this fic has a soundtrack! touch by keshi uhhhhhh somebody by keshi aahhhhhhh

Oh, he's really done it now.

Walking around some lively street corner a few blocks away from your shared apartment building, Joshua leads the two of you through downtown NYC at the height of spring. Strangers pass by your lovestruck duo without a second glance, not bothering to watch you look back at him with a borderline absurd amount of fondness in your irises. It's funny; usually Joshua wouldn't give spring a chance when it came to stating his favorite season, but since you waltzed into his life, he can confidently say that any of them are worthwhile—as long as you're with him. He squeezes your hand for what feels like the millionth time this evening, an action that makes you giggle happily to yourself.

Because you find it cute.

Oh, how you have no idea at all.

How tortuous this night has been for Joshua. How he regrets the day that he walked into that fateful department store, not looking for anything in particular but coming to a full stop in front of a specific mannequin. How he mentally patted himself on the back for remembering your size when you opened the gift bag a few hours earlier, eyes alight in excitement as you pulled out the present, letting the fabric unroll in your fingertips. How his face heated up as you opened your apartment door, and he quickly noted how the mannequin did the dress no justice.

Truthfully, if the dress looked as good on the mannequin as it did on you, he would have never taken it off the rack. He'd know better.

Because all through dinner he had to stop himself from staring at you and the slope of your neck, broken up by the thin straps of the halter dress and abandoned by your hair that was conveniently(to his demise) in an updo, to show off the open back. Luckily, you were so delighted by the Greek restaurant that you'd picked out that you hardly noticed his deepening flush, or the way he nearly downed his white wine in one go the second the server left your table.

And now, as you swing his hand and practically run up the stairs(because the elevator is broken, again), he finds himself almost dreading the night ahead. It's a Thursday, which means self care and Grey’s Anatomy, and while he would never turn down spending time with you, being that close to you for a prolonged period of time after the night he's had would be borderline masochistic.

Of course he contemplates all of this, but in reality, Joshua Hong can never say no to you.

So you unlock the door to your home, blabbering on about something that had happened at work and completely oblivious to the way that your boyfriend is eyeing you, torn between running towards you and running across the hall to get a grip on himself.

“Johnny went off at a customer yesterday,” you chuckled, crossing the room to set your purse down on the kitchen table. “They were being so rude, and over spilled milk too—throwing a fit over where we get our coffee beans imported from–”

You yelp in surprise, followed by a giggle at the feeling of Joshua’s hands encircling your waist from behind. His head settles in the space on your shoulder, but not before leaving a light kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.

“Hi,” you greet him, hands coming up to hold onto his forearms as you try to decipher the reason for this sudden display of affection.

“Hi,” he sighs, nose nudging against your pulse point, “Did I ever tell you how stunning you look in that dress?”

“No, I must have misheard you the first fifty times.”

He laughs at your little jab, willing his hands to stay still despite his growing desire to let them wander. You make the terrible decision to turn just enough so you can look at him, and it's this position that puts Joshua at his most vulnerable.

“Ready to wrap up season five?”

Looking up at him the way that you are paired with your slightly parted lips and flushed demeanor, Joshua finds himself at a loss for words, instinctively leaning into your face as his restraint wears thin. And your unfazed and accepting disposition makes it that much worse for him, his breath shaking as you flutter your eyes shut and part your lips.

The first touch of his lips is familiar, his kiss walking the line between mind-numbingly sweet and devastatingly tender as one of his hands comes up to lift your jaw. But instead of pulling away like he had originally intended, he presses harder against your mouth with a small sigh, unable to find any logical objection to the change of plans.

Your giggly demeanor fizzles out under the heat of his mouth, and your breath escapes you once his hand slides down to your neck, fingers languidly tracing the curve and playing with the straps that rest there. In contrast to his slow hands, his kisses grow faster and almost desperate, not wanting to separate for even a second as he tilts his head and slants his mouth against yours.

You stumble backwards slightly in pleasant surprise, and the table hits just above the hem of your skirt before the arm around your waist tightens, pulling you further into Joshua’s chest.

He takes this opportunity to lean forward slightly, clearing the table with a sweep of the arm that was holding you before hoisting you up onto it, hands firm on your thighs and then sliding down to your knees so he can part them.

“Josh,” you whisper breathlessly, clutching onto his shoulders as your eyes dazedly flicker between his lips and his eyes. His lower lip gets trapped between his teeth as his strength falters, gaze hardly able to meet yours as his fingers dance along the scalloped hem of your dress.

“Oh God, don't do that baby,” he nearly moans, and the pet name turns your brain waves into radio static. You've never heard him sound so helpless, as if his very fate would be decided by whatever you choose to say next. “You make it so hard to just sit and watch TV with you sometimes. Especially when you look like this.”

Knowing now that you have the upper hand, you decide to humor yourself and tease him a bit, leaning forward with a slight smirk on your lips. “Like what?”

His eyes drink you in from head to toe, taking their time to memorize all of your body lines in the flattering dress. If the opportunity were to present itself tonight, he doesn't know whether he would even want to take it off of you.

He leans in close, hoping that his desire translates well as it's mumbled against the skin of your neck.

“So damn good.”

His confession against your sensitive skin has you muffling a whine, gripping the edge of the table as your rationale evaporates under his searing lips, traveling higher and higher with each press.

You can't take his teasing much longer, and frankly, this side of him doesn't come out often enough for you to pass up an opportunity such as this. Meredith Grey will have to wait.

“You know…” you whisper, head tilting back as you feel his hand slipping behind your neck to support it, “they play reruns on Friday nights too.”

“Thank God, ‘cause you in this dress has been driving me crazy since you put it on,” he chuckles against your lips before catching them with his again, taking his time now to fully taste you, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip to elicit that delightful shiver that runs up your spine. You respond in earnest with your hands, carding through his brown locks and nearly melting when he doesn't suppress the groan that tumbles from his throat.

He kisses you like you’re air itself, hands sliding up your skirt and body pressing against yours, and once your nails slide down his scalp he softly groans into your mouth, moving onto kissing across your jawline. You repeat the action while winding your legs around Joshua’s waist, and he whines quietly into your neck, “Please…tell me to stop before I can’t.”

So subtly you almost miss it, he rolls his hips into yours, his desires clouding his judgment as a foreign sound jumps to the top of your throat. Immediately your attention is drawn to the heat you feel in your abdomen, and while you have grown accustomed to bearing it in silence, you’re finding it increasingly hard to ignore with him like this, hands all over you.

Wanting you.

He does it again, with a little more pressure this time, and your head falls back as a whimper just barely tumbles out of your lips. He shivers slightly, nearly overcome with the exertion of fighting every urge to take you on this table this instant.

To temporarily solve this problem, his lips find yours again, but feeling your muffled moans against him proves to be no more effective than trying to put out a forest fire with a garden hose.

As his hips softly grind into yours and your kisses get more and more frantic, your voice of reason pushes through the heavy cloud of lust at the forefront of your brain. “Wait, I've never–”

“We don't have to baby,” he cuts you off, wanting to make his intentions clear despite being unable to put an inch of space between the two of you, “and I don't want to just yet, but I…”

His hand that was previously bunched in your dress comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing gently against the redness of your cheek as he calms himself down with a deep breath.

And as he gazes at you with nothing but adoration in his brown irises, you can almost feel the words coming before he says them out loud.

“I…I am so in love with you,” he begins, fighting a chuckle born out of the absurd location of this sudden confession, “that sometimes, when I look at you, I can’t even think straight, and I…” he trails off, struggling to find the right words the longer he stares at you.

You, on the other hand, are practically beaming, bottom lip trapped by your teeth in an attempt to fight the smile you’d be flashing him, so as to not distract him any further. But you soon realize; with him seated between your legs, there’s not much you can do to help him out here.

So you switch to offense, legs squeezing him tight around his waist to pull his hips back to yours. “You what?”

His chocolate eyes darken to a coffee color in seconds, and the hand that was on your hip tightens again, keeping you firm in place on the table as you bat your eyelashes at him.

“Sometimes I wish I could just show you how much you drive me crazy.”

You don’t hesitate, lifting your chin to meet his lips in a deceptively chaste kiss as your hands fall onto the buttons on his shirt, playing with them just to rile him up further.

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Maybe you can.”

And at that, before you can even register what’s happening, he’s sliding an arm around your waist and under your knees, picking you up and heading towards your bedroom with a chuckle.

“Maybe I should.”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

click to read Sugar Across The Hall

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elegantlyeva · 8 months ago

Note

I loved your last Scott fic and was wondering if you could do something with just him and fluffiness for his girl? (Or as fluffy as he can get)

Burned Breakfast

a/n: Thank you for the request babe! i assumed you met established relationship fluff but if you meant for the pining stages lmk!!

Word Count: 0.6K

The sunlight from the early morning peeks through the blinds, the curtains wide open. One of you forgot to close the blinds, and considering you were the one woken up by the sun’s intrusion, you blame Scott.

Scott, the peaceful man soundly asleep next to you, small snores leaving his lips, despite how many times he’s rejected the idea that he snores.

Early mornings, ones right after a night in with you, were the only times he looked truly at peace. No complaints from any of his co-workers, no gum in his mouth to fidget with and no one but you to irritate him, though he enjoys you.

He had been extra nice yesterday, making dinner for the pair of you after he got home from a particularly good day with Storm Par. So, considering you were up, you thought to return the favor, slipping on your slippers and peeling Scott’s arm that lay heavily on your waist.

He moved a bit, his brows furrowing in agitation, even in sleep, when he doesn’t get his way. Eventually, he relaxes again, and you make your way out of his bedroom.

It wasn’t even half an hour before Scott started to stir, his hand reaching out to grab you, but met with your side of his bed, cold.

Scott sits up abruptly, opening his eyes in a frenzy. You never got up before him. Did you leave in the middle of the night? Had he done something wrong?

The man was contemplating his entire life when he heard a pan fall from the kitchen.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and got up to follow the noise quickly. He was met with his panicked-looking girlfriend running a hand under the sink.

Scott scowls at the sight, scurrying over to you to inspect the damage.

“What the fuck were you trying to do?” he asked incredulously, kissing your cheek in lieu of a good morning.

“Cooking you breakfast,” you frown, moving your hand to motion around the mess you made in the kitchen. “Pancakes and bacon!”

Scott shook his head, laughing slightly. “Oh really?” he asks, moving to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, pushing your burned hand back under the running water when you move it away. “And how’s that working out for you?”

You narrow your eyes playfully, “You can’t be mean. I’m injured,” you say rather dramatically.

Scott rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you did that to yourself.” But he moves to the fridge to collect the burn cream he kept there after a nasty incident he had a couple of months back.

He turns off the water for you and snatches your hand towards him so he can apply the cream. “Why were you trying to make me breakfast anyway? Not that I don’t appreciate it.” He raises a brow, and you smile sheepishly.

“I wanted to do something for you.”

“That’s sweet ‘n all, babe, but I promise I’m happy with waking up to you in my bed,” he says, blowing on your burned hand when you wince. “The cream won’t stop the pain, but it’s refreshing, and if you keep applying it, the burn won’t scar.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly, cheeks tinged pink at his words.

“Alright, no offense, but I'm not sure how much I trust this pancake batch,” he starts, staring judgmentally at the (burned) batch you made. You start to protest, but he cuts you off. “It’s fucking early. How about we go back to sleep for another hour, and when we wake up, I'll take you out to the diner?”

The argument dies on your tongue, and you nod, grabbing his hand. “Well, come on, then. I’ve been dying to get back to bed the second the opened curtains that someone forgot to close last night woke me up.”

The corners of his mouth twitch up as he pushes you back into the room, gently. “Thought you wanted to be nice?”

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fayes-fics · 8 months ago

Text

The Secrets We Keep: Pt II

<< Part I

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you… (part II, see above for link to part I)

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f), cunnilingus, hand job, vaginal sex, woman on top, orgasm. Also a lot of fluff and a few dashes of angst.

Word Count: 8.5k (13.6k for complete fic, including Pt I)

Authors Note: Part 2 of 2. Part 1 linked above. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. Here is the conclusion to this Benepic! Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. Enjoy! 🫶

-vii-

The first thing you feel is throbbing pain, an insistent drum in your head, mouth dry as if you have been chewing cotton wool—the instant regret of excessive drinking floods through you. However, when your eyes reluctantly peel open, your predicament escalates.

You have no earthly idea where you are. Or how you got here. The last thing you remember was Benedict kissing you; then the room was literally spinning from entirely too much brandy.

Still in the dress you wore yesterday, but tucked under crisp white linens. A trace of a familiar scent upon the pillow that you cannot quite place in your fuzzy state. Gingerly sitting up, you try to get your bearings, not yet awake enough to have any reaction beyond puzzlement.

The room is darkened, thankfully, save for a sliver of the rising sun that slashes across the bed through a narrow gap in the curtains. You are in a large mahogany four-poster bed; the room is decorated in rich jewel tones—heavy velvet burgundy drapes and dark blue Persian rugs, panelled walls on which stunning artwork hangs. Embers glow in a nearby fireplace as you spy your pelisse hanging on the back of a door and your shoes neatly arranged nearby.

Then you twist and see the bedside cabinet, and your stomach plunges.

There, alongside a glass of water, is your notebook. Your secret notebook. The one that should still be concealed within the hidden pocket of your pelisse. But instead, it is here. And what is worse, it is open. Open to a page with one of your favourite sketches of Benedict: his eyes crinkling against the strong rays of the sun, a carefree smile on his face.

Instantly, you grab it and slam it shut. Fingernails drumming urgently on its silken cover, now hugged into your chest. Horrified that your mystery generous benefactor, who must have seen you to bed, has also been privy to your most private thoughts.

Galvanised by a need to solve the mystery of who, you relinquish your tight hold on the tome. It is then that a folded letter slips out of its pages and drops into your lap. Tentatively, you unfurl the paper and are aghast by the headed notepaper declaring the author and revealing your host. The worst possible person you could think of.

But then your gaze falls to the elegant script inked onto its thick parchment, and your life is indelibly altered.

Dearest Y/n

I hope you are well-rested. There are so many things I am impatient to impart, but I must begin with an explanation and, indeed, an apology.

You are in my bedroom, at my lodgings. I brought you here as I saw no other option that would guarantee your safety and welfare, which is always my utmost concern. I made pains to ensure your arrival here was not seen, and I must assure you, in case your recall is uncertain, that nothing has happened between us beyond our kiss.

Now onto my apology, which is two-fold, although I suspect it should contain multitudes more. Firstly, my most sincere and unreserved apologies for my ungentlemanly conduct at our last two encounters. As wondrous as those kisses were, they were nonetheless inexcusable. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my impulsive actions.

Secondly, I must apologise for my discovery of this, your private diary. My knowledge of its existence is purely accidental; I removed it from your coat merely as a wish for your possessions to be in neat order upon your awakening. My knowledge of its contents, however… for that, I must throw myself at your mercy and beg for your forgiveness. Curiosity and liquor are not the best companions, and it seems both got the better of me.

In what I hope is partial recompense, I will confess a secret of mine. Arguably selfish in nature and most likely the worst possible timing, too. However, given what I have now seen, I am utterly compelled to convey it….

I love you, y/n.

Most ardently and most truly.

There is no person in the world I would rather spend time with. Whose thoughts I am always impatient to know and whose every moment I wish to be a part of. For some time now, you have occupied my every thought.

It is why I felt compelled to act when I heard from Eloise about your impossible situation. I will do anything within my power to assist you. It is why I said that I want to alleviate your burdens. I meant every word and more. My happiness is seemingly inextricably calibrated to yours—when I see you happy, it brings me great joy, and when I see you are not, it brings a pang to my chest I know not what do with.

I would have taken these feelings to my grave… were it not for this diary. When what I found hidden within ts pages gave me the exquisite burden of hope. Hope that perhaps you return my affections? May indeed have done so for quite some time as well?

I must also take a moment to compliment your poetic talent, and that is to say nothing of your artistic abilities, which quite frankly are humbling. Dare I dream of a day that we could paint together? Sorry (Again! Multitudes indeed!), I am likely getting far ahead of myself.

I will not be home when you read this. Partial cowardice on my part, no doubt, but born out of utmost respect. You always deserve the right to choose, y/n, and that includes what you do with this confession. I do not wish for you to be obligated to see me or let me know your response, thoroughly eager though I am to hear of it.

If you wish to speak to me before your wedding ceremony, please leave your hair ribbon tied to my phaeton upon your departure. I will find a way to see you. If you do not, I shall, of course, respect your decision.

A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo: You will always have my heart; I hope you also choose to be its haven.

Benedict

You could read this confession a thousand times over and still scarcely believe it; the depth of his feelings declared plainly, boldly, and so lyrically in writing. You pour over it once more, giddily aglow, your fingers tracing across his elegant, looped script, your lips moving as you mouth his words, needing to have them within you somehow. Then, you lovingly refold and place the letter between the last two blank pages of your notebook—a more fitting denouement to its contents you could not imagine.

You put on your shoes and pelisse, still floating on a cloud. A valet meets you in the hallway and, with a wordless nod of acknowledgement, leads you out of the rear mews entrance, handing you a large silk scarf to conceal yourself under. With one final glance up at Benedict’s abode, you unfurl the ribbon from your hair and, insides aflutter, tie it in a neat bow onto his phaeton before wrapping the scarf around your head and stealing out onto the streets of Mayfair.

-viii-

Still in a daze about Benedict’s confession, you slip into the servant's entrance of your family home, tiptoeing through the dormant kitchen and tugging off the scarf. Just as you believe yourself home-free, Mrs White, head cook and ersatz maternal figure, materialises from the pantry, nearly dropping a bag of flour in surprise.

“Lawks alive, sweet child, you gave me a fright!” she exclaims, clutching her chest. “Pray tell, why are you sneaking into my kitchen at the crack of dawn?”

You cringe and turn sheepishly to meet her gaze. “Sorry for the scare, Mrs White. I, um, indulged rather too heavily last night. I was in no fit state to return home. I stayed with a trusted friend.” The truth, albeit behind a veil of obfuscation. “Please do not tell Father!” you add hurriedly.

As she plunks down the flour and smacks her fingers together to rid them of its nascent dust, she chuckles. “I shall not divulge if you do not… for I was already under your father’s employ when I did the same many years ago, the night before I made my Harry an honest man.”

“Deal!” you giggle, clutching your notebook tight to your chest, unable to quash the ebullience fizzing in your being.

“You look as if you caught a rainbow and sold it to the sky,” she declares, crossing her arms and observing you closely. “Wedding day excitement, yes?!” she adds pointedly with a raised eyebrow, even as her tone very much suggests she suspects otherwise.

“Of course, Mrs White…” you concur, attempting to conceal the quirk of your lip.

She rolls her eyes and shoos you affectionately towards the hallway. “Away with you! I suspect the less I truly know, the better…”

You say nothing; just give her a nod and race up the servant's stairs, keen to make it to your bedroom unseen.

As soon as you are safely there, you toe off your shoes and only then relinquish your vice-like grip upon your notebook to hurriedly change into your nightgown as if you had been asleep in the house all night. Enacting a plan you conceived on the brisk walk home, you grab a night bag from your ottoman. Flinging open your wardrobe, patently ignoring the wedding dress hung upon its door, you bundle the notebook with a couple of your favourite outfits and stuff them into the bag. Buckling it shut while you scoot across the room, you open the sash window and - with a quick check of the garden below - drop the bag into the large rhododendron beneath, hopeful the dense, fragrant blooms will conceal its presence for now.

Just as you are closing the window, a gaggle of ladies descend upon your room, led by your fussing mother, your ladies' maid Rachel among them. Realising she has had to lie to keep your cover since yesterday at the modiste, you silently shoot her a brief look of reassurance.

“Rise and shine, darling!” your mother chimes. “‘Tis your most special day!”

And then everything is a blur as the preparation for your wedding starts in earnest, you still slightly detached from it all, your thoughts purely of Benedict. It is only sometime later that you get a few moments of peace with just Rachel as she puts the finishing touches to your look.

“You seem changed, my lady…” Rachel opines sotto voce, sliding a pin into your hair.

You say nothing, even as your eyes meet in the vanity table mirror, unwilling to confess details of what has transpired just yet. Unsure yourself even what it could mean until you get the chance to see Benedict yourself, your stomach in knots to do so.

“I told your family you took dinner alone last night in your room after returning from the modiste, and then you went to sleep…” she whispers, leaning in even though you are alone.

“Thank you. I am truly grateful,” you offer sincerely before adding: “I will tell you more when I am able. I do beg one more favour of you…?”

She makes eye contact again in your reflection, giving a brief tentative nod after a pause.

“If you should hear from a Bridgerton valet, please follow any directions he provides,” you implore, the image of your hair ribbon fluttering gently in the breeze emblazoned in your mind.

“A valet? Not a ladies’ maid?” she checks softly, frowning.

“Yes, just please… do as he asks?”

“Yes, my lady,” she demures before reaching for your jewellery.

It is only as the carriage you and your mother ride in shudders over the cobblestones towards St George’s church an hour or so later that reality comes crashing in.

So engrossed in thoughts of seeing Benedict all morning, you had almost forgotten the dreadful fate that likely awaits you. A sudden spike of fear that he will not turn up, that something will prevent him from seeing you, or, heaven forfend, today’s stiff breeze has blown your hair ribbon asunder.

All at once, your head is spinning, your dress feels too tight, and there is a plunging dread in the pit of your stomach, your skin prickling hard before your vision seems to swim with dots before narrowing to blackness…

“Y/n!? Whatever is the matter?!” your mother’s alarmed voice rings out as you woozily return.

You are slumped sideways against the glass window, its cool surface a balm on your suddenly fevered temple.

“Is it what I told you about your wedding night…?!” she frets, her laced glove tickling your forehead as she appears to be checking your temperature. “I can assure you, you will get used to it…”

You bat her away and slowly sit upright, taking a calming breath while also trying to blot out the memory of her talk about marital relations right before you left the house. Not able to confess it as unnecessary without raising suspicion, you had to endure a stumbling, unhelpful explanation of things you already know. Indeed, you have witnessed at Granville’s parties, even if you have not taken part yourself.

But then the sudden thought of being required to do such with Lord Farringdon has you grasping the curtain, your empty stomach heaving at the mere prospect. The silent hope that Benedict can assist you at the eleventh hour is the only thing that stops you from passing out anew.

With a shaky gait and a queasy, oily feeling, you alight a few moments later, your mother lending an arm of support as your father and brothers pile out of the other carriage. This is to be the entirety of your wedding guest list. You have pulled into a side courtyard of the church, concealed behind high walls, away from the inquisitive sights of the Ton. The rushed nature of the union and Whistledown’s latest means your family has no wish for this to be a public event, keen to be rid of scandal. Only your immediate family, your husband-to-be and the vicar - a friend of your father’s - know of today’s ceremony. Well, and Benedict. You did not even get the chance to inform Eloise of this expedited schedule.

As he leads you up the stairs and into the side vestibule, your father informs you that Lord Farringdon is already awaiting you at that altar and that he will appreciate a swift ceremony. You swallow thickly and nod mutely, sensing the window of opportunity creaking closed with alarming alacrity, each incessant tick of the church clock seeming like both forever and not enough time, scrabbling for any chance to stall.

Just as you are about to lose all sense of hope, you see movement over your father's shoulder that has your heart leaping into your throat. There, through a mullioned window, you see the distorted outline of a phaeton swiftly pulling up on the other side of the church from where you entered, a palpable wave of relief and excitement washing over you.

Benedict has come!

-ix-

“Father, may I please have a moment alone?” you rush out breathlessly, pulse-pounding hard in your ears. Hoping he will interpret your request as mere nervousness about the imminent ceremony, you add: “Before I must take this big step and become a wife?”

He reluctantly grants your wishes, brusquely telling you it should be brief before following the rest of your family through the doors into the nave.

As soon as the coast is clear, you are darting out the entrance again and running around the outside of the church, wedding dress swishing around your legs, until you skid to a halt next to a pillar that conceals you from the street.

There, before you, arrestingly beautiful and jumping athletically down to the pavement, is Benedict—a vision in a blue velvet jacket and teal cravat.

Your eyes meet, and your knees want to buckle; such is the magnitude of the moment. He bounds up the granite steps and crushes his lips to yours briefly.

“No time to talk,” he rushes out. “If you wish to escape, take my hand, for we must depart now!”

Your heart hammers as you do the only thing you could ever want to: grab tightly onto his proffered hand as his face breaks out into the most arresting smile. Then it's a blur as he whisks you down the steps to his phaeton, hoisting you up onto its leather bench and throwing a blanket into your lap, then clambering in himself. With a shake of the reins, you lurch and take off down an alleyway at a rapid pace. The velocity of motion, red bricks of buildings whizzing by mere feet away, has you momentarily stunned and so you almost jump out of your skin when he speaks loudly over the rushing noise.

“Cover yourself before we get to the street,” Benedict advises quick-fire, only taking his attention off the road briefly to nod to the blanket. Just as you are struggling to conceal yourself, the horses careen onto Park Lane, attracting attention for the speed you are already travelling.

“Benedict!” you chastise, your arm shooting out to grab the side of the partial umbrella-like hood that arches over you, having to cling on for dear life. “This is not exactly a stealthy escape!”

“I know,” he grimaces, not looking at you, “but we must make haste and be as far away as we can as soon as possible.”

“Regardless of destination, we will need to stop at my house!” you almost have to yell to be heard over the jostling wheels on either side of you.

“Why??” His whole face screwed up in disbelief.

“I must gather some things! I will not leave without them, Benedict!!” you warn.

“What could possibly be worth stopping for?” he decries, the whole vehicle swaying violently as he rounds another bend.

“Perchance, other clothing?!” you wither loudly, frowning that he had not considered such, before adding: “And your letter!?”

His head whips around to look at you and there is an intensity in his gaze that has your heart stuttering. An all-consuming want to kiss his lips as his gaze falls to your mouth. Only the urgent yelp of a pedestrian you narrowly avoid colliding into rips your attention away from each other.

He rights the phaeton, tugging the reins so the horses slow.

“Alright,” he concedes, quieter, calmer. “But please do be as quick as you are able…”

You don't get the chance to inform him you have already packed and stowed a bag because he is pulling up in the quiet mews behind your family home. You jump down and take off, sprinting through the small gate and across the lawn. Soon, you are diving into the large bushes on the side of the house beneath your bedroom window. Fumbling around, you have to wrestle your dress from a branch before you reach the wall. Emitting a muted noise of victory as you are finally able to grab your bag and out of the foliage without looking.

“Miss y/l/n!?”

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Mrs White standing at a nearby door, wielding a rolling pin.

“Mrs White, please,” you beseech, “please, do not tell anyone!”

She takes stock of you: your animated state, your wedding dress torn over your knee where it snagged upon that branch, a night bag grasped in your ringless left hand… and she appears to make a calculated decision.

“I fear I could not, my child,” she offers with a shrug, “I do not see anyone for me to tell of…”

The small, sympathetic nod and smile toying her lips has you barreling towards her, throwing your free arm tight around her as flour dust puffs onto the silk of your dress. You utter your thanks, flooded with gratitude, hugging her close before disentangling, you take off sprinting before she can say anymore.

-x-

As you depart from your family home, a companionable silence settles between you—a tacit understanding that there is much to discuss, but the journey is not the ideal place to do so. Both resolute to put some miles between yourselves and your family, likely now emerging from the church and wondering where on earth you are. A flare of guilt in your belly for not informing Rachel or even your mother. You resolve to send word tomorrow that you are safe without providing details.

As the edges of London give way to the countryside, you do decide to ask one simple question.

“Where are we headed, Benedict?”

“I have a suggested destination….” he begins enigmatically, an odd cadence to his voice, “but we will discuss that later, once we stop for the night at an inn.”

There is a little flutter behind your ribs at the thought, but it is forgotten as a strong gust of wind whistles over the carriage, making you shiver and burrow into the blanket, wishing you had grabbed your pelisse from the night bag before setting off.

You startle as Benedict pulls you snugly into his side, adjusting the carriage hood and then the blanket, too, so he provides partial shelter from the winds as they whip across the fields.

“I am sorry I do not have an enclosed carriage for you to journey in comfort,” he winces, his speech humming into you. “But it is best we use this speedier option anyway. We will cover more ground swiftly travelling light.”

You nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you for the blanket, at least; it is very considerate,” you respond, not unpleased to have an excuse to cuddle into him as you reassure him: “I am well now.”

Indeed, the warmth of his flank on yours and the steady rocking motion of the carriage is soporific, the whirlwind of the day hitting you even though it is merely lunchtime.

“Please rest if you need to,” he intuits, “I will wake you if needed.”

And despite the elements, you find the lure of sleep inevitable.

A warm wetness on your brow stirs you.

“Y/n…”

You wish you could always be roused like this; your name a soft rumble from Benedict’s lips as they trace gently over your forehead. You nuzzle unthinkingly into the sound and feel, which has him chuckling into your skin.

“We are here, at the inn….” he murmurs, his breath hot into your hairline.

You blink awake. “We are?!’” You twist to see you are stopped alongside an elegant Tudor wood building. “How long have I been asleep?!”

“All afternoon,” he admits, a touch sheepish. “You looked so peaceful and I assume you must need the rest after a tumultuous few days.”

His touching manner has a warmth spreading behind your ribs that makes you push up and land a kiss on his jaw.

“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling away but pleased to see a dot of colour high on his cheekbones.

“‘Tis nothing,” he demures before changing the topic. “I am sure you are hungry and in need of refreshments. So we shall dine and remain here for the night. We have covered a considerable distance from London already—around forty miles.” He jumps down and stands expectantly holding out a hand for you to follow suit as he continues speaking. “To avoid attention, we should present ourselves as family relations—cousins, perhaps?”

“I am in a wedding dress,” you remind as you wrestle your way out of the blanket and reach for him to descend.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he scans down your form, lingering slightly.

“Oh yes. Well. Umm. Perchance as husband and wife then?” he flusters as you step down with his assistance.

“Would that not draw the attention you mentioned we should avoid?” you murmur, your hands still joined even though you are on the ground now.

“Do you have another suggestion?” he queries, his breath warm on your face as you stand entirely too close, fingers flexing around yours.

“Unless you wish me to remove my dress out here…” you goad, a little crest of victory as his pupils rapidly dilate and he huffs a breath, “...then I do not.”

“We have much to discuss,” he almost growls, which stokes something low in your belly as he tugs you along towards the entrance, only stopping to nod briefly to the inn’s groomsman who emerges to take care of your horses.

-xi-

The tavern at the inn is a warm, convivial space, wood-panelled, the smell of delicious foods wafting in the air alongside the tannin of wine and the ferrous tang of dark beer as crowds of people of all walks of life gather. Benedict sees you into a corner booth away from other patrons as he orders food, then goes to secure your accommodation for the night.

As he returns, passing you a glass of wine, there is a nervous churning in your gut; this is the first opportunity you have had to talk properly since you awoke to his life-changing letter.

“I have no idea where to begin,” he confesses, looking perplexed, and it makes you reach out in reassurance over the table, pulse strong in his raised veins under your fingertips.

“Your letter was the single most wondrous thing I have ever received,” you offer honestly, his eyes softening, making your heart flutter. “Benedict,” you take a steadying breath before ploughing on with the truth you have never spoken aloud before, “I have loved you for as long as I can remember…”

His face lights up, and his hand turns under yours, your palms touching as he laces your fingers together in a tight knot, then brings your joined fists to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

“Why did you never tell me?” He entreats softly.

“Why did you never tell me?” You return lightning quick, a quirk on your lips that has him chuckling.

“An entirely fair accusation,” he concedes, shuffling closer and grabbing your other hand, your heads so close together now. “I suppose I thought my feelings irrelevant, futile even, that you would secure a titled husband. Though why your father chose such a vile one confounds me, I must confess.”

“I believe that a chastisement,” you commence but are interrupted by food arriving at your table.

So, as you eat, you explain the whole story between mouthfuls. That you were able to delay your debut last season in your father’s absence, but it meant this season, he was determined to see you matched swiftly. Recounting fondly your time spent with your Aunt Eliza, Benedict appearing impressed as you reel off all the skills you now possess. You also talk in detail about how her encouragement meant you fell into the London art scene and how you know Henry Granville. Benedict listens intently, taking bites of his dinner, but his attention never wavers from you as you recount everything.

“So yes, I believe the match was about my father’s wish to quash a perceived rebellion more than a match society might deem appropriate for the firstborn daughter of a Viscount.”

“An untitled second son, even less so,” Benedict muses softly, downcasting his eyes, a flare of insecurity that has you putting down your cutlery and grabbing his jaw.

“Benedict, please do not,” you petition, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “You know me. You know that I have never cared what society might think! If I were to marry, I would only ever want it to be a love match. I would not give a damn if my husband were a penniless beggar as long as he loves and respects me.”

You pause as he raises his soulful gaze to yours, your faces so close.

“Luckily for me, the man who stole my heart fifteen years ago is neither penniless nor a beggar. He is a wonderful, caring, handsome, passionate artist who I would indeed be lucky to paint next to,” you conclude with reference to a line in his letter, a scene you can picture so clearly it seems more premonition than a dream.

“Fifteen years?” he repeats, a look of utter wonderment as he turns his lips aside to kiss your palm where you still cup his face. You nod, a little nostalgic smile tugging at your lips as he adds: “Then I must confess… I have never been more grateful for my incessant curiosity; it led me to your diary and thus to this very moment.”

He takes your hands from his jaw, then kisses both of your knuckles again in turn, but this time, he lingers, his lips warm, damp and pursed open, and a trace of his tongue dabs your protruding bone. A shiver runs down your spine, stoking something acute, dangerous and exhilarating.

“Do you know I have kept that notebook hidden since I was fourteen? Sewing a secret pocket into all of my coats or hiding it under floorboards so it would never be found. For six years. Yet it took you less than one evening…”

“Maybe it was waiting to reveal itself to the one person who needed to see it the most…” he muses between kisses, his breath gusting hot over your fingers.

That seismic but simple poetic sentence devastates your ability or wish to talk anymore—a thronging need for him that you are powerless to resist any longer.

“Take me to our room, Benedict,” you command, voice tremulant with want and hope.

His head shoots up, his face a captivating tapestry of barely bridled passion and astonishment.

“But I-I booked us separate rooms,” he stumbles, confounded, and that gentlemanly act just makes you want him all the more.

Uncaring that you are sitting in a wedding dress in a public tavern, you pitch forward and capture his lips in a kiss that instantly becomes passionate and demanding, your hand running into his hair and tugging him closer.

“You should return the key and request your money back, for that will not be necessary…” you decree, breathing the words into his mouth.

That seems to light a fire in him. He shoves back the table and sweeps you into his arms bridal style, striding out of the room purposefully, his mouth hot on yours, your pounding heartbeat almost drowning out the bawdy, raucous cheers from the drunken patrons you pass.

-xii-

Once the room door clicks closed behind you, his demeanour softens. He gently removes your shoes before setting your stockinged feet down on a plush rug in front of a roaring fire. He tugs his jacket off so he stands before you in a colourful waistcoat and ruffled shirt.

“Are you certain?” His ask is chivalrous, tinged with such delicate hope it makes you melt.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life,” you declare candidly, boldly stepping towards him.

His hands encircle your waist as yours slide up his biceps, the warmth of his skin through the crisp white fabric making your blood run warm.

“I may be chaste, but I know of what we are to do; I have been at Granville’s, remember. I also know that I want this. So very much.”

“I am the luckiest man…” he asserts in a low rumble, your honesty seeming to ignite him again as he crowds into you.

It’s an electrifying kiss that has your scalp tingling: his hands moulded to you, mapping your every curve as you take from each other as you never have before, desperation bubbling over with each parry of tongues. His fingers land on the buttons of your dress, between your shoulder blades, silently asking permission.

“Rip it off me,” you urge impulsively, chest heaving within your stays. “I want you to destroy this very dress and everything it represents….”

His responding growl inflames your core, molten liquid heat as his large hands grab the material and tear it asunder from your body so you stand before him, trembling with desire in just your stays and chemise.

He guides your fingers to his waistcoat, the crackle of the fire and the huff of his breaths the only sound in the room. His chest rises and falls steadily as you work on each button. When you reach the last one, he shucks the garment from his torso, then crosses his arms and discards his shirt in one swift motion, sailing away in a puffed arch. The broad expanse of smooth chest before you has you tongue-tied. A lean musculature and pale complexion reminiscent of Italian renaissance sculpture… but living, breathing and looking at you as if you are the most precious thing on earth.

Long arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his warmth, fingers spidering up the notches of your spine through the thin cotton of your chemise until they reach your stays and pluck upon the laces there. He unties them slowly as his lips trail hotly down your throat. You have observed forms of intimacy but didn't expect the firsthand experience to be so rich, so all-consuming. The sights, the sensations, the scents. Like the tangy undernotes lurking beneath his woody cologne, an aroma that is all him, his bare skin. It makes your mouth water and lean into him; a want to be a part of him almost—so much heat and touch.

As your loosened stays drop to the floor behind you, a clawing need for his flesh on yours has you rapidly discarding your chemise over your head, naked now save your stockings. But before he has the chance to see, you propel yourself into him again, his solid chest colliding with your breasts, your peaked nipples trapped against his warmth. A loud groan from his lips that you swallow as you push up onto tiptoes and wrap your arms around his strong neck, kissing him ferociously. His grip slides down to grasp your bottom, pulling you into him, something rigid pressing your stomach through the refined wool of his trousers.

“Let me look at you,” he pleads, withdrawing a half step, his eyes sweeping covetously down your body as you feel aglow in the heat of the adjacent fire. “You are so beautiful,” he attests shakily, an insistent throbbing between your legs that is all of his making, so close without any stimulation.

“Touch me, Benedict.”

It’s equal parts order and request, grabbing his wrist and guiding it low over your belly. His elegant fingertips curl through the patch of hair before swiping between your legs, dilated pupils boring into yours as you emit a wanton moan, knees almost buckling. A strong arm wraps around you to keep you steady as he observes you up close, repeating the motion, parting your folds this time, you honeying upon his fingertips as he glances over your swollen clit.

You whimper his name, and he claims your lips again, sliding the pad of his fingers over that spot over and over. Fingernails digging into his arm at his expert touch, the air swirling with the wet sound and scent of your arousal.

“You smell so utterly divine,” he groans, pitching forward and almost biting your bottom lip in a toothful, desperate meeting, your moans echoing over his tongue. “I need to taste you,” he stutters.

You have to shoot out an arm to grasp the mantlepiece as he suddenly drops to his knees before you and buries his face into your mound, inhaling deeply, his nose pressed onto your clitoral hood. He is so primal in his desperation as he lifts one of your legs and places it over his shoulder, diving into your folds, his tongue a wet, hot spear over your swollen nub. Your other hand burrows into his thick head of hair, scratching along his scalp as he hums his approval into your damp heat, the vibration causing sparks of pleasure to fan out.

It takes what little shred of concentration you have left to stay upright, clinging to the fireplace and him, rocketing skyward so dizzyingly fast, slack-jawed, breathless, rooted in your body as you gawk down at him. You had no idea this would be so intense, so carnal. His stare is fixated upwards on you, reading your reactions like a book, his glazed jaw moving with expert precision buried between your legs—an intoxicating sight that burns into your retinas.

“I need you to come for me, y/n,” he begs hotly into your soaked flesh, his tongue a muscular swipe greater than his fingers, his fingers plucking the ribbons holding your stockings loose so they slide down to your feet.

“I want to do so with you…” you gasp, unable to prevent whatever forms in your mouth from slipping out, leaking profusely onto his chin.

“You will; I promise,” his gravelly assurance, the permission you need to let go, riding his tongue with abandon, your body undulating, chasing that ephemeral high you have only experienced from your own touch before. But this is so much more, so wholly other, magnitudes indeed, the words from his letter never far from your thoughts even as you spiral somewhere close to bliss. His gaze locked onto you, able to read all your signs: skin flushed, ragged pants, shuddering with each quest of his tongue.

And then he gently bites your clit, and you are gone, his hands needing to clamp onto your hips to hold you upright as your body convulses. You cry out, sagging onto him as your body races with a high that fizzes in every cell, radiating in waves of pleasure that have you calling out, uncaring who may hear, incapable of anything but clinging to his hair for dear life and scrunching your toes into the thick wool rug underfoot.

You know you utter a curse, entirely overpowered by the euphoria coursing through you as he stands back up and pulls you into his arms, kissing your cheek chastely, the scent of you strong on his face. But as you come back to yourself, renewed passion stokes in you, determination to give as good as you have been given, a drive for mutual pleasure that has you shoving him backwards forcefully.

He falls back onto the bed, a look of total surprise claiming his face as you crowd over him, laying prone, attacking his trouser buttons with a vigour that has him stunned, his mouth agape. But he doesn't move to stop you, far from it. There is a flash in his eye as you grab his hands and cage them onto the sheets briefly before returning to attack his clothing. Wordlessly, he lifts his pelvis when you tap his hipbone, and then you are tugging his trousers down and off, flinging them across the room.

You are momentarily taken aback when you look down and realise he is without underwear, now as naked as you. His cock, nestled in a small patch of hair, is larger than you have seen before, tinged dark pink and leaking from the tip. It looks so good you bite your lip, a twinge deep inside that is pure want.

His moan is beautiful as you take him in hand. He is hot and steely in your grip as you move your hand up and down, learning his contours, fascinated by the contrast of how silky his skin is.

“I am so glad you have seen things you should not have,” he groans, squirming delightfully, so very responsive to your touch. It makes you greedy always to have him like this, yearning for you as much as you do him, stuttering your name as you change your grip and move a little faster.

“Please stop…” he grits out, his hand covering yours and slowing your motions, but you can tell it is utterly reluctant. “I am too close, my love…”

That reflexive term of endearment makes something melt behind your ribs, and you crawl up over him as you release his cock, claiming his lips in a kiss, his hands encircling your waist, pulling you down so that his cock is trapped under your pubic bone.

“I love you,” you breathe quietly over his lips, holding his face, wanting to convey the depth of feelings you have for this man.

“I love you too, y/n,” he replies earnestly, his eyes glassy, a cloud of emotion claiming his expression as his hands cup your jaw as well, a profound moment of heartfelt sincerity amid this tableau of fevered physicality.

“May I?”

Your ask is hesitant as you rearrange, sliding your legs up either side of his hips, signalling your wish to ride him, a need to be the one to give your virginity to him more than him to take it. Something achingly significant in the ability to choose.

He nods a reassuring and spellbound look, and a beguiling hitch in his throat as his tip brushes your entrance.

“It may hurt a little, my love,” he advises, wincing as if wishing that was not the case for you.

“I know,” you murmur back, grabbing his hands to aid you in sitting up so you have more range of motion.

And then, with a steadying breath, you lower yourself onto him, mouth falling open at the invasive stretch with barely a fraction of him inside you. His face is a kaleidoscope of everything you hope for him—joy and bliss. Your fingers grasp tight around his knuckles, your joined hands a knotted fist, as you feel a pinch of pain that makes you suck air through your teeth, knowing this is the moment you become a woman. So glad it is with him, the categorical love of your life.

Luckily, the ache is fleeting, and you sink lower, him moaning your name lyrically, you puffing a breath at the complete fullness. A pressure holding you open that is so galvanic you now understand the hedonism of what you have previously witnessed—the drive to satisfy an urge that is innate and potent.

“Oh my god, Benedict,” you stutter, as finally he is fully seated within your body, clinging to him, held open in the most arresting way.

“I know, my love, I know…” he soothes, untangling your hands to touch your skin, running his palms reverentially down your body. “You are amazing, a wonder…”

“Guide me…?”

He smiles and whispers gentle instructions for you to push up with your thighs and then sink back down, his hands now clamped around your waist to assist you. The sensation is indescribable, the drag of his cock against your walls as you slowly ascend and descend, trying to catalogue every second as a precious memory.

Your speed increases as you get used to the physicality of movement, a cloying, dewy heat spreading over both your bodies as you move in unison. He starts to tilt his hips off the bed to assist in your strokes, pushing to a new depth that catches your breath and has you muttering a curse, your hands scrabbling his abdomen, enjoying the flex of muscles there. His grip moves to your breasts, teasing your nipples in a way that has you gasping and riding harder. His fingers snagging on your sensitive buds is a beeline zipping to your engorged clit, that mashes into his body with every downward stroke you take. Still on a high from your last orgasm, it won't take much more for you to come again; this time, you hope in tandem.

His movements become more urgent, his noises louder, his touch firmer, squeezing you, bucking up with force now, making you moan with each new plunge onto him, as if he craves to leave an imprint of himself inside you.

“Are you close, my love?” you query, borrowing his term of endearment. It has his screwed-shut eyes flying open, his hands flexing on your hips, and a ripple up his rigid cock you can actually feel.

“Yesssss,” he hisses back, “please call me that again,” he entreats through clenched teeth, a prominent vein in his neck pulsing hard as his whole being seems to tense.

“My love,” you coo, treating it like a gift to bestow, addicted already to the effect it has on him, his fingers digging into your flesh in a way that will leave marks you will be proud to wear.

You move faster now, the sturdy bed squeaking in protest, the sound of your damp skin slapping together, taking even yourself by surprise at how visceral this is, especially for a first time. Expecting it to be less somehow and enraptured that instead, it is better, burning brighter than anything you have ever fantasised of—skin and sweat, muscle and bone, heart and body in rhapsody.

One of his hands squirrels between your legs, fingertips hooking against your clit, and within seconds, you are breaking. Your vision whiting out as you slam onto him, your pussy clenching in waves, his cock almost too much as you float somewhere that is both within you and a thousand miles above. Dimly, you sense his nails scrape your flesh as he calls out your name, loudly, debauched, wrecked, a strong pulse through his length as he shudders then goes entirely still, a warmth blooming deep inside your channel that is his seed, something about it so very primaeval.

You slump inelegantly onto his chest, huffing breaths, altered fundamentally by this magical experience. His touch is soothing, encouraging to lay upon him as he softens within you, eventually slipping out as you lay nuzzled together, exchanging soft words of sated joy—a sudden tide of fatigue lapping your edges. Fuzzily, you feel Benedict chuckle under you and, with hushed, tender words, rearrange your pliant body, rolling you onto your side and curling protectively around you, a warming presence that has sleep seizing you almost immediately.

Awakening the following morning in Benedict’s arms is sublime, his stubbled lips grazing your neck as he rolls you under his warm weight. Just as your body stirs under his sensual kisses, he stops and sighs, dropping his forehead onto your clavicle.

“I wish to spend a lifetime right here, entwined naked with you, my love, but alas, I must desist,” he laments softly. “We need to get moving…”

“You never did say your planned destination,” you point out, running your fingers into his lush hair as he tilts his handsome face up to meet your gaze.

“Did I not?” He lilts, feigning ignorance. “I blame you entirely; your beauty is far too distracting..” Flattery falling from his lips reflexively. “Well, anyway, we must make haste if we are to reach Scotland by Friday as I have planned.”

“Scotland?” you echo breathlessly. “That is so far! Why there?”

“Gretna Green, my love,” his eyes sparkling as he hovers over you, entwining the fingers of your left hands together, his thumb brushing your ring finger. “I hope you are amenable to my proposal...”

And your heart veritably explodes.

-xiii-

The journey is long but worth it. Your wedding, five days later, over the border in Scotland, is everything you could hope for—a beautiful, romantic, private moment for just the two of you, promising your lives to each other in secret. Something thrillingly illicit about its location, too, the place to which all forbidden lovers escape. You do not wear a wedding dress, just a simple light blue chiffon one you had thrown into your night bag, always a favourite since Benedict once complimented you in it. He wears a cravat in the same colour. Exchanging matching wedding bands engraved inside with the same phrase Benedict signed off his love confession with: A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo (Here is my heart, guard it well).

You are happily ensconced in his idyllic Wiltshire cottage by the time family reactions to your elopement reach you almost two weeks later. The Bridgertons are supportive if a little shocked; the dowager Viscountess is always enamoured with a dramatic love story. Your family is less so, but they cannot deny a match with a Bridgerton is no bad thing, even if it was fleeting gossip fodder. You hear from your mother that Lord Farringdon did not demand compensation for your abscondment from the altar. Apparently, you were not the first to do so. Rumour has it that the odious man is negotiating a marriage deal with the Cowpers for their wayward daughter. It may be the first time you have felt a pang of sympathy for Cressida.

Mostly, you are grateful that the more scandalous truth surrounding your union - Benedict stealing you away on your wedding day - never becomes public knowledge. Every couple must keep some secrets from the world, no?

Although, a couple of weeks later, on a leisurely Sunday morning, you discover your marriage can no longer be considered as such.

“Darling, you might want to see this…” Benedict drawls casually, wandering into the bathroom as you luxuriate in warm water.

He drops the latest issue of Lady Whistledown onto a nearby stool as he tugs off his shirt, apparently planning to join you in your bath. Your mouth falls open in shock as you grab the pamphlet. But it is not from his naked form as his trousers hit the floor; it's from what you read:

Lastly, this author may have to eat her hat. News has reached me that Mr Benedict Bridgerton had indeed done the almost unthinkable and married the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. They exchanged vows in a quiet ceremony far from the prying eyes of the Ton and will now settle in Wiltshire, I hear.

“How did she find out?” you ponder aloud as he slides into the tub behind you. Surely Whistledown must be close to the Bridgertons to discover as such?

“I have not a clue. But perhaps I should send her some honey from our hives to make her headwear more digestible?” he jests, interrupting your reading by pulling you backwards into his arms.

“Mr Bridgerton!” you chastise playfully, holding the paper aloft to save it from the sloshing he creates as he surrounds you, laughing carefree, so much delightfully naked skin around yours.

“Are you done reading Mrs Bridgerton?” His tone changes to a husky murmur in your ear, his fingers trailing distractingly upwards over your ribs under the water.

“You just brought this to me, husband,” you riposte pointedly, but your argument dies off into a wanton noise as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples expertly. You abandon any attempt to focus on the page, tossing the paper aside and twisting to capture his lips with yours.

Upon the floor, as water splashes onto the wood nearby, the last few sentences you missed glow in a shaft of sunlight:

Congratulations on the latest Bridgerton love match, and I wish them a lifetime of happiness. As I am certain, do all of you.

What secrets will I unearth next, dear readers? Even I do not yet know. But I look forward to it. Don’t you?

Yours sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

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dismalflo · 1 month ago

Note

Hey! Love your writing 🩵. I’m not sure if your requests are open, but I’ve had this idea floating around

I struggle with a lot of chronic pain issues, so I think it would be cool to see a fic along the lines of reader and Remus being the ones in pain and either James and Sirius doting on them or reader and Remus fondly being exasperated from the others shenanigans

If you can’t that’s fine but I’d love to see it 🩵🩵

hi lovely! thank you sm for the request, i hope you enjoy! <3

poly!marauders x reader who has chronic pain ✩ 1k words

cw: fluff, established relationship, mentions of general pains and tiredness

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you pull in a big breath before switching on the kettle. It’s one of those days where the ache is bone deep and everything is taking far more energy than it should. Before the kettle gets half the chance to bring the water to the boil, you hear the front door open and three sets of footsteps follow.

Two of the pairs pause in the living room, soft murmurs floating through the air—low, tender, like a shared secret between the boys. But the third set? They’re heading straight for you, and you don't even turn, focusing on the task at hand.

There's an exaggerated gasp from behind you, followed by the sound of footsteps halting in the doorway.

“What is your problem?” Sirius demands, a mock sternness to his tone.

“Hello to you too, Siri.” you say, glancing over your shoulder.

He makes his way over to you at that, wrapping his arms around you from behind and murmuring a sweet “Hello” against your cheek where he presses a kiss.

“I’ll ask again, what is your problem, doll?”

“I just wanted some tea.” you admit while flashing him a guilty smile.

His jaw drops in exaggerated shock. “I’m very offended. I could’ve done that for you.”

“You weren’t here, Sirius,” you deadpan.

He waves your comment off with a flourish. “You have two charming, lovely men at your beck and call,” he says with a grin, gently nudging you toward the door that leads to the living room. “And there’s a charming, lovely man on the sofa who would very much appreciate a cuddle.”

With a final squeeze around your waist, Sirius lets go and shuffles back into the kitchen, already in the process of finishing the tea. He glances over his shoulder, an affectionate gleam in his eyes. “So stop stealing our jobs, you menace,” he teases, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

As you step into the living room, the sight before you makes your heart flutter. James is leaning over the back of the sofa, his arms wrapped around Remus' shoulders, whispering something in his ear. Remus’ lips curl into a soft smile, his eyes rolling playfully at whatever James is saying.

“You two are ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you make your way over to the couch and sink down beside Remus. But as you do, you feel a sharp flicker of pain, and judging by the way both boys immediately turn to look at you, it’s clear you didn’t hide it as well as you thought.

James straightens, concern flashing in his eyes. “I’ll be right back,” he says, quickly pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before hurrying off toward the kitchen to join Sirius.

You shuffle closer to Remus, instinctively seeking his warmth and comfort.

"Are you alright?" you ask.

Remus nods, but the smile he tries to offer is weak. “I’m fine… just tired. My knee’s been bothering me more today.” He lifts a hand to gently rest on your cheek, his thumb sweeping back and forth in soothing motions. “And you?” he murmurs.

“If I tell you, can you not tell Sirius and James?” He narrows his eyes at you but nods. Remus understands that for as much as the other boys care about you both, sometimes they can be a bit overbearing with their doting. “It’s a bit worse than yesterday.”

He decides immediately then that you could benefit from their doting today.

“Have you had some painkillers?”

Before you can reply, James and Sirius re-enter the room, each carrying a steaming cup of tea and a small army of snacks. James places a cup in front of you, his brow furrowed in quiet concern. There’s the unmistakable rustle of a packet of painkillers in his hand, as though the boys can somehow sense exactly what you need.

Remus clears his throat, interrupting the quiet around you. “Dovey says the pain’s worse today.”

The traitor.

You turn to glare at him, but the sharp motion sends a twinge of discomfort through your side. Your jaw drops in playful betrayal, and you shoot him a look that mixes indignation and mock offense.

Remus stifles a laugh, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he watches your reaction

James, ever the doting hero, doesn't even notice the playful betrayal in your glare. He simply places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Right then, painkillers, tea, snacks. You’re going to be pampered whether you like it or not.” He hands you the cup of tea, his expression serious, but there’s the smallest hint of mischief in his eyes.

Sirius drops onto the sofa beside Remus with a dramatic sigh. “We’re at your service, gorgeous,” he says, his voice a playful mix of teasing and sincerity, a wide grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Now, what else do you need? A blanket? Foot rub? A serenade?”

You let out a soft groan, rolling your eyes—but it’s clear you’re fighting a smile.

“I don’t need anything,” you mutter, though the warmth in your voice betrays your true feelings.

“But we want to,” James pouts, sounding not unlike a child denied a toy. He pauses for a moment, his face lighting up with the sudden spark of an idea. “What about… you and Remus have a bath? With all the fancy soaks and everything.”

The idea immediately appeals to you—the warm, fragrant water sounds like absolute heaven. You turn to Remus for his approval, and he meets your gaze with a soft smile and a look that’s full of affection. There’s no hesitation in his nod.

“That sounds really nice, actually,” you agree.

Before you can even blink, James and Sirius are back on their feet, practically racing toward the bathroom.

“Give us twenty minutes!” one of them calls over their shoulder.

You share a fond smile with Remus, his arm pulling you close as you both exchange an affectionate eye-roll.

#flo'sfics #marauders era #marauders fics #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders x y/n #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders drabble #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader

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absurdthirst · 3 months ago

Text

Beauty and the Bloodsucker {Max Phillips x F!Reader}

Ratings: Explicit

Word Count: 11.6k

Warnings: Beauty and Beast AU, magical enchantments, imprisonment(?), quasi hostage, Stockholm syndrome-ish, magical timelines, seduction, blood drinking (Max is a vampire beast), oral sex (female receiving), loss of virginity, beastly sex, heartbreak, depression, fear/anger, castle attack, pillaging, threats of death, gunshot, blood, breaking the spell, arrogant/playful Max, happily ever after

Comments: Just an excuse to have Max be the Beast!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Max Phillips MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“We should go back.” You whisper, dragging your cloak closer around your body as the wind whips through the bare branches of the trees and seems to speak. The voices are almost incoherent but it makes the dread pool in your stomach. “We cannot.” The shadows play off the light from the small torch in your brother’s hand as he turns back towards you, a heavy frown on his face. “The rent is due and if we do not pay, we will be tossed out on the street.” The landlord that owned the little cottage you live in had decided to raise your rent when you declined to marry him. He is vengeful and yet you know that no one in the small town you live in would help you. Everyone is terrified of him. “This place is massive. And deserted.” Your brother had come home yesterday, claiming he had discovered a way to raise the money for your increased rent. The washing you had taken in was no longer enough. “We will simply find a few things to sell here.”

You hear chatter coming from the shadows and you shiver again, “please. Let’s go.” You beg your brother who spins on his heel, “would you shut the fu-” His insult dies as his eyes flicker to something over your shoulder. “That’s not the way you speak to a lady.” The beast tuts, his wings spanned out behind him and his fangs glistening in the moonlight.

You spin around and gasp, the scream dying in your throat with the way your brother grabs you. “Run. Get out of here!” Your brother screams and the beast scoffs, “she’s not going anywhere. Neither of you are. You stole from me. You dared to steal more from my castle. I should kill you.” Max chuckles darkly, “I am bored…I think I’ll kill you.” He decides but you step forward, “don’t kill us. Surely there’s some agreement we can come to.” You plead, eyes wide as you take in the beast.

“Hmmm,” Max hums, “an agreement. I think - a trade. You have taken from me after all.” You choke, “we don’t have anything. Our landlord has taken it all. We don’t own anything unless…unless you take me.” You offer, knowing you are condemning yourself to death but your brother is stronger. He can come back to save you. The beast stares at you, his dark eyes taking you in, and he sighs. He hasn’t had a companion for many years. Not since the last one died of natural causes. “Very well.” He decides, knowing that he would enjoy the company for a while, “how much gold for your sister?” The beast asks and you stand straight despite your hands shaking at the idea of remaining in the cold, damp castle.

“You cannot-“ your brother hisses and you shake your head. “He will kill us.” You remind him, not taking your eyes off the beast. His face almost looks human but there are heavy bones in the face, his eyes yellow and the glint of his fangs in the dim moonlight make your heart race. You take a shuddering breath. “Thirty pieces.” You decide, making your brother’s eyes widen. “You can live a comfortable life.” You finally turn towards him and take his cold hands in your own. “Marry. Perhaps our landlord will lower the rent when he learns I have, um, left.”

Your brother shakes his head, “no. No. I will not leave you here with a monster.” Max growls at that, the sound echoing off the wall, and you shudder in fear but try to stay strong. “Please. Let him go.” You beg to the monster who tilts his head, almost like he’s appraising you. “Very well. Thirty coins.” Max snaps his fingers, nails long and yellow, to the shadows and your brother shakes his head, “you cannot do this. He will kill you.” Your brother pleads but you reach for him to hug him. You don’t get to as a bag of coins is thrown on the floor and an arm wraps around your waist. You scream and your brother reaches for you but it’s too late.

By the time you blink, you’re in a bedroom and the door is locked behind you. “You bastard! You didn’t let me say goodbye!” You shout, rushing over to bang your fists on the door. “You didn’t let me say goodbye.” You choke, tears in your eyes as the realization hits you. You have been sold to a monster.

Max stands outside the door, listening to your cries and curses. Something deep inside him stirs, his long talons hovering above the doorknob for a moment before he pulls his hand away. The deal had been struck and you had made it willingly. He strides away, his wings flapping slightly as he goes to find his housekeeper. A new tenant has arrived and she must be made aware.

You sniff as there’s a knock on the door, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, and you stumble to stand up just as the door is unlocked. An older woman walks in, a warm smile on her face that puts you immediately at ease. “Hello dearie. Max told me we have a new guest. I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Mrs. Smith and I am the housekeeper. We want to make sure you are comfortable. What foods do you like?” She asks, trailing her eyes along your figure, “and we will arrange for new clothes and you may change the bedroom however you wish.” She promises and you swallow harshly, “I - I- Max? Is that the beast’s name?” You ask, a frown on your face.

“Maxwell Phillips.” She informs you, “his family have owned this castle for centuries.” She smiles, “now, let me fetch you some tea. You may roam anywhere in the castle but stay away from the left wing.” She warns and you nod, curious but too emotional to move from the safety of the bedroom. “Thank you.” You murmur, your throat hoarse.

You are a pretty thing, and Max likes pretty. She hums to herself as she walks down the hall, thinking about the years that have passed with her and the rest of the staff remaining the same age since the curse was cast and how many companions have been here over those centuries. It’s been a lonely existence and she sighs when she hears Francis and Corbin arguing down the hall. There is not a day that goes by that those two do not squawk at each other and if it weren’t for the fact that none of them technically could die, she would murder them herself. “Stop it!” She hisses, glaring at them when she rounds the corner and finds the tall and lanky man about the tussle with the short, portly one. “You would think after one hundred years you would find a way to get along!” She chides them. “We have a guest and I will not have you stressing her. Poor thing looks frightened.”

“Do you think she could be the one? To break the curse?” Francis asks, his eyes wide and excited. The servants in the castle have been frozen, not aging for centuries, and it’s lonely when they only have each other and cannot form other bonds.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Corbin scoffs, “she will be like the rest. You know he gets wearisome and agitated by them after a while. They all end up-” He drags his finger across his throat. “Can we see her? Is she pretty? If she’s beautiful she may be the one.” Francis says with hope but Mrs. Smith shakes her head, “leave her be for now. She must settle in. She has many lonely days ahead of her. You know Maxwell takes days to come down from his beastly form.”

The men nod and Francis sighs, “let us prepare dinner for her. Surely if we treat her well, she will want to stay.” Corbin rolls his eyes, “perfect plan. Here’s a feast. Please stay and fall in love with our master so his curse is broken and we can finally live a normal life.” Francis scoffs, “you know nothing. The way to a heart is through the stomach. She will love us and in turn, love him.” The men continue to bicker while Mrs. Smith makes her way to the kitchen to check on the cook who is preparing supper for everyone. You sigh, eyes sore from sobs as you stare out the window to the vast forest, unaware that Max is doing the same thing across the castle.

Max turns away from the window, looking at the glass covered blood red rose, sparkling with the enchantment and the old crone’s words haunt him. The petals had begun to wilt and he knows that he will fail. He will be doomed to wear his grotesque monster form for eternity once the last petal falls. “She will not have anything to do with me.” He growls, hating himself for finding her so beautiful. Her smell is intoxicating and he wishes to drink from her. He flaps his wings and from the broken window of his chambers, he flies off into the night in search of an animal to drain of their lifeblood.

You look up when there’s a knock on the door and you see Mrs. Smith pushing a cart full of food. “Wow. I - this is all for me?” You ask and she nods, “I can’t - this is too much. I am happy with bread and some soup.” You promise and she tuts, “don’t be silly dearie. You must eat.” She insists and you stand up, making your way over to the cart and you inhale the smell of chicken and potatoes. “Thank you.” You murmur and she nods, “settle in. Tomorrow, we will give you a tour of the estate.”

Mrs. Smith walks towards the door and looks back to find you piling a plate high with the chicken. She wonders if it has been quite a while since you’ve had a hearty, proper meal. The staff will love spoiling you if you turn out to be as sweet as you seem to be.

The food is plentiful and you feel stuffed after you finish eating. Back home, you’d be lucky to have meat for dinner unless your brother spent the day hunting. You stare out the window and you wonder what your future holds. You haven’t seen the beast yet. You wonder if he will show.

****

Max flies high above the ground, watching the world as it passes under him with great flaps of his wings. Flying is probably his only escape from the reality of his existence. Your blood is already calling to him and he cannot attack you, not when you are so beautiful and scared of him. Glancing down, he spots a deer and growls, his fangs popping out and he swoops down to capture his meal.

You finish your meal and Mrs. Smith returns to take it away and says you will meet the seamstress tomorrow for new clothes and you shake your head, “I don’t need - I have clothes.” You explain, and Mrs. Smith raises her eyebrows, “you have nothing with you, dear. We will supply you with what you need.” She promises, “Mr. Phillips supplies us with everything we need.” She promises and you sigh, “it’s nice to put a name to the monstrous face.”

“He was not always so monstrous.” She tuts as she cleans up the plates and stacks everything on the trolly to roll it out of your room. “There was once a time when Mr. Phillips was considered the most handsome man in the lands. Unfortunately, he was also very vain as well.” She sighs. “His existence is one that haunts him now.”

You scoff, “he may have been handsome but inside he’s a monster. Buying me from my brother…I do not know his purpose and I never wish to find out.” You promise and she nods, sighing softly, “very well. Get some rest. Tomorrow, your new life begins.” She says and strides out of your room. You shake your head, “I won’t be staying here.” You murmur to yourself when she’s gone. You refuse to let that monster keep you prisoner. After a few hours pass, you grab your cape and wrap it around yourself, opening the bedroom door and sneaking into the hallway. The halls are empty and quiet and you tiptoe through the castle, finding a door to escape. You hear voices down the hall, “she will come around. He must have her fall for him. It’s our last chance.” You frown at that and wait until the footsteps disappear and you escape through the door, making your way into the gardens. You exhale shakily, the moon lighting your way as you run through the hedges until you’re in the forest. It’s dark and your heart pounds in your chest as you struggle to find your way. You hear a howl and start to run, your cape flowing behind you and you keep glancing over your shoulder. You miss the tree roots across the ground and cry out as you fall forward, twisting your ankle and you hear leaves crunch before a figure looms over you. You scream, terrified as the monster is above you.

Max growls, furious that you are trying to escape, but he doesn’t strike you. Instead he reaches down, ignoring your scream as he gathers you up in his arms. His wings push the two of you off the ground and he shoots up into the sky. “Foolish girl.” He hisses as he flies up over the treetops with you in his grasp. “Do you know what roams these woods? Beside me?”

Your next scream echoes but is lost to the sky as he carries you back to the castle. You cling to him, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to not look down. You stumble when he sets you down in the gardens and you scramble away from him, his wings spread out and blocking the moon from your gaze. “You’re - you just - oh my-” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you collapse from the shock of flying and the reality that you’re trapped here in this castle.

Max rolls his eyes and sighs as he looks down at you. Realizing that he can’t leave you on the cold hard ground. His wings fold against his back and he reaches down to pick you up again, opting to carry you without flying back to your room. The servants gawk at him as he trudges through the halls with your body limp in his arms, ignoring the whispers as he carries you to the bed and lays you down far more gently than you deserve. “Now stay.” He commands, unable to resist caressing your cheek before turning away and closing the door behind him.

When you wake up, it’s daylight and you inhale sharply as the events of last night come back to you. He flies. He flew with you in his arms. The thought makes you sick and you sit up, trying to inhale deeply to control yourself. You are terrified of the man you’ve been sold to but you can’t leave. It’s clear he will find you and there’s no way you can survive in the woods alone. You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You need him to let you go. There’s a knock on your door and you stand, watching Mrs. Smith roll in a tray full of fruits and breads. It’s more food than you have had in months. “Thank you.” You murmur and she nods, turning to leave, “the master wants to speak with you after you finish breakfast and we will find you a dress to wear until your new ones are finished.” She announces and you nod, knowing this could be the chance to convince him to let you go.

“You must woo her.” Andrew advises, having been Max’s valet for many years, making Max snort as he paces. “With this face?” He sneers, his fangs hanging over the edge of his lips and his face unable to shift out of his monstrous form. “I am a beast.” He growls, once again struck by the irony. All of his staff are still human looking, only he took the true form of a vampire and it has been his damnation. No one could see past his anger and his ugly countenance to see the witty humor or sharp sarcasm he possesses. It was a shame really, because he finds himself hilarious.

You follow Mrs. Smith through the halls until you enter a room and you gasp as you look around. It’s a huge library with books scattered everywhere and it seems to go on forever. “Wow.” You murmur, glancing around the room until you hear his voice, “I take it you like to read?” He asks and you nod, “very much so. It’s - wow. You must have hundreds of books in here.” You exclaim and he chuckles, “try thousands.” You shake your head, “it would take forever to read every book in here.” Max chuckles, “well, it’s a good thing I have forever.” You frown, taking in his image in the daylight. The heavy brow and yellow eyes are scary but the wings are tucked behind him and he looks almost human. “Why did you bring me back here?” You demand to know why he didn’t let you run.

He doesn’t frown, but he tilts his head, as if you are an odd curiosity. “You agreed to stay with me.” He reminds you. “For the thirty pieces of gold I gave your brother. You agreed.” He stresses before he gestures towards the library. “You don’t like your new home? You need more books? More dresses?” He asks, wondering what would make you happy here.

“I agreed because my brother needed to survive. We were struggling. Could barely find enough coin to eat and our landlord put our rent up after I declined his proposal. I - I wanted to sacrifice myself for my brother. He deserves a chance and I never - I was not going to marry a villager. They don’t like women who read. Women who think for themselves. I didn’t want to be a housewife collecting the eggs from the chickens and carrying a baby.” You shake your head, “I want to know why you didn’t let me risk my life in the woods. Why did you pay my brother for me?” You deflect his questions about the books and the dresses.

“I protect what is mine.” Max’s fangs flash in the light and he almost growls that protectively. You tense up and he senses that he might have been too intense so he relaxes and shrugs his wings. “I paid because you were honest about stealing from me.” He snorts. “Have to hand it to you, not many people tell the truth. They lie to save their necks.” He sighs. “Gold doesn’t mean anything to me. I would have paid whatever you demanded.”

You accept his answer. He has no reason to lie. Not when he has you in his home. “I had no motivation to lie to you. Not when you could’ve killed us.” You tilt your head, wondering what he looked like as a human. “So what is it you want from me?” You ask and he sighs, “I want you to get to know me. Not the beast. Me.” He confesses and you frown, “that’s all? You don’t want anything physical? Most men would want…more.”

“If you were offering, I wouldn’t say no.” Max snorts. “You are a gorgeous creature that deserves to be worshiped, but I don’t think that you would want my touch.” He knows how you view him. You’ve screamed and fainted enough to give him that clue. “I am not that kind of monster. I could coerce you into my bed with a simple look, but that is not what I want. So, I would like you to just spend time with me. Talk with me.”

You stare at him, wondering for a moment if he’s tricking you and you wonder what he means about a single look but you nod, “very well. I can talk to you.” You assure him even if he terrifies you. Human men would’ve taken advantage by now so you feel a little more comfortable that he isn’t going to harm you. “Good. Let’s, uh, talk.” He says awkwardly, clearly not having anticipated your conversation lasting this long. You walk over to the bookshelf, caressing the spines of several books, “why do you have so many books?”

“I like to read.” He snorts, as if it should be obvious. “I enjoy learning about different places, different things.”

You turn to look at him, “they aren’t organized.” You observe and he shrugs again, “I get lazy about putting them back.” You shake your head, “an unorganized library is like an unorganized mind. You’ll never find anything. You must ensure the books are in the right place.” You tell him, “you have to take care of things otherwise you’ll lose them to time.”

He smirks but on his face looks more wicked than anything. “Then why don’t you organize it for me?” He asks, making your eyes blow wide in surprise. “What?” You shake your head but he nods. “It’s perfect. You can see what books I have and then add any that you see that I am missing to the collection.”

You huff, looking around at the ridiculous amount of books that are in random piles, “it will take forever.” You whine slightly even though you like the idea. Max chuckles, “we have forever, sweetheart.” You tilt your head at his wording but nod, “I wouldn’t mind spending my days in here.” You confess, “and seeing as I’m not going anywhere, I’ll accept the task.”

“Perfect!” He claps his hands together, his talons clinking together and he grins again. “It will be good to have it cleaned up. The servant can help too.” He wrinkles his nose when he notices how dusty everything is. “Just because I’m a beast doesn’t mean we have to live like it, right? Or you live, I don’t breathe.” He jokes.

“You don’t - you don’t breathe?” You ask and he nods, “what exactly are you?” You inquire, curious as you step away from the book shelf towards him. He flashes his fangs, “I’m a vampire.” You inhale sharply, knowing he could kill you without you even knowing it. “I didn’t know - how did you become-” You gesture to his form, “this?”

He growls slightly, the grin slipping down into a frown. “It was a dark, stormy night.” He tells you dramatically. “An old witch knocked on the door and asked to come inside. I refused her and she attacked me, biting my neck and cursing me.” He explains. “When I changed, she told me that I would stay like this until….” He breaks off and looks towards the west wing of the house. “Until I had learned my lesson.” He finished lamely, not wanting you to pity him or pretend to love him. It wouldn’t work.

Your eyes widen at the story, “and what lesson are you supposed to learn?” You inquire and he snarls slightly, “it doesn’t matter.” You nod and reach for a book to occupy your hands, “so how long have you been like this?” You want to know his story, it will help you understand why you’re a prisoner in his castle.

“One the eve of the new year, it will have been one hundred years since I have taken a breath.” Max tells you, thinking about the rose upstairs. He knows that he is running out of time, but he hopes that you will be the one to break the curse. The staff is already whispering about it in the hallways, as if he couldn’t hear them.

“One hundred - oh my goodness.” You gasp, shocked that the beast in front of you is over a century old. “And the staff?” You ask and he nods, “they are frozen in time with me.” You are struggling to process this. So much has happened within the past day so your mind whirls until he steps back, “I know I’m a monster but I would like you to enjoy living in my home.” He says and you nod, “it appears this is my new home. It’s beautiful. I am struggling to realize that you are - wow. I am sorry that this happened to you.”

He softens at your kindness and if he could, he would be blushing. “Would you like to order some tea while we get started?” He asks. He won’t drink anything, but you might like something. Mrs. Smith had told him that you had been scarfing down the food like you weren’t used to proper meals. He wants you to be comfortable and happy here with him. “And some sweets?”

You raise your eyebrows at him, “Mr. Phillips, are you trying to bribe me?” You ask and he stammers, “well no. I am trying to be a good host and I-” You giggle as he loses his confidence for a moment and you pick up a book, “I’m joking. I would love some tea and sweets. I must confess that my brother and I haven’t been blessed with ample food.” You admit and Max walks over to ring the bell, “you’ll have whatever you want here.” His words make your stomach twist and you nod, inspecting the book, “thank you.”

The silence settles between the two of you and Max feels almost shy. It’s been a long time since anyone has just been in the same room as him, besides the servants. They were used to his gruesome visage but it seems that you either pretend he is not there or feel more comfortable as you start to sort books into growing piles.

****

Weeks later, Max lounges on a chair, watching you as you take a sip of your customary tea. Since that first visit to the library, every time you are here, there is a pot of tea waiting and some small treat for you to nibble on. You have grown even more beautiful, flourishing with proper meals and rest. Your eyes are fixed on the page of the book and he leans forward when you start to read to him again.

You have softened towards Max in the past few weeks. He has let you have your space and you have spent your days organizing his library. You have come to know him more, listening to his comments on different books and his jokes that made you giggle even if you rolled your eyes. He may look like a monster but you have come to know him as the man he was. “So you weren’t married before your change?” You ask as you sip your tea and he snorts, “I was an asshole. I was vain, cocky, and I couldn’t conceive considering someone else’s happiness.” He confesses and you set your tea cup down, “well, now you consider my happiness by making sure I have enough sweets to rot my teeth.” You tease, picking up the small cake.

He chuckles. “Call it envy.” He hums. “I cannot eat sweets anymore and I used to love them.” He recalls fondly. “So watching you enjoy them is the next best thing.” He doesn’t add that your blood smells sweeter and is intoxicating to him. He doesn’t want to scare you when you are starting to become more at ease with him.

You offer him a sweet smile, knowing that he’s telling the truth. He may look beastly but he’s funny and very smart. You’ve spent days discussing literature and he doesn’t dismiss your opinions as “frivolous thoughts of a silly woman” but he listens intently and has a discussion with you. “I was thinking about taking a walk around the gardens.” Max says after you finish the cake. “Would you like to join me? I can show you the roses that the gardener prides himself on.” He says and you nod, “I’d love that.”

He’s both surprised and delighted that you will talk with him. Despite the rumors that vampires are allergic to the sun, he has no problem walking around during the day. He stands and offers you his arm as you brush any crumbs carefully off your lap. “Shall we?”

You take his arm and his form doesn’t scare you like it did before. You know he’s not going to kill you but he could with a flick of his wrist. You always thought vampire myths detailed them keeping their human form but Max is different. He can walk in the sun. You make your way outside and you breathe in the fresh air. “Your gardens are beautiful. It’s a shame people cannot come and see them.”

Max sighs. “If the people knew what I am, they would kill me.” He looks around and sees the flowers blooming in the freshly fallen snow. It’s a rarity, but the gardener had perfected the art of growing flowers in the winter. One hundred years of practice makes perfect. You shiver slightly, not wearing a wrap and Max unfolds one wing to wrap around your shoulders. “I should have insisted on you wearing a coat.” He chides himself. “I don’t feel the cold.”

You know you should be terrified of him but you can’t find it in you. Not when he’s shown you nothing but kindness since that first night. You live in luxury, getting to read books and paint instead of breaking your back doing laundry for the townsfolk. “I’m okay.” You promise and lean closer to him. “It’s too beautiful to go back inside and get a coat.” You insist and grip his arm a little tighter.

He preens slightly, his back straightening and his other wing ruffles slightly. Proudly puffing his chest out as he continues to take you around the garden. Explaining what the gardener had done and how he had managed to keep flowers growing all year long. “Since I am so ugly now, I love having beautiful things around me. Flowers, women.” He teases, winking at you when you look up at him.

You playfully roll your eyes even though your stomach clenches. He may look grotesque but he isn’t as bad as he looks. He can be sweet even if he can be harsh at times. His sarcasm makes you snort and his jokes make you laugh. “I haven’t seen any other women that aren’t servants.” You hum and he says softly, “because I only want the most beautiful woman in the world in my home.” You look at him at that moment, his yellow eyes sincere and your heart flutters. You’re silent but leaning closer, driven by the emotional tidal wave inside you. “Master Phillips. Master Phillips.” Corbin calls out and you immediately move back from Max, turning to the older portly man as he rushes over to Max.

****

You return to your room and spend your time reading until Mrs. Smith and Mrs Delacroix enter your rooms. “Miss. We must dress you. The master has requested your presence at a ball.” Mrs. Smith grins and your eyes widen, “a ball? Is anyone else invited?” Mrs. Smith shakes her head and you swallow, “just us. Wow. I don’t have anything to wear.” You admit and Mrs. Delacroix smirks, “oh don’t worry, mademoiselle, I have the perfect dress for you.” The two older women grin and you nod, nervous for a dance with Max. You are dressed and soon making your way to the ballroom, your heart pounding and you enter the landing for the large staircase that leads down to the ballroom dance floor.

Max is standing in the middle of the ballroom floor, resplendent in a suit that was custom made to fit around his wings. He had scrubbed and slicked his hair back, shined his fangs until they gleamed and tried to trim his talons but they had just grown back. In his hand, he holds one yellow rose, to match the gown that Mrs. Delacroix had fitted to your gorgeous body. He swears his heart would start beating when you appear and give him a shy smile as you descend the steps and he moves forward to meet you. “You are the angel to my devil.” He murmurs softly, taking your hand and kissing the back of it.

He looks so handsome, his yellow eyes taking in your gown and you smile, “thank you. You are the devil in disguise.” You promise, “you look good, Max. Really good.” You inhale deeply and the smell of his cologne hits your senses. “For you.” He holds the rose out and you soften even more, taking the flower and smelling it. “You are spoiling me.”

“Not yet,” he chuckles as he guides you over to the long, formal table that could seat twenty five, but there are just two place settings amongst the platters of pies and tarts, roasts and gravy. It is a banquet that would rival a king’s table. He pulls out your chair and pushes it in for you, before sitting down across from your seat. “Eat.” He orders softly.

You feel guilty having so much food for just you but you know Max likes extravagance. You dig in eagerly, knowing your days could be numbered here but you haven’t felt in danger since that first night in the castle. “You have an eternity, right?” You ask Max who taps his fingers on the table cloth, “in a way, yes.” He hopes he doesn’t have an eternity stuck like this. “What will you do with an eternity?” You inquire, wondering if he has plans.

Max’s eyes slide away for a moment, looking up towards the ceiling at the west wing and he sighs. “I don’t know.” He admits quietly. “I have already been lonely for so long, I don’t want to think about what will happen when eons pass by and I’m still here.” You tilt your head curiously. “You can go anywhere you want, can’t you?” You ask and he shakes his head, “the curse keeps me bound to my lands. I cannot leave beyond its borders.” He reveals, knowing that he is giving you a chance to escape if you want to, but he is hoping that you will stay.

Your heart breaks for him and you reach out to touch his hand, “I hope you can break the curse.” You don’t ask him how that’s accomplished because you don’t want to torture him if the curse is something that cannot be broken easily. “Me too.” He says, his eyes burning into yours and he squeezes your hand just as the music begins to play. You turn to look over your shoulder as a small band made up of servants convenes in the corner.

It looks like you have eaten your fill, if not, you can always come back to it. Pushing his chair back, Max stands and holds out his hand to you. “Dance with me, beauty,” he croons softly, hoping you take his hand. When he was a human, he had attended many dances and was good at it. Hopefully his abilities as a vampire will only improve those skills.

You take his hand, your heart fluttering as you stand up and he escorts you to the center of the ballroom. The band continues to play and you let him pull you close and you grip his shoulder and his hand. “I am not the best dancer.” You confess, “never really had a need to dance in the taverns.”

Max smiles a toothy grin. “No one here will judge you.” He promises before he steps into the dance and sweeps you along with him. You gasp and hold onto his shoulder tighter, making him chuckle as he starts to twirl you around the large ballroom, your skirts swishing along with the two of you as you dance.

You are shocked by how good a dancer Max is. Guiding you around the ballroom for a few songs until your thirst takes over. “I need a drink.” You announce and Max rushes over to fetch you a glass of water. “Thank you.” You lean in to kiss his cheek and you swear he blushes. “Tonight has been magical.” You sigh, glancing back at the quartet and you turn back to Max who has a soft look in his eye.

“It has.” He could compel you, but it wouldn’t break the spell. Plus it would be a hollow victory if you were to fall into his arms. You give him the sweetest smile, one that shows him that you see past his monstrous face but Max still steps forward slowly. “I want to kiss you.” He growls softly, reaching for your waist to pull you gently towards him. Giving you ample opportunity to turn him away. “Will you let me?” He remembers what you said about most men just wanting more and he doesn’t want you to feel like he is forcing you.

His face is monstrous but you see his soul, the kindness hiding beneath the hue of his yellow eyes. He claims to be selfish and mean but you have found him to be giving and kind. He is capable of so much more. You want him to kiss you. You nod, knowing he could kill you with a flick of his wrist but he’s only protected you. You tilt your head as his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his talons long but you’re not scared as his lips press against yours.

He takes it slow, keeping the kiss light and not pressing it further until your lips move. You change the angle of the kiss and Max growls. He still doesn’t take over, but he opens up and he feels your shiver when the edge of your tongue touches his fang, making him groan. It’s so innocent yet bold, spreading a warmth through his chest as he tightens his grip on you slightly and lets his own tongue touch against yours.

Your hands slide up his chest, gently gripping his suit jacket as you deepen the kiss, your tongue sliding against his and you gasp when his fang cuts your tongue and your drops of your blood spill into his mouth.

Max growls, feeling the need to taste you nearly overwhelming him, but he doesn’t attack you. Yanking his head away, his eyes are dark yellow, even more vivid than before.

You gasp when he pulls back to look at you, “I’m sorry.” He says and you shake your head, “it’s okay. I want - I want you to kiss me again.” You demand, your eyes wide and your chest heaving.

Your teeth are coated in the pink hue of your tongue but it makes Max even more ravenous as he swoops down to capture your lips again. It’s only a pity that it’s not enough blood to break the curse, and he isn’t convinced you love him yet. His tongue slides into your mouth eagerly and he crushes you against him, taking care not to hold you too tight.

You moan into his mouth, your hands sliding up to cup his cheeks, distorted beneath your touch and you slide your tongue against his, letting him taste you. The band stops playing and quietly leaves the ballroom, leaving you and Max to yourselves.

“I have to stop here.” Max confesses, hard and throbbing but he has pulled away from you again. “I do not wish to push you any farther than you would like to go and I can feel myself losing control.” He confesses. “I would never hurt you.” He adds. “I would make you scream in pleasure, but never fear.”

You have never been with a man but you want Max. You shouldn’t because he’s a beast but you see the kindness in his eye towards you. You want him to touch you. “I want you, Max. I don’t care that you are a vampire. I want you to take me to your bed. I’ve never thought - you would be the first.” You confess, biting your lip.

Max searches your eyes, looking for any hint of doubt and he finds none. His blood seemingly boils in his veins at your confession, making his passions undeniable. He scoops you up in his arms, and in the blink of an eye, you are transported to the west wing of the house. To his bedroom that had been previously forbidden for you to enter.

You shriek at the movement and you find yourself in a room you’ve never been in before. You gasp at the heavy drapes and painting that cover the room and near the window is a rose, sparkling and covered by glass. You don’t get a chance to ask about it as he spins you to press his lips to yours.

His talons almost shred the dress off your body but he tries to be gentle. Desperate to feel your skin and taste your warmth. He wants to give you the most pleasure you have only ever dreamed of. To show you that he can make you feel things that no one else can. Groaning softly when he caresses your back, he tugs the dress down to let it pool at your feet; your undergarments and your slippers the only thing you are wearing.

You step out of the dress, his hands all over your body and you reach for his cravat, pulling it loose and you toss it onto the floor so you can work on removing his shirt, untying it. “I want you, Max.” You plead, knowing he’s monstrous but you see the man beneath.

“You have me.” He promises, his talons are less careful with his own clothes. Hearing the fabric rip as he tries to get out of them so you can touch him as you wish to. His body is much like his face, human-like, but he is harder and more muscular than a human might ever dream of being, hard planes and sinewy under thick skin.

You gasp at the exposed skin and you slide your hands down his chest, noticing the lack of a heartbeat. “Max.” You moan when he leans in to kiss along your neck. He doesn’t bite you and you’re grateful for that, feeling his fangs scrap your skin as his hands grip your ass.

“Beautiful angel.” He groans softly, loving how sweet and warm you are. How you shiver against his cooler skin and your fingers caressing his chest feel like you are branding him with your touch. “Let me explore you.” He kisses your pulse and smiles when it jumps. “Taste you. Lick your sweet, untouched cunt and see if you will scream my name.”

His words make you wet and you nod, letting him guide you to the large bed in the middle of the room. You moan when he kisses down your chest as you lay down on the bed. “Max.” You sigh, “touch me.”

Permission granted, Max starts to strip you of the thin layer keeping your body from his gaze. Hungry for you, he can smell the arousal that heats your cunt and he growls possessively, monstrous claws holding your thighs apart to look down at the thick thatch of hair that protects your sex and his tongue swipes across his fangs. Ravenous for you, he hooks your knees under his hands and lifts them up to his shoulders and he bends down, your feet perched on his wings as he dives into your cunt.

Your cry echoes in the bedroom as his tongue slides through your folds. You’ve never felt anything like it and your hand immediately finds his hair, pulling to push him further into your flesh. “Oh my God, Max.” You moan, tilting your head back as your heart thumps.

You aren’t pushing him away. Instead you are arching your back and pulling him closer. Wanting more from the beast that he is. HIs growl of approval vibrates through your core and he laps at your clit before moving down to push his monstrous tongue into your wet heat, wanting to taste you from the source as he grinds his hips into the bed.

Your chest heaves as he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before. You whimper when he curls his tongue deep inside you, pushing against that spot that makes your heart pound and your stomach twist. “Fuck.” You curse, unable to help yourself.

He huffs, amused and enthralled by the curse that falls from your sweet lips. His yellow eyes are fixed on your face, watching your reactions as he continues to devour you. You are so sweet, even your taste is like the cakes and candies that he used to enjoy before he had been changed. He could become addicted to you.

His tongue curls deep and his nose presses against your clit. “Oh God.” You pant, eyes squeezed shut as he pushes you higher and higher. “I am - I’ve never felt like this before.” You confess breathlessly. He chuckles at your confession, knowing that you couldn’t have felt this way when you’ve never had anyone - man or beast - between your thighs. Growling softly as he nudges his nose against the little button of pleasure above your entrance while he works his tongue deeper and deeper inside you.

His tongue makes you see stars and you’re pushed over the edge within moments, your body tensing as you flood his tongue with your pleasure. You’ve never felt like that and your fingers tangle in his hair as you take what he gives you.

Your juices are just as addictive as blood. Making Max greedy as he slurps it down, working you through the first orgasm you have received by another until your thighs are shaking and your feet are pressing into his wings.

You gasp, struggling to try and get oxygen as he steals the breath from you with his mouth on your cunt. “Max. Max. I - oh God.” You whine when it becomes too much to handle. “I want to kiss you.” You demand, wanting to taste yourself on his lips.

He crawls up your body, his eyes fixed on yours and the monstrous planes of his face make him look evil. Like he is about to devour you, but he only wants to possess you and make you cry by giving you another round of breathtaking pleasure. Following your orders and kissing you as soon as he can reach your lips.

You slide your tongue against his, moaning into his mouth as your tang hits your tongue from his. Your hands slide up his stomach and you reach around to caress his wings, loving the way they flutter beneath your touch.

Max is still wearing his trousers, his cock straining against the seam and he reaches between the two of you, his claws slicing through the fabric to rip them off in his eagerness to free his length.

You slide your hands down his body, gasping when your fingers wrap around his hard length and you’re shocked at how big he is. You’ve seen naked men washing in your village and you never imagined feeling a man so large. “Max.” You plead, “tell me what to do.”

“Put me right at your entrance, Angel.” He groans and rocks his hips forward. “Tell me that I can slide inside you. That I can feel you around me.”

“Yes. Yes. I want you inside me.” You plead, feeling him shift so you can position him at your entrance. You’re dripping wet for him and you slide the head through your folds. “Take me, Max.” You beg, “I want to feel you inside me.”

You would be so easy to convince right now. Teasing you with his cock as he begs to drink your blood. You are desperate enough that you would consider it, probably letting him. Still he doesn’t. Instead, he slides his tongue into your mouth as he feels his cock notch at your entrance and he starts to slowly push inside you.

You grip his shoulders near his wings as he pushes slowly into you, his tongue caressing yours and you wince slightly at the sting when he pushes deeper and you try to relax to take him.

He feels how tight you are, despite him working to make sure you are wet and ready for him. He slowly rocks his hips and his wings unfurl in pleasure when you clench down around him.

“Max.” You cry as he pushes deep and he’s fully inside you. There’s a brief moment of pain but it fades when he kisses along your neck and allows you to adjust to him. “Oh God.” You pant, lifting your legs higher up on his hips.

You are perfect. Your sweet innocence is now taken by him, a monster. Yet you are whimpering for him to move and he waits still, wanting you to adjust to the feeling before he pulls his hips back.

He twitches inside you and you beg him to move and finally, he concedes. He rocks his hips and you close your eyes, head tilted back as you let him take your innocence. He's incredible and you see past the terror of his looks to see the man beneath.

Max tries to keep his pace slow, to build up to the frantic pace his own body is demanding. The tight heat of your cunt just makes him want to destroy you, to take everything you will give him and rail you into the bed. With his strength, that could kill you, so he holds himself back. Still, you moan every time he’s rocking back into your body.

You cling to him as he thrusts into you. Your mouth opens as he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before. You moan and he smirks, “so tight for me.” You caress his back, his wings fluttering around you as he fucks you.

Max pushes his arms around your body, lifting you up off the bed as he continues to push in and out of your body, his wings flapping to keep you hovering above the sheets you were just writhing in.

You gasp in surprise and you clench around him. Your stomach twists and you’re getting closer. His talons dig into your flesh a little and you fall over the edge. His cock pushes deep and you cry out, clamping down on his cock as he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

Max throws his head back and growls, nearly a roar as he pushes deep. His seed is useless, but it paints your walls with thick, shuddering pulses as he follows you over the edge of bliss.

You cling to him, letting him work himself inside your body, and you sigh in bliss when he lays you back down on the sheets. “Max.” You whisper, a soft smile on your face as you open your eyes to look at him.

Max knows that he loves you. His heart would be pounding wildly if it still beat. He leans and gently kisses your lips, still buried inside you but he cannot stay there forever. Slowly, he pulls out of you and folds his wings down so he can against your body on his side. “How do you feel?”

“Perfect.” You murmur, curling into his side. You feel adored and relaxed, riding high on the pleasure from him. You caress his chest, lacking a heartbeat but you’re certain he can hear yours pounding in your chest. You close your eyes and breathe him in, “how - was it good for you?” You ask, curious and a little nervous.

“It was…..” Max tries to find a word to accurately describe it. “Beautiful.” He decides, his long digits slowly dragging up and down your side with his talons curled in so he doesn’t hurt you. “Just like you are.” He smiles. “Now we will have more to do than just read together in the library.”

You grin, kissing his chest as he curls around you, and you sigh, loving how good he’s made you feel. “I definitely want to do this again.” You hum and he chuckles, kissing your forehead, “I’ve created a monster.” You giggle at the wording and you yawn, suddenly exhausted by the way your body aches from the new movements. “Sleep.” Max orders, happy to hold you in his arms all night. You nod and snuggle into his side as he pulls the covers over you.

Max doesn’t sleep much, another effect of the curse. Instead he watches as you sleep, knowing that he has to tell you how he feels. Show you how he feels. He wants this curse to be broken so he can spend a real life with you. To take you to see the world and to experience how it has changed over the last one hundred years. You have talked of wanting to go on adventures and he will take you on them.

****

The morning after, Max was very sweet, reluctantly letting you go so you could wash and change for breakfast. He sits and watches you eat your morning meal while he sips a cup of blood - a sight you’ve gotten used to. He offers you a bloody smile every so often that makes you giggle and he chuckles, loving to make you laugh. After breakfast, you go for a walk and Max tells you about the history of his home, how it spans back generations and how his parents taught him to manage the estate. “I was spoiled. Selfish. A blood sucking bastard. I didn’t deserve such a fine home and I know that is why I was cursed. I was horrible.” He admits and you rub his arm, “but you’ve learned and surely that gets you closer to breaking the curse.”

“Hopefully I am closer than ever before.” Max admits, pausing in the gardens to turn towards you. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs again, reaching out to cup your cheek and he is struck by the contrast between his taloned hand and your gentle human body. “Angel, I-“ there is a crash from around the hedges and Max instantly changes, fangs on display and growling protectively at any threat that might harm you.

You gasp as Max shoves you behind him and you peek around him, eyes wide as you see your brother. “Max. No. It’s - it’s my brother.” You pat Max on the back and he lets you step around him. Your brother rushes forward to hug you, pulling you close. “You’re okay.” He gasps, kissing your hair. “I’m better than okay.” You promise, “I’ve been treated like royalty.” You admit and your brother looks over at Max with raised eyebrows. “He - he’s a monster.” Your brother frowns and you shake your head, “he’s not.” Your brother sighs, “you need to come home. I - I will give back the coins. I cannot let you stay here with a monster. Not when father has returned. I think - he’s dying. He cannot walk and his speech is slurring.” Your brother confesses and you sigh, knowing your alcoholic father would come back one day to the cottage you called home.

Max scowls but he relaxes when he recognizes your brother, unhappy that the man is here and demanding that you leave. He sees the hesitation in your refusal and knows that you want to leave him. Despite how he has treated you, despite everything he has given you, you don’t love him. He should have known you could never love a monster.

You don’t want to leave but your father is dying. You must say goodbye to him and get his affairs in order. You turn to look at Max, knowing he is the one who decides if you leave or if you stay. “My father is dying. He’s not a good man but I must say goodbye for my own peace of mind.” You say to Max, hoping he lets you go do this. “I’ll come back.” You promise even though you doubt he will believe you.

His heart breaks, knowing that by the time you come back, it will be too late. The last petals of the rose will have fallen and the curse will be permanent. His heart shatters, but he arches a brow and ruffles his wings as if he is completely unaffected. “Leave.” He commands dismissively. “Do not bother to return. I have already gotten what I craved from you.” He lies cruelly, lashing out in his own hurt.

Your heart twists at the way his frown furrows and his expression hardens, his words piercing your heart that thumps for him. “You - you didn’t?” Your brother chokes and you stiffen your back, “it doesn’t matter. Let’s go.” You demand and your brother wraps his around you to guide you through the gardens to his horse. Max watches until you disappear and he doesn’t see the tears on your cheeks as you walk away from the man you love.

A loud roar scatters the birds that had started to come around the castle again, sending them into the skies. Max uncurls his wings and shoots up into the air, desperate to hunt and drain the life of something to feed himself and rip it to shreds.

****

You return to your village and you enter the cottage to find your father in bed, his brow beaded with sweat and you know he’s dying. “Papa.” You call to him and kneel down beside him. “You’re here.” Your father smiles and reaches for your hand, “I’m here, papa.” You promise, a sad smile on your face.

“I am sorry.” He groans. “I was not the father I should have been. Losing your mother changed me.” He has had time to reflect on his mistakes and these are the ones he regret most bitterly. “Find love, my sweet daughter. Settle for nothing more than a man who would give you everything.”

You caress his cheek, knowing he could’ve been a better father but he let himself get lost in the ale after your mother died suddenly. “I have found love, papa. He’s everything I want. I love him.” You confess and your father squeezes your hand, “then go to him.” He urges, coughing moments later and you choke when his grip goes slack.

His last thoughts on this earth are of your mother; of the joy of knowing that you are loved and will be cared for. Your brother shuffles behind you. “You cannot return to that monster.” He hisses. “He let you go.”

You turn to your brother, your eyes watery and you shake your head, “he let me go because I- I needed to be here. I want to go back. He’s not a monster, he’s a good man.” You argue and your brother shakes his head, “he’s a beast. He will kill you.” You scoff, wiping your cheeks, “he made me feel protected and valued. He listened to me. Gave me whatever I wanted. I wish to return to him and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I love you but I am in love with him.” You declare and your brother is shocked. He’s never heard you speak like this. “Then go.” He demands, waving at you, “go back to him.” You stand up, rushing to your brother to kiss his cheek before you run outside to your horse. You quickly saddle him and swing your leg over, your dress flowing out behind you as you make your way back to Max.

The bedroom is trashed, the bed splintered to pieces and the furniture destroyed. The only thing that remains untouched in the room is the table with the enchanted rose. The single petal hanging precariously on as Max sulks in the shadows. “Sir!” The door bursts open and Corbin hustles into the room. “We are under attack!” He cries, but even that does nothing to stir Max from his depression. “Let them come.” He grunts, turning away from the servant and staring out the window in the direction he had last seen you from.

You find out as you approach the castle that your brother had told every man who ventured into the tavern in the village that the castle in the forest was piled high in gold and silver and a monster resides there. You ride harder, desperate to get to Max and you see your landlord leading the charge into the castle. Gold and silver are carried away in the men’s hands as they pillage and you run through the castle after leaving your horse outside. “Max!” You yell, trying to find the man you love.

Max lets the men take what they want, the servants are down in the passageways under the castle, safe behind a trick door but he doesn’t leave his room. Not paying attention to anything, not even the door creaking open as he stares out the window still.

You rush through the castle, pushing past the men who are carrying whatever their pockets will handle. “Well, well, well. This is the beast her brother was crowing about. I have to say, you’re hardly a beast when you live in luxury. If I was you, I’d be fucking whatever I could and living it up.” The landlord, Louis, grins as he holds the gun in his hand, pointing it towards Max.

“Just take what you want and go.” Max barely cuts his eyes towards the man standing in his room. The gun isn’t a threat he is concerned about and he won’t fight the man. You are gone and he will be this way forever, so it doesn’t matter.

“It’s not gold that I want.” Louis declares, “you have something that’s more precious. Someone.” He says your name, “you stole her from me. I wanted her, asked her to marry me and the next thing I know her brother is screaming about a beast who has taken his sister. Then she returns and says the beast isn’t a beast. He’s a man and her eyes…she looks like she’s in love.” Louis scoffs, “you have what is mine. She will never be with me if you are alive.”

“She doesn’t love me.” Max snorts. “I am a beast. I sent her away.” He hates how he had just a glimmer of hope because of his words. “Do not make me kill you.” He warns. “I just want to be left in peace.”

“I cannot allow you to live. Not if she has a glimmer of hope to be with you. I shall kill you and I’ll console the poor girl. I did my research. I have wooden bullets.” He chuckles and Max growls, standing up to face the man, “I told you to leave me the fuck a-” He doesn’t finish his sentence as Louis fires the gun just as you rush across the room and push the man to the floor with all of your strength.

Max sees you, hears your scream right as the wooden bullet pierces his skin. Making him groan out and collapse to the floor, feeling physical pain for the first time since he had been cursed and feeling the blood in his body start to pool under him. He moans your name. “You came.”

Louis chuckles and you scramble off of him, rushing over to Max who chokes on his blood. “No no no no.” You cry, cupping his cheeks, “please don’t die. Please.” You beg, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Don’t go, Max.” You plead as his eyes flutter, more blood pooling beneath him and staining your skirts. He chokes and you can’t understand him, it’s more of a gurgle. “Please.” You whimper as his eyes close, “I love you. Please don’t go. I love you.” You sob, your hands cupping his cheeks and you don’t realize it but you cut your wrist on Louis’s knife when you pushed him down. Your blood trickles down your palm and onto Max’s cheek, trailing along to his mouth as you lean over him, crying for the loss of your love.

In the glass case, the last petal on the rose falls off and flutters to the bottom. The time is up.

Max goes still and his eyes close, silence falling over the room making your sobs sound even louder. Louis watches, believing that he has won and will be able to drag you away from the beast’s body. Not noticing the small flickers of light starting to dance around both you and the body. Not until a giant ball of light seems to glow out of the monster's chest and he starts to rise from the ground, making you gasp as you are pushed upright.

You watch Max rise into the air, the light engulfing him and you scramble back, eyes wide at the scene in front of you. You swallow harshly, tears on your cheeks and you wince when the light beams until it starts to fade and you see a man standing in the place where Max once stood. You frown, standing on shaky legs as you walk towards the man, his eyes now brown and soft, his hair dark and short but his features are familiar to you. “Max?” You choke, recognizing the beast who is now human.

It takes him a moment, staring down at his hands and then feeling his chest and face, feeling his hair before he chokes out a laugh and grabs your hands to say your name. “It’s me!” He laughs again. “You broke the curse! I- I’m me again.” Crushing you against him, he presses his lips to yours without the presence of fangs.

You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning against his lips as you pull back to look at him, “it’s you. Oh my God.” You laugh, ridiculously happy for him to be alive and the curse of be broken. “Wait. How is - the curse? How is it broken?” You ask, brow furrowed.

Max shoots you a guilty look. “I had to drink your blood.” He frowns when he realizes that means you are injured and pulls back to examine your hands and tutting when he sees the cut.

You look down at the injury and you gasp, not even realizing you were cut. Louis growls, pissed off that his plan failed but as he raises his gun again, he is whacked over the head by Corbin with a metal tray. Louis falls to the floor but you pay him no mind. “Why didn’t you just ask me? I would’ve given you my blood if it meant your curse being broken.” You tut and Max sighs, “because it doesn’t work like that. It only works if you love me.” You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “The curse is broken. Did you not hear me say it? I love you, Max. I loved you as a beast and I love you as you are now. I don’t care about your looks, I love you. Who you are inside.” You promise, cupping his cheek.

“But you cannot tell me that I do not look better now.” He huffs, leaning in to kiss you again. His heart jolts in his chest and his eyes widen, gasping into the kiss. “My heart!” He grabs your hand and holds it over the wildly beating muscle. “This is all for you, Angel.”

“Your haircut is better.” You tease and he chuckles, his chest moving beneath your palm. You feel his heartbeat and you lean in to kiss him again, “mine is yours.” You promise and he nudges his nose against yours. The staff come rushing through the doors, excited cries of relief that their years of being frozen in time are over. “I knew she was the one.” Mrs. Smith proclaims and the others nod as Max caresses your cheek while he stares lovingly into your eyes.

“I love you.” He murmurs softly. “You saved me from my fate as the beast that no one could love.” His thumb strokes your cheek. “We will be married as soon as we can have the party.” He decides, grinning at you. “And we will live happily ever after.”

You nod, knowing you want to spend the rest of your life with him. “I love you.” You murmur, kissing him again as he pulls you close.

****

“You may now kiss the bride!” The priest declares even though Max has already surged forward to press his lips to yours. The castle is decorated and the villagers are in attendance as well as the servants, all excited to witness Max and his bride be married. Max is soon sweeping you onto the dance floor and you grip his arms as he twirls you around. He is devastatingly handsome but he’s softer, not the bitter beast he was. He is happy and giving and kind even if he’s sarcastic at times. You adore him and you can’t wait to spend your life with him.

“Are you ready for happily ever after?” You ask Max and he offers you a beautiful grin, “with you? I was ready from the night you broke into my house.” He smirks and you snort, “that was my brother.” You look over at your brother who is smiling and speaking with the maid who is blushing at his flirtations. “So you weren’t trying to steal, but you ended up stealing my heart.” He declares and you giggle softly, making him grin to have made you laugh. “And ended up taming the beast.” You counter and Max grins, oblivious to anyone but you. The beauty who tamed the beast and broke the vampiric curse of Max Phillips

#pedro pascal #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips smut #max phillips imagine #beauty and the beast au #beast!max phillips

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uchispeach · 7 months ago

Text

Sycamore Tree (Ch. 2)

Pairing: Dark! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Mention of violence & guns, implied stalking, non consensual touching, obsessive behavior, manipulative! Rafe…

This fic will contain dark content: such as dub-con/ non-con and violence. You have been warned.

12 missed calls. 10 from Jennifer and 2 from an unknown number. That’s what you’ve woken up to.

You sighed while rubbing your face. You were about to get up, leaving the comfort of your silky sheets just as your phone rang. “Hi” You spoke softly. “Thank God you answered!” A high pitched voice received your ears with no previous warning.

“I’m sorry Jen, I just checked my pho-” The dark haired girl was quick to interrupt you, adrenaline bubbling through her veins: “Did they arrest JJ?” The question took you by surprise “Why would they?” A frown decorated your face.

“Because he tried to shoot Topper?” Your upper body lifted itself from the pillows. “Wait- he fired the gun?” You made the move to get out of your bed, coldness hitting the soles of your feet. “Girl, yes he did! It was a miracle he didn’t hit him” Just like an automatic response, you paced back and forth, each step bringing you more and more anxiety.

“Is Topper pressing charges?” Your fingers grew white while you held the mobile with excessive force. “That’s what Kelce told me.” That last sentence made you stop in your tracks, frozen in the same spot.

Hundreds of scenarios traveled your brain, the last worse than the previous. “Y/N!” You flinched, remembering you were in the middle of a conversation. “Jen, I have to talk to Kiara. I’ll call you later.” The words were honeyed, almost like a plea. Even in the worst circumstances, you still worried about sounding rude.

“Alright, I just wanted to know you were safe… Even Rafe was concerned” The mention of the older blond made you tune back a little. “Rafe Cameron?” You couldn’t help the surprise on your tone. “Yes! He even asked for your number.”

(…)

“There’s no way on Earth we are letting you visit that boy!” Your mom didn’t hesitate in raising her voice, all in hopes of reaching your sister’s common sense.

“I already told you, we weren’t even on the same side of the island when it happened!” Kiara was relentless, stubborn with the idea of checking on her friends after yesterday’s rough night.

A lie or two had been told to your parents, something about assisting a small Kook reunion and religiously staying away from any messy party.

“I don’t care about that, you are not leaving this house on your own!” She waved her hands in annoyance. Desperation leaking through her words. “Then-” Your sister was cut short: “And you are not getting your phone back!”

Kiara took some steps back, rage exuding from her body as she stomped her way to her bedroom.

Flushed and tense, your mother made the move to follow behind. Starting with big strides and frustrated huffs.

You didn’t hesitate to step in as soon as she reached the white door. “Mom, I’ll talk to her…Don't stress about it” You basically begged, putting your palms on her tense shoulders as a comforting gesture.

The older woman just sighed, lifting her arms in defeat before turning around.

You waited a few minutes before turning the handle. Your sweaty hands held the metal piece with unnecessary force. Sobs were the first thing you heard, coming from the wobbling mouth of the brunette.

Step by step, you got closer to her sitting body. Your pace was hesitant, still, you made it to the bed. You felt the mattress weighing down as you positioned yourself by her side.

In a natural response, your soft arms wrapped around her. Skin to the raspy fabric of her blouse. “This is all Sarah’s fault” You backed up a little at the sound of her voice, afraid of possible harsh words being spat your way.

Surprised at the blond’s mention, you pulled her right back in, caressing her back with your warm palm. “What do you mean?” Your voice was quiet like a whisper. “Topper caught her and John B…” She raised her head, to look straight at you.

“…getting cozy.” She let out a bitter snicker while a sour look invaded her features. “And just like that, John B was being drowned by that pretentious Kook…We just saw how his life was slipping away. All for a stupid girl.” You struggled to swallow, a big knot already forming in your throat.

“Y/N” She squeezed your hand while her eyes pleaded at you. “JJ was just trying to save him.” A dreadful feeling leaked into your heart, ignoring it, you wholeheartedly said: “Everything’s going to be okay” You rubbed Kiara’s back as the optimistic words left your lips.

And as her teary face buried in your chest, you couldn’t help but think the worst.

(…)

“Please tell me you’re safe” You breathed frantically on the phone’s speaker. “We are for now…No idea what will go down after the police are involved.” You shrugged, Pope’s voice echoing in your ears.

You recognized the fear behind his words. A situation like this was putting his future at risk. “I’m sure they’ll understand JJ’s reasoning…At the end, nobody was hurt!” You voiced out at a rushed pace.

Silence was your answer for some excruciating seconds. “Is Kiara available?” It was clear he preferred to ignore your intended reassurance. “Is not that I don’t want to speak with you…I actually feel a bit better after hearing your voice.” It was almost like he read your mind, just as a childhood friend would do.

“…It’s just-JJ is going crazy without the capability to contact her.” You understood, quietly sneaking out of your room and into the hallway. “I get it. I’ll get her on the phone…Just wait” You focused on avoiding any encounter with your parents.

“Oh and Y/N” His tone was quieter than usual, almost as if it carried some shame to it. “I want you to know I tried my best to de-escalate things…they just got too ugly.” A frown appeared on your brows as you spoke in reassurance: “I know Pope. You have absolutely no blame in this!” You were as loud as you could, showing your honesty.

“Now, don’t beat yourself up. We’ll find a way to sort this out!”

(…)

“Your phone rang like crazy” Your sister handed you the device. With your hands full of unoccupied bags you stared confusedly at her. “Who was it?” Your legs made their way to the porch.

“A random number…I didn’t answer though” She shrugged her shoulders while realization made your nervousness spike. “Oh, probably just spam.” And as hard as you tried to find a hint of suspicion on the brunette’s posture, she simply looked defeated.

“Hey! When I get back I’ll make you something nice for dinner” Your hand caressed her tanned shoulder as a last sign of support.

On your way to the gate, you couldn’t help but stare at the growing number of missed calls. Still, you decided to ignore them and continue your walk to the store.

(…)

The bags felt heavier under the burning afternoon sun, but the summer breeze made the situation a bit better.

Having your sundress lifted up softly by a wave of air made you walk faster to the safety of your home. Too distracted by the possibility of your full bags breaking and making a big mess, you didn’t notice yourself walking straight onto a hard surface.

Your chest crashed onto what you recognized to be another person's torso. A loud gasp was all you could mutter while apologetically staring into the “stranger’s” eyes.

“Rafe” Your voice sounded almost like a squeak of a caught mouse. The Cameron boy stood proudly in front of you, reverse cap, characteristic polo shirt and navy shorts on. He wasn’t late to comment on your clumsy act: “You should really watch we’re you’re going, Y/N.” And as those words left his pink lips, a small smirk started decorating his face.

In contrast, your features morphed into an embarrassed look. “I am so sorry” You emphasized the ‘so’ with clear remorse, as to which the blond only smiled wider. “No worries! I’ve always known you can be a little distracted.” That made you relax a little.

“Let me help you with that.” He expressed while already having ripped off the bags from your smaller hands. “Don’t bother-” he didn’t let you finish. “You know…” His factions grew serious. “…I’ve been trying to contact you.”

Your palms unconsciously got sweaty as you saw him lightly tilting his head to the side, and you noticed how his tall figure blocked the light from the sky, making him look a tad more imposing.

“Oh! How?” You smiled, taking the easy route. “You should really answer the phone.” It was an order, not an advice. “I…” Suddenly, you couldn’t find your communication skills anywhere.

“I was concerned about you.” He took a step closer, making you feel like there was not enough oxygen for both of you (even though you were outside).

“Well” You gulped heavily, before taking a deep, silent breath. “I am not the one who is in trouble.” You couldn’t be anything but truthful, and against all odds, you felt a strong trust for the Cameron boy.

“My house is a crazy place right now, and Kiara is the one suffering the most” You just continued to spill in the almost empty parking lot. “I imagine, why don’t you let me drive you home?” Again, the question stayed as a formality as he got your groceries on the back of his truck.

“Just if you want to.” That made him turn to face you, a wolfish grin showing a hint of his pearly white teeth. “Of course I want to, I’ll be damned if I don't.” You didn’t know if it was his words or the heat of the sunny day, but you felt the warmth reaching your cheeks.

And your flustered state only grew deeper as he put his big hand on your lower back, helping you enter his luxurious vehicle.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as his arm rubbed against your chest and abdomen; only brought back by the ‘click’ sound of the seat belt.

“Safety first” His tongue had a charming tone while still having his upper extremities resting on your skin. You only nodded in agreement, too enticed by his proximity; and when he pulled back, you couldn’t help but feel a bit conflicted.

The blond got on the driver’s seat, confidently turning on the truck and maneuvering the steering wheel with his long fingers. “So, how have you been holding up?” Genuine interest lingered in his question. “I’m…scared. I don’t want my friends going to jail.” You stopped, taking in some fresh air “I know bad decisions were taken, but still…”

“I don’t think you should be around that type of people…” You frowned, and he continued “…volatile people, who put everyone around them at risk. You deserve better than all the stress that comes with it.” You saw him pull his eyes away from the street just to stare deeply at you.

You didn’t know what it was, if his intense gaze, the lack of sleep or a wave of sensitivity thrown your way by the universe; but tears started forming on your eyes and your lip started wobbling, making the young man look at you with sympathy written all over his face. “See? Pogues bring nothing but problems” His hand reached out to pull back a strand of hair that was blocking your face.

“I know…I know they weren’t exactly right for acting that way but-but” You stumbled upon your words, a small sob interrupting your sentence. Rafe’s attention was back on the road but he still looked at you through the corner of his eyes.

“It’s alright…” The palm on your upper thigh took you by surprise; he caressed it confidently, making the hem of your skirt rise a little. “…Maybe we could find a way to…fix things.”

You blinked in uncertainty. “But how?” Even with his head facing upfront, you could still see the playful look on his face. “I know Topper can get a tad too emotional…he just needs a little guiding here and there.” The more he spoke, the more you understood what he meant.

“Would you do that for me?” Your eyes sparkled in hope, hope that kept you from unnerving as his hand traveled further up your leg. “I mean, that’s what friends are for, right?”

“Thank you” Your voice sounded almost like a whisper, produced by the slight dizziness forming on your brain.

“I’m not gonna lie, Y/N. I don’t understand why you’re so attached to them.” The sudden exasperation in his voice was subtle but not unnoticeable. His anger was accompanied by a harsh squeeze to your flesh.

The feeling of his fingertips burying into your skin made you breathe heavier.

The truck stopped without a warning, making you jump slightly. “Here we are!” He let go of you with a pat, cheerfully speaking.

“Thanks!” Was all you managed to let out. Your fingers made the move to open the door but you were stopped by his strong arms.

His warm breath hit your lips, and you stayed still as he undid the belt. “See you around?” He asked with a smile on his face.

“Sure!” You were quick to reply. Before jumping out of the vehicle and onto your front yard, you spoke: “And Rafe, thank you so much for offering your…help.”

“Of course” He nodded charmingly. You made your way inside the house, too shocked with the interaction to think about how he drove you home without the need of giving him the address.

A/N: I had salmonella, I got hospitalized for a few days, then, I was forced to stay at an internet-less town for a month; anyways, I hope I’ll be able to post next chapter in a few days 💕

#Rafe Cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #dark fanfiction #dark fic #tw dark content #dark content #dark!rafe cameron #dark rafe cameron

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tired-truffle · 5 months ago

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Even the Gods Cry For Us

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.2k

Part 2/17

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore (if anyone else would like to be tagged with future updates let me know!)

“You poor thing. Sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do. It's already been done.” - Ethel Cain

Masterlist

Nothing killed the mood like the growling of one’s stomach. When was the last time you ate? Yesterday morning? No, you hadn’t been able to stomach anything after Sky’s…had she died only two days ago? And her spirit, once trapped in the Hexcore, had you truly managed to free her? Your magic was greedy, it stood to reason it wouldn’t want to let her go - but you hadn’t the faintest idea how you could figure that out.

The cupboards were bare, not a single crumb or drop of water left in the house, and you had quickly run into a dilemma; Viktor wanted to venture out to find food, and more importantly water, but your body was weak and uncooperative. Your legs gave out as you tried to descend the stairs, landing on your backside as you slid the rest of the way down. Mortified, you’d tried to stand again, only for your knees to buckle and send you back to the floor. Viktor had fretted over you, descending the stairs behind you at an alarming rate, and you were sure that he would follow your path. But his new body was improved in coordination and stronger than yours. Once he’d ensured you were alright, your magic already at work to numb any pain, it became clear that neither of you felt comfortable leaving the other alone. But the dry, sandpaper-like feeling in your throat reminded you that water was essential for survival. Damn it.

“It’s too dangerous for you to go out there alone,” you insisted as he helped you sit up, his arm under your shoulder. “We don’t know enough about what I did to you, what if you get stuck out there? I won’t know where you are.”

“I’m aware of my capabilities, Milá. I will be back before you know it.”

“You don’t know that,” you pressed, your voice hoarse from dehydration, “we’ve seen how unpredictable my magic is. It’s too much of a risk.”

Viktor sighed, his metallic fingers gently squeezing your shoulder. "Milá, we don't have much choice. We can't both go in your condition, and we can't both stay here and wither away."

You knew he was right, but fear clouded your judgment. The memory of Sky's fate was still raw, a festering wound. Not to mention you’d almost lost Viktor as well.

"There has to be another way," you insisted, your voice rising. "We just need to think—"

In your agitation, you waved your hand and as you did, a shimmering distortion appeared in the air before you, coalescing into a large pitcher filled to the brim with clear, cool water. It hung there momentarily, suspended by some unseen force, before gently settling onto the floor between you and Viktor.

You both stared at it, mouths agape, minds struggling to process. The pitcher sat there, a perfect image of innocence and purity against the backdrop of dusk and muck. It was almost surreal, as if it had been plucked from the lab and dropped into this unexpected setting.

“Did I do that?” You inched towards the pitcher, suspicion wrinkling the skin around your eyes.

“It wasn’t me,” Viktor offered unhelpfully, and you shot him an unimpressed glare.

With a hesitant and careful movement, you reached out to touch the pitcher, quickly retracting your hand as though it might bite when you hit the smooth surface.

Viktor’s eyes were full of sparkling curiosity as he observed the mysterious object. “There is only one way to ensure its safety.”

“Which is?” You’d barely gotten your question out before Viktor had snatched up the pitcher and brought it to his mouth. His throat bobbed as he swallowed down a generous amount of the clear liquid.

“Viktor!” you shouted, panic crashing through you and the web of your magic pulsing its concern - a few squeals had you glancing around for those damned sparks, but they remained elusive.

He chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to clear away any lingering droplets. “Human experimentation may be frowned upon, but it’s an exceptionally accurate test,” he remarked. “That and I was very thirsty.”

“That’s not funny,” you hissed, snatching the pitcher from his hands and holding it close to your chest, your bottom lip jutted out in a childish pout.

“It’s a little bit funny.” The corners of his mouth curved upward into a sly grin, causing a flicker of irritation to flare up within you.

“What if it’s poison? Just cause it looks like water doesn’t mean it is.” You sniffed the pitcher, the smell of the porcelain the only scent you caught.

“Given that I’m still breathing, it’s safe to say that it’s at least not a fast-acting poison. I also trust you not to summon a jar of poison.” He gestured towards the pitcher. “You should drink, Milá. It is important for your recovery that you remain hydrated.”

You were well aware of that, given how many times you’d burned yourself. And you were incredibly thirsty, your lips dry and cracking, your tongue feeling like it was made out of sand.

With a quick glance at Viktor, and then back to the pitcher, you lifted it to your lips and let the cool liquid flow down your throat. The refreshing taste brought relief to your parched mouth, and even if it turned out to be poison, you didn't care anymore.

When you finally lowered the pitcher, gasping for air, you noticed a secretive smile playing on Viktor’s lips.

"What?" you asked, copying his motion from earlier and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Nothing," he replied, reaching for the pitcher. "I'm just glad to see you looking more…alive."

You rolled your eyes, though that didn’t stop the affection that spread through your chest. As Viktor took his turn drinking, you felt a sudden pang in your stomach. Right, you were also starving. Water alone wouldn't sustain you for long.

Your stomach growled loudly, causing Viktor to pause mid-sip and raise an eyebrow. "I suppose water isn't quite enough, is it?"

Embarrassed, you shook your head. But you had an idea; if you could summon water, why wouldn’t you be able to do the same with food? Focusing on the space in front of you, you willed a plate of food to appear just as the pitcher had. You pictured a steaming bowl of stew, some crackers, and maybe even a slice of pie for dessert. Your brow furrowed with concentration, but nothing materialized.

"It's not working," you grumbled, your fists clenching - and swiftly unclenching when a spasm of pain made it through your numbing barrier and up your arm.

Viktor set down the pitcher and scooted closer to you. "Perhaps we're approaching this the wrong way," he mused, his analytical mind already at work. "What were you thinking about when you conjured the water?"

You thought back to that moment, trying to recall your exact state of mind. "I was…scared. Worried about you going out alone. And I wanted there to be another way."

Viktor nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And now?"

"Now I'm just hungry. And annoyed that it's not working."

Viktor chuckled, soft and patient. "Ah, there's our problem. Your magic responds to emotion, not just need. When you summoned the water, you were feeling protective, weren't you? You wanted to keep me safe."

You nodded slowly, beginning to see where he was going with this.

"So," Viktor continued, taking your hand in his, "let's try focusing on positive feelings. Think about how good it will feel to eat, how it will help us both recover."

You closed your eyes, letting Viktor's words wash over you. You thought about shared meals in the lab, and late-night snacks as you pestered him with questions that he never seemed to mind, the simple joy of eating with someone you cared about. As you concentrated on those memories, you felt a tingling sensation in your fingertips.

"Milá," Viktor's voice was soft and you leaned towards him instinctively. "Open your eyes."

You did, and there before you was a small feast: a tureen of fragrant soup, a loaf of crusty bread, and even a modest chocolate cake. Not exactly what you’d had in mind, but wonderful nonetheless. The sight and smell permeated the mildew of the old house, making it feel a little more alive and welcoming.

"It worked!" you exclaimed, reaching out to touch the bread, just to make sure it was real. The crust crackled under your fingers, still warm as if fresh from the oven.

"Remarkable." Viktor leaned in to examine the food more closely. "Your powers continue to astound me."

You couldn't help but beam at his praise, a warm flush creeping up your neck. But the growling of your stomach quickly reminded you of more pressing matters.

"We can study it later," you said, already tearing off a chunk of bread. "Right now, I'm starving."

Viktor helped himself to some soup, and you found yourself momentarily distracted by the way his thick eyebrows furrowed slightly as he blew on the broth to cool it down. But your hunger would not be ignored for long, and you were quickly brought back to the task at hand.

You ate in comfortable silence, at the bottom of the steps, not bothering to move to a more suitable location - there really wasn’t anywhere else anyway. As the food hit your stomach, you found your sour mood vanishing beneath the warmth that rose at the sight of Viktor, alive and sort of well, eating with you on the floor of his childhood home.

“I can’t believe you've been calling me Darling all these years and I never even knew.” You broke the quiet as you polished off the last bites of your meal, lightly nudging his foot with yours. “Who even does that?”

He smiled wide and brimming with affection, and you thought you may swoon from the sweetness of it all. “A besotted fool.”

A rosy blush spread across your cheeks and over the tips of your ears.

“Though, I must admit that I got a little flustered and used the wrong conjugation,” he said with a sheepish grin, a light red tinge running up his neck. “It should be miláčku, if I am using it to address you. Miláček would be used when talking about someone.”

“Oh,” you thought on it for a moment. “Well, that’s not too bad.”

He cleared his throat, finding a keen interest in the corner of the ceiling. “It is also, ah, a male term of endearment.”

You stared at Viktor blankly for a moment. Then, like a dam bursting, laughter erupted from deep within your chest. It started as a giggle, then grew into a full-bodied guffaw that shook your entire frame. Tears sprang to your eyes as you gasped for air between peals of laughter.

The absurdity of it all hit you in waves. Here you were, sitting on the dusty stairs of a dilapidated house, having just conjured a meal out of thin air, learning that the man you'd been pining after for years had been calling you by a male pet name this entire time. The juxtaposition of the profound and the ridiculous was too much to bear.

You clutched your sides, your ribs aching. You tried to speak, to say something witty or clever, but every time you opened your mouth, another bout of giggles overtook you.

Viktor's face flushed an even deeper shade of red. "I panicked," he admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. "But it could have been worse; my mother called broučku."

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you managed to collect yourself enough to ask, “What does that mean?”

He grinned, finally meeting your gaze. “Little beetle.”

You gasped, your eyes widening with delight. "Little beetle? That's adorable!" A matching grin spread across your face, imagining a tiny Viktor scampering about. "Oh, I can just picture your mom scooping you up and calling you her little broučku!"

Viktor's brow furrowed, his lips pursed in a mock pout. "I'm not a teeny insect, thank you very much. I'm a respected scientist and inventor."

You giggled at his indignation. "Even if you were the world's smallest bug, I'd still love you," you declared. "I'd build you a terrarium and everything. It would have little beakers and test tubes, maybe a tiny chalkboard for your calculations."

"Well, I suppose that wouldn't be so bad," he conceded, his metallic fingers drumming a gentle rhythm on his leg. "Though I must insist on proper ventilation.”

“Only the best for you, my little bug,” you crooned with saccharine sweetness.

Viktor's lips quirked into a smirk. "I’m shocked to find out that you could hold such feelings for an insect. I better not see you cavorting around with any of the spiders in this house. Some have particularly large backsides that I cannot compete with."

The mental image his words conjured was too much. You dissolved into another fit of giggles, imagining Viktor sizing himself up against a portly arachnid.

"I don't know," you managed between gasps, wiping tears from your eyes. "Those spiders are pretty tempting. All those legs, you know? Very sexy."

Viktor's eyebrows shot up, a look of mock horror crossing his face. "Milá! How could you? Here I thought we had something special, and you're off fantasizing about eight-legged womanizers."

You leaned in close, your nose nearly brushing his. "What can I say? I like my men with an exoskeleton."

Viktor's laugh was rich and warm and you revelled in it. But as it subsided, a comfortable silence settled over you both. The mirth lingered in your eyes, softening into something warmer, more tender. You found yourself studying Viktor's face, tracing the lines of his jaw, noting how the fading light caught in his amber eyes.

“You can call me Miláček or miláčku,” you said. “I like both, even if they’re technically meant for men. It’s just my name, regardless of its meaning. I don’t think anything else would fit at this point.”

"I'm glad," he said, barely above a whisper. "Though I think I prefer miláčku. It suits you better."

His metallic hand reached out, hesitant at first, then gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The cool touch sent chills down your neck, but it wasn't unpleasant. If anything, it heightened your awareness of how close you were sitting, your knees almost touching.

“It seems silly now,” you leaned into his touch, “to let it go unsaid for so long.”

His smile softened, and you scooted closer, knees knocking together, needing to be near him. “I didn’t want to burden you with my impending death more than I already had.”

You wrapped your arm around his waist, leaning into his side. “You have never been a burden, Viktor.”

“Still,” he doubled down, “it didn’t seem fair of me to confess my feelings. I worried I’d only hurt you more in the end. You deserve to live a long and happy life with whomever you choose.”

You paused, the slight crease of a frown tugging at your lips as you tilted your head upward. Your eyes followed his gaze towards the door, noticing the tension in his jaw as he deliberately avoided looking directly at you. “Do you blame yourself for this?”

He pursed his thin lips, sighing as he looked towards his feet. “You were hurt during the explosion at the council that I attended, and then, to save me from my body’s failings, you endangered yourself, used the Hexcore and almost—“ he cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut. “Now, you’re stuck in the abandoned slums of the Undercity because I brought you here. I fail to see how that is not my fault.”

With a flicker of playful familiarity, you mimicked a move he had frequently used on you. Gently, your fingers grasped his chin and turned his face to meet yours, a slight dip of your head allowing your eyes to meet his downcast gaze. You smiled almost shyly as you brushed your thumb across his bottom lip, feeling the cracked texture beneath your touch. “It was my decision to save you and the rest of the council from the explosion, just as it was my decision to absorb the Hexcore to save you. And it is still my decision to be here with you. I don’t care where we are, as long as we are together. Don’t think for one moment that I regret getting more time with you. Besides, it’s not like either of us could go back to Piltover looking like this.”

His lips parted, staring at you as though you hung the sun and the moon and scattered the stars across the night sky. “I appreciate you attempting to absolve me of my guilt, but I had a part to play in all this too.”

He held your right hand in his, palm up as he traced the now healed - thanks to the Shimmer - burn scarring your skin. It had been the consequences of the first time you’d tried to heal Viktor with the Hexcore.

“Maybe,” you said nonchalantly, “but I don’t blame you for it.”

“No, you blame yourself, which I would argue is not an improvement.”

“Then we will both have to work on absolving ourselves of guilt. It happened, and there’s nothing we can do to change that.” Easier said than done, but it was a start, if nothing else. “All we can do now is move forward and try to do our best.”

“Wise words from a woman who only moments ago was pouting over potentially poisoned water,” he teased, brushing his nose against yours.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that little stunt. You owe me for the mini heart attack you gave me.”

Viktor grinned, promise glinting in his amber-hued gaze. “I’m sure I can figure out some way to make it up to you.”

Your heart fluttered at Viktor's suggestive tone, but exhaustion quickly dampened any amorous intentions. You settled for nestling closer, breathing in his familiar scent as your eyelids grew heavy.

The days that followed blended together in a haze of rest and recovery. You found yourself able to conjure food and water with increasing ease, though you couldn’t figure out how to choose what you got. One morning, you woke to find a steaming plate of eggs benedict waiting for you, complete with a delicate sprig of parsley on top.

You and Viktor fell into a comfortable routine. During the day, you’d talk softly about everything and nothing, exchanging tender kisses that left you breathless. At night, you curled up together on the hard floor, but you didn’t mind it so much as long as you weren’t alone.

Your strength returned gradually as you recovered, and you found yourself able to make the trip up and down the stairs. You were thankful that the bathroom was on the second floor, though it wasn’t ideal. The plumbing was no longer functional, but you’d made do with a bucket and tried not to dwell on the less-than-ideal situation.

The hallucinations persisted, though none quite as terrifying as that first night. Occasionally, you'd see Sky's ghost watching you from the corner of the room, hear Jayce’s laughter or whispers from the Hexcore. But they were fleeting, like echoes of a fading dream.

Your magic continued its mischievous streak. One afternoon, you sneezed and accidentally turned all the dust particles in the air into tiny butterflies. Another time, you laughed so hard at one of Viktor's dry jokes that you cracked the bedroom door.

But as you grew stronger, Viktor declined. His movements became slower, more laboured. Dark circles deepened under his eyes, and his skin took on a sickly pallor. You caught him wincing when he thought you weren't looking, his hand pressed against his chest as if to hold something in.

He tried to hide it, of course, brushing off your concerns with a smile and a quip. But you knew him too well to be fooled.

“Viktor,” you said one night as you lay together on the hard ground, your magic refusing to conjure up anything but food and water - incredibly frustrating when what you really wanted was a simple tube of lip balm. “Do you feel it?”

“Feel what, exactly?” The words fell from his mouth with a practiced ease, but you weren't fooled by the casualness in his tone. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

You raised your hand off his chest, letting your magic poke and prod at the responding sparks that bounced off his metal skin. “The magic is fading, it’s not settling out. What I did was temporary, and the only way to do it again—“

“No,” he spoke over you, firm and tightening his grip around your waist. “I will not risk you like that.”

“I will not let you die,” you countered. “Do you have an alternative?”

His silence was answered enough.

“Soraka said that if I pulled too much on the Hexcore her spell would unravel, but what if I only pull on it a little bit? I already fortified you, maybe it will only need some touch-ups.”

He shook his head, and frustration rose like bile in your throat. “That is too dangerous. We don’t know the extent of the Hexcore’s influence; even a fraction of its power could be too great. And if it was fully unleashed, I fear the devastating effects it would have on you.”

You flipped over, muscles tensing as you propped yourself up on an elbow and stared down at him with determined defiance. “And your death wouldn’t destroy me?”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you weren’t finished. “I will not lose you, and I know you want to live too.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt on my behalf again.” He reached for your cheek, but you slapped his hand away, your lips pulled back and teeth barred in a feral snarl.

“No,” you growled, your eyes alight with a fury that may not have been entirely your own. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me. You promised.”

��Miláček—“

“You don’t get to call me that when you refuse to let me help, Viktor.” You pushed yourself up, your knees pressing into the floor.

He propped himself up on his elbows, following you, eyes wide as he struggled to find the right words to say. “Please, lay back down, allow me to explain.”

“No!” you shouted, surprising even yourself. The word reverberated through the air like a thunderclap, a mix of anger and desperation making it sound distant and close all at once. The buzzing in your ears grew louder, drowning out any rational thoughts as a surge of rage pulsed through your body, pounding against your skull.

With a quick, fluid movement, you stood up from the ground, your hands balled into tight fists at your sides. In front of you, Viktor crouched low, his gaze level with yours. His hand extended towards you, palm open, as if trying to calm a wild creature. When had he gotten up?

And when had that scorch mark on the wall behind him gotten there?

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded, voice thick with tears and aching desperation. You felt like a child throwing a temper tantrum, unable to comprehend anything outside of the agony that swirled inside, left without a proper outlet to express it. “Please, I can’t go through that again.”

“I know, lásko,” he soothed in a velvety whisper. His fingers gently wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer to him as if wanting to protect you from the world. You followed, mesmerized by the rich timbre of his voice and the warmth of his touch.

“You wish to help, and I don’t want to deny you this, but as you worry for me, so do I for you.”

That made sense, didn’t it? It was a fair assertion, one you could understand despite the buzzing in your mind. Sinking back to your knees, all but crumpling into Viktor’s embrace, you swallowed back the sob that threatened to escape, pushing it past the Hexcore’s presence that sat lodged in your throat. “I have to try.”

“We may discuss this more in the morning, but I make no promises. You are too precious to me, miláčku, if we are to do this, it must be safe for you.”

And you would make no promises either, for you could already feel your hold on the Hexcore had loosened ever so slightly - enough for its power to start leaking out of its cage, like wisps of smoke escaping through cracks in a jar.

“Okay,” you agreed for now, hazy even as you settled against him. “I’m sorry,” you added, “I didn’t mean to shout earlier, I was just suddenly…loud, like everything else in my head.”

He brushed a kiss against your forehead, soft and tender. The gentle pressure lingered, a wordless promise etched into your skin. You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation. His fingers threaded through your hair, cool against your scalp.

Viktor's lips moved against your skin, not quite forming words. You felt the working of his throat as if he was trying to speak but couldn't find the right thing to say. Instead, he poured all his unspoken feelings into that single, lingering kiss.

Next Chapter

A/N: Sooooo turns out I've been using the Czech term for darling wrong, and I thought I should probably fix that. Special thank you to @veru-boom for helping me write it properly!

Let me know what you think so far! How do you feel about losing your mind 😅

Its probably gonna be a few days before I am able to update again, but wanted to get a bit more out!

Little broǔcku Viktor ❤️

#angst with a happy ending #fluff #humour #machine herald viktor #viktor x y/n #viktor x you #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #no use of y/n #hurt/comfort #eventual smut #tooth rotting fluff

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

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Killing Time: Prologue

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“Yes, he’s here again,” your voice creaks as your hand shakes. “Please. I called yesterday…” And every other day for months. Almost a full year.

You peer out between the small space that divides curtain from window. The shadow looms, looking up at you. Your phone vibrates as the operator hems and haws on the other end.

“Are you sure it’s him?” She asks. They always doubt you. Report after report, phone call after phone call, and it’s always question, question, question. You sigh.

“Yes,” your voice peeks as you pull back and hide against the wall. “Yes, I know it’s him. He’s texting me.”

You don’t even need to check. It’s the same thing every time. Next, he’ll try to sneak in the front and be knocking at your apartment door.

“Well, ma’am, you say you’ve called before and we’ve sent a cruiser and we’ve filed reports. And this man keeps showing up, so what exactly do you want me to do now? I can’t issue you a safety order over the phone--”

“Excuse me?” You gasp. “Excuse me? Are you serious? I have an order already and much good it does me. I call you and I get accused of being dramatic and questioned. What I want is for someone to protect me.”

“Ma’am, don’t get abusive with me,” she warns. “Have you tried telling him to go away yourself?”

“Wow, wow,” you throw your hand out. “Really? Really? No, I never thought of it,” you say sarcastically, “is there someone else who can take me call? I really don’t feel safe.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can reroute an officer to you. Alright?” She speaks as if you’re a child. You’re too weak to argue anymore.

“Whatever,” you hang up.

You can’t do this anymore. You need to get out of here. Not that you didn’t think of it before but you can’t afford anything else. Your rent control is the only thing keeping you under a roof. You’ve already switched jobs, just to get away from him. There isn’t that much else up there.

You drag yourself through the shadows and sit on the bed. You exist in darkness. You don’t turn on the lights so he can’t see in. You keep the curtains shut. You only leave for work and always take a different exit, never the same route; not always the bus, not always the train.

And friends? What are those? Most of them took his side, said you were throwing around false accusations, and the others accused you of being obsessed. The single coworker you confided in told you to leave town. Wow, well, if you could afford that, you wouldn’t stay in this building with the grinding radiator and rattling fridge.

You look at your phone.

‘I see you.’ The message was sent while you were on the call with emergency services. Several more followed. ‘I just want to talk’; ‘you look so pretty’; ‘please, I love you’.

As you read each text, you can hear the last conversation you had with Jake. He’s a relic of your former friend group, the very reason for your dejection. It’s almost funny how the rest just cut ties but he won’t let go.

It all started with a kiss. A kiss and rejection. New Years Eve and the clock counted down. You didn’t expect him to turn and plant one on you and when you shoved him away, that dreamy look in his eyes turned to fury as you fled. New Year, New you, right?

The new you is scared and paranoid and tired. So, so tired.

You get up and move the chair in front of the door. Just in case. You retreat, keeping your phone close, and grab the extendable baton from the table. You sleep with both, if you can sleep. That night, you won’t.

You settle in on the couch. You don’t use the bedroom. You need an easy escape. You sit back against the cushions and scroll on your phone. It might be hopeless, but you trawl the job board and the apartment boards. You might find a nugget of gold in all the pebbles.

You sign into the job site and see the red dot in the corner. It’s always a marketing promo. ‘Recommending’ a job you don’t qualify for or an invitation for an MLM scheme. It’s a joke. You don’t understand how anyone ever gets a job but everyone seems to have a better one than you.

You tap the inbox to make the red dot go away. You hate it floating in the corner of your vision. Your thumb twitches and hovers over the screen as you read the subject line. Hm.

‘Caretaker Position: Relocation Required’.

Well, you don’t really have the experience for caretaking but the second part sounds intriguing. You hesitate. It’s too good to be true. You’re sure there will be a list of qualifications longer than your resume.

Tap.

You open up the message.

‘Hello,

We’ve reviewed your profile and determined you might be a match for this position.

New Applicants Welcome.

We are seeking an individual to undertake caretaking duties for a property. This role would include the following:

Lawn care

General cleaning and maintenance

Manual labour requiring lifting of up to 60lbs

24/7 tenancy within property (no rent for chosen candidate)

Subsidized relocation

Training on-site

If you are seeking a fresh start and to learn new skills which can take you into future roles in a custodial or caretaking capacity, this is the job for you. To apply, please submit brief profile and resume for consideration.

Applicants are subject to a background check.’

You bite down on the inside of your lip. It sounds interesting but you’re not sure you’re a good fit. It’s so general, too. Would you need to know how to deal with electrical issues? Your apartment sure has taught you a lot about dealing with broken utilities, but your formal training is lacking.

And it’s a big thing. You want to get out of here but it’s still daunting in comparison to your current predicament.

You tense as you hear footsteps in the hall. You brace yourself and lower the phone, staring at the door. The thumping on the other side makes you flinch. Your heart races.

“Baby, I know you’re awake. Please. I just wanna talk.” He keeps tapping. “If you just talked to me, we could figure this out.”

You shudder and look at your phone again. You stare at the big blue button; ‘Apply Now’.

“I forgive you. For lying about me. Everyone knows you were just upset. I’ll tell them all it was just a misunderstanding…” he begs as the door shakes in the frame, the chair knocking against the handle. All that stands between you and him are those hinges and that flimsy piece of furniture.

You press down on the button. It can’t get worse than this.

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

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See Through You

Pairing: Dark!Nick Fowler x Female Reader Summary: You head to a carnival with your best friend and get more than you bargained for when your handsome neighbor bumps into you. Word Count: Almost 4.8k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, NONCON/DUBCON, unprotected vaginal sex, semi-public sex, choking, mirror sex, possessive behavior, mentions of stalking, breaking and entering, threat of violence and implied violence (not against the reader), Nick Fowler (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Fix #8 Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! Special thanks to @maskedmistress87 who suggested dark!Nick with mirror and choking and @sgt-seabass and @tumblin-theworldaway for spitballing. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @buckets-and-trees (thanks for the feedback and help!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was your best friend's idea to wear costumes to the carnival. Though it wasn't Halloween just yet, it was a good way to get into the spooky holiday spirit. You weren't sure why you decided on a Red Riding Hood costume, but the cape would keep you somewhat warm if it got too cold. So would the stockings. You even got a basket purse so you could carry your things around and keep in theme with the outfit.

If you were lucky, you'd find yourself a big, bad wolf to play with.

After adjusting the cape around your neck, you spritzed yourself with your favorite perfume and carefully set the bottle on your vanity. You always set it to the right of your jewelry box. Strangely, it wasn't in its usual spot the last few days. Just like your robe wasn't yesterday. You swore you set it on the left hook, but when you got out of the shower it was on the right.

It would’ve been easy to write it off as a roommate messing with you, but you lived alone.

“I really need to stop watching scary movies before bed,” you mumbled as you went to your dresser and shut your underwear drawer. It was ajar a few days ago. Had you left your place in such a hurry that you forgot to close it?

The ding of your phone pulled you from your thoughts, giving yourself one more look in your vanity mirror before you went to get the device.

“Two minutes away!” Kiki messaged you.

There was a slight chill in the air as you went outside to wait, but that wasn't why you shivered. Every once in a while, you had the feeling someone was watching you. Like a pair of eyes following your every move. It didn't make sense. There was nothing about you worth watching.

It didn't stop a chill from sliding down your spine as you looked over your shoulder every time you left your home. Or when you thought about the random things that moved around your place. As far as you knew, no one knew where your spare key was. You lost sleep wondering if some creep snuck in. If someone did break in, they didn’t take anything.

But if someone went into your place and didn't steal anything, what did they want?

“Nice costume.”

You jumped at the sound of a familiar voice, almost dropping your phone as you turned toward it. “Nick, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he smiled, but didn't sound sorry at all.

“Sure you are,” you smiled back, your heart slowing to a steady beat again as you wondered how he managed to sneak up on you.

Nick Fowler moved into your neighborhood a few months ago. He usually kept to himself, but made it a point to give you a nod when he was going to or from work. While you wouldn't say you were friends, he was friendly enough with you and didn't bother anyone. He even helped you fix your cable when it went out some time back. As far as neighbors went, he was a good one.

And a handsome one.

The man turned quite a few heads when he unloaded boxes from the moving truck and you didn’t blame anyone for looking his way. With his athletic build, he carried the heavy items with ease. He had the bluest eyes you’d ever seen and his short, dark hair only helped to make them stand out more. The scruff surrounding his lips and along his chin looked long enough to leave a delicious burn if it ever touched your skin. You hardly ever saw him smile at anyone, except you. And he smirked at you on more than one occasion.

Like he had a secret he was itching to tell you.

“You okay?” He asked, taking a step closer. “You seem a little jumpier than usual.”

“Just a little tired. Haven't slept well the last few nights.”

“Is everything okay?”

You debated telling him what was going on since he sounded concerned, but decided against it. You didn't need to burden him with that. Besides, nothing was wrong. Just the spooky season getting under your skin. “Oh, yeah. Everything's fine. I’ll probably end up crashing when I get back.”

“Well, I'm here if you need anything,” he said after a moment. Those blue eyes of his meticulously looked over your costume. “So, you have a fun night planned?”

You almost tightened your cape around your body to hide from his gaze. Not that his attention wasn't flattering. It was kind of nice. Plus he was single as far as you knew and you never noticed him bringing anyone around. “Yeah. Going out with a friend."

Nick frowned a little. “He isn't wearing a wolf costume, is he?”

You swore there was a hint of jealousy in his tone, but you were probably imagining it. “No, she isn't,” you said, smiling as his shoulders relaxed.

“Well, it’s a great costume. You honestly look good enough to eat,” he said, chuckling a bit when heat crawled up your neck. “Sorry. I hope that didn’t sound bad.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I appreciate the compliment,” you said, both of you smiling as the warmth continued to move up to your face. “Do you have any plans?”

“I may watch a movie,” he said, running his fingers through his short hair. You tried not to stare at the veins in his hands or the way his sweater hugged his muscular frame. “It's too bad you can't join me.”

Your eyebrows shot up, not expecting his offer. Was it an actual offer? He hadn't invited you over to his place before. “Is it a scary movie? I like them, but sometimes they…”

“Scare you?” he guessed, his smile sympathetic as you nodded. “Well, you don't have to worry about any bad guys with me around. I can keep you safe.”

You smiled softly before Kiki pulled up to the curb. “Maybe another time?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, seemingly disappointed as he nodded toward the car. “Have fun at the carnival.”

Your smile slipped a little as he walked toward his place. “Thanks,” you called out, quickly getting into the car.

“Hey! Isn't that your super hot neighbor?” Kiki asked as you buckled yourself in.

“Yeah,” you replied, looking in the mirror as she drove off. Nick had stopped before he went inside and watched as the two of you drove away. It made you shiver. “He kind of invited me over to his place.”

“What?! And you're in here with me?” she asked, lightly smacking your arm. “You should've gone with him or invited him to come with us. You could’ve gotten laid tonight.”

At the reminder of your recent lack of sex life, you sighed. There was nothing wrong with having fun, but you wanted a bit more than that. Not like anyone had shown interest in you as of late. There was the guy who lived across the street who flirted with you weeks back, but he pretty much avoided contact with you the next day.

You wondered if he moved out since you hadn’t seen him since.

“You were already on your way and I didn’t want to just invite him,” you said, loosening your grip on your purse when your fingers began to ache. “It's weird though. He told me to have fun at the carnival, but I don't remember ever telling him I was going.”

How did he know?

“Maybe he guessed. Or maybe you mentioned it and forgot. I mean, you did say you haven't been sleeping well lately.”

“That's my own fault,” you said.

“Well, lack of sleep could be messing with your memory. And may I remind you that I told you to stop watching scary movies? They always make you jumpy,” she said, glancing over at you as her smile faded. Nick even noticed your jumpiness. “Look, we can skip this and go tomorrow. I don't mind.”

You shook your head and brushed the strange feeling off. She was right. Those films made you paranoid and she didn't need to deal with that. “No, it's okay. We deserve some fun.”

“You want some real fun, go visit your neighbor when you get back. He looks like he knows how to fuck.”

“I'm sure he does,” you giggled. You had no doubt about that. “But I'm not going to find out tonight.”

“You might. Who knows? He may even show up at the carnival to hunt you down.”

You both laughed, your smile bright and happy again. No one was going to hunt you down. No one was watching you. Your life wasn't some creepy movie. You just needed to relax and have a good time.

The carnival was in full swing, booming with cheerful music and shouts from people on the brightly lit rides. As you followed Kiki though, you kind of regretted not taking Nick up on his offer to hang out. Not even thirty minutes after you arrived, your best friend bumped into a hot guy. Literally bumped into him and almost spilled her drink on his shirt. Both of them had hearts in their eyes and they had been attached at the hip since. While you were glad she was having a good time, you were starting to feel a bit like a third wheel.

You also had that impression that someone was watching you again. Your skin prickled as you looked to the left and right, wishing the feeling would go away. It was silly. No one was looking at you. Everything was fine.

“Hey,” you said, tapping Kiki on her arm as she laughed at some corny joke. “I think I may explore on my own a bit.”

Her face fell as she looked between you and her new beau. “You sure? We can-”

“I'm sure. Really,” you assured her. She deserved to have a good time and would've encouraged you to do the same if you bumped into a guy. “I'll text you in a bit so we can meet back up?”

“Or I can give you a ride home.”

Surprise was written all over your face as you spun around. That was the second time Nick made you jump today, an amused smile on his face as you held your chest. He was in the same outfit you saw him in earlier, but he now had a sticker on the left side of his chest that stated, “Hi! My name is NICK”.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, his smile immediately fading as you took a breath. Your tone was a lot sharper than you intended. “I'm sorry. You just scared me again.”

Nick peered at you before he sighed. “Didn't mean to scare you or eavesdrop. I got bored watching the movie and decided to check this place out,” he said, glancing down at his feet for a moment. “I tried waving a minute ago, but I guess you didn't see me.”

You felt like a bitch. Maybe that was why you thought someone was watching you. It really was all in your head. “Sorry, I didn't see you.”

“Sorry I scared you again,” he said.

“It's okay. Really.”

“Well, neighbor, since you're here, you two should hang out,” Kiki suggested, giving you an encouraging smile.

What did you have to lose? “Would you like to join me?”

Your neighbor's smile was back on his handsome face. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

Kiki nudged you forward, moving you closer to Nick as your stomach flipped. “Text me when you leave or if you still need a ride.”

“Don't worry. I'll take care of her," Nick promised as she walked off with her new guy on her arm, leaving the two of you alone. “Lead the way."

“Okay," you said, maintaining a bit of distance as you walked beside him. You had no clue if you wanted to play games or go on a ride. “Anything in particular you want to do?”

“You.”

Your head twisted in his direction so quickly you almost hurt yourself. “What?”

“I said ‘boo’,” he said, pointing in front of him. The two-story, brightly lit funhouse had a bunch of random words on the panels, including “boo”. Why did you think he said “you”? God, you needed to get a grip. “Should we do that? It could be fun.”

With a small laugh, you nodded. “Fun in a funhouse,” you said, stopping when the carnival worker at the entrance held up his hand.

“I’m about to go on my break. Come back in thirty minutes.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said, shrugging a little at Nick. Maybe you could find something else to do.

Nick, however, didn’t budge. “That’s quite a break. Tell you what,” he said, taking out his wallet and pulling out a bill. The worker’s eyes lit up when he saw the amount. “Why don’t you take your break and let us go in anyway? We won’t cause any trouble.”

“Stay the whole time for all I care,” the guy said, taking the money with a toothy grin and letting both of you go past to walk up the steps. “Enjoy!” he added, roping it off with a “closed” sign before he walked away.

“Go ahead,” Nick urged, waiting for you to finish going up the stairs first.

The normally whimsical music sounded strange to your ears. Maybe it felt spooky since you knew you were the only two that would be inside. Or maybe it was because the movie you watched a couple of nights ago took place in a funhouse. A group of teens went in. Nobody made it out. No, this wouldn't be anything like that.

“We really could’ve just come back,” you said, holding onto the railing as the stairs shifted back and forth. You didn’t hear Nick follow right away. Glancing back, you swore you saw him check out your ass. Not that he could see much thanks to the cape.

“You might have decided to leave before we made it back this way,” he said as you came across a spinning barrel. Just staring at it made you slightly dizzy. “Not that it would’ve been a bad thing if we left since Kiki ditched you so quickly.”

“She didn’t ditch me,” you argued as you stepped into the barrel. The sound of a laughing clown filled your ears as you did your best to walk in a straight line. “She deserves some fun,” you added, regaining your balance once you stepped onto a normal floor again.

Nick followed you so silently that you didn’t realize he was right behind you until his lips touched your ear. “So do you.”

Hot air shot out of the ceiling above your head with a piercing whistle, giving you an excuse to jump away as your heart pounded. His eyes sparkled in amusement at your reaction. “Like I said, fun in the funhouse,” you teased, putting your hands along the walls as the hallway grew narrow. It was still large enough for you to squeeze through.

“Especially since we have the place to ourselves,” he reminded you.

A shiver rolled down your spine. You wondered exactly what kind of fun he wanted to have and if you should’ve chosen your words more carefully. “You know,” you began as you stumbled into a Hall of Mirrors, frowning as you realized there wasn’t an open door or space to move through. Which mirror did you have to push to get to the next room? “You didn’t say why you were wearing a nametag.”

“It's my costume," he said, tilting his head like the answer was obvious.

You glanced around to see if any of the mirrors had any smudges, anything to give away which direction to go. They were all clean. “And what exactly are you supposed to be?"”

He smirked as he met your reflection in one of the mirrors. “I’m dressed as your neighbour who’s gonna fuck you until you can’t remember anything but my name."

You nearly fell into the mirror and he quickly caught your arm to keep you upright, the grip a bit tighter than you expected. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me," he shrugged a little as he stepped closer. “Almost wore a wolf costume so I could chase you down. The subtle hints I've dropped aren’t working, so I might as well spell it out for you.”

You tried to figure out if he was joking or not. Your reaction was to giggle. A nervous, soft laugh that seemed to wipe his smirk away. “Is that why you came here tonight? You were hoping you'd fuck me?” you asked, remembering your earlier talk with Kiki. “I don’t even remember telling you I was coming here.”

He tapped his ear. “I heard you on the phone with your friend.”

“I was in my bedroom when we made those plans. There’s no way you could've…” you trailed off, a sense of dread pooling in your stomach as he stared at you. Did his eyes always have a dangerous glint to them? “Nick, how did you hear that phone call?”

“Take a wild guess, sweetheart.”

You swallowed a little. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’ve been messing with me.”

It sounded crazy to your ears and you didn’t want to believe it because blaming it on irrational fear was easier. But the single, unashamed nod he gave you almost made you crumble. “I never told you what I do for work, but I’m good with setting up bugs and cameras. And such a sweet thing like you living so close, I couldn't help myself,” he explained casually, like he wasn’t admitting to something completely messed up. “You make such pretty noises when you touch yourself.”

“You watched me,” you whispered, your head spinning when he smirked. He watched you in your intimate, private moments. What else did he do?

“Knocking out your cable gave me the perfect excuse to get inside your place without raising suspicion. You never would've invited me over otherwise. Though you really should be more careful where you keep your spare key. Made it way too easy for me to make a copy.”

You held your stomach to keep from getting sick. So many thoughts raced through your mind as he advanced on you. Why had you ignored your instincts? Did your attraction to him partially blind you? “Why?”

“Because I wanted to. Because you’re mine. Take you pick,” he said, wrapping a hand around your neck before you could move back. “You have no idea how tempted I was to break down your door and fuck you after watching the footage. Or every time I snuck into your place. I even moved things around in the hope you’d turn to me and let me 'help you' figure out what was happening, but you didn’t. You kept your distance. Your little ‘hard to get’ act was cute, but a man can only take so much.”

Each word he spoke added a new layer of dread and alarm. He squeezed a little when you tried to pry his hand away, tears blurring your vision. Shouting wouldn’t do you any good, but it didn’t stop the screams in your mind. “I wasn't playing hard to get. I liked you,” you managed to say.

“And you weren't trying to lead that flirty neighbor on either, but you're too sweet for your own good. Don't worry. I took care of him. He'll never bother you again,” he smirked as your blood ran cold. What did he do? “Or anyone else for that matter.”

The man was insane. “Nick, you-”

He cut you off when he pressed his soft and warm lips against your mouth. You were two seconds away from biting into his bottom lip when he spun you around and shoved your front against the closest, normal mirror. It didn’t budge. “I’m tired of waiting for you to come around,” he said, yanking your cape off. “Tired of just watching when I know you belong to me.”

You froze, unable to fight or yell when he shoved your costume up. No one would hear you over the sounds of the carnival and the worker running the attraction wasn't close by. Why weren’t you fighting? Why couldn’t you do anything to stop him?

“Nick, let’s talk,” you tried to reason. “Please, you don’t have to do this.”

The sound of him tearing your underwear away made the first tear fall. “We're past the talking stage,” he snarled, kicking your legs apart before you whimpered. You weren’t sure if it was the sound that softened his gaze or the sight of your tears. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

His words did nothing to soothe you when he undid his pants. “You are hurting me,” you whispered. He hurt you by bringing fear into your life when he could've just asked you out.

“Am I?” he asked, parting your opening with his fingers. He chuckled darkly as he pushed a digit in with no warning. “Then why are you so wet?”

You whined in denial, but he was right. Arousal trickled along your thighs, your hole aching with the need for him to fill you with something larger than his finger. What was wrong with you? “No,” you moaned.

“Don’t deny me,” he growled, nosing along your neck before he bit down. You yelped, the sharp pain making you tighten around his finger. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re going to have so much fun together.”

Your body betrayed your will as he played with you and you were thankful momentarily when he pulled out. The relief was short-lived when you looked over your shoulder, just in time to watch him unzip his pants and take his hard cock out of his underwear. He’d break you with his size. “You can’t, please.”

“Yes, I can,” he said as he pressed the head of his cock against your sopping wet entrance. “Now be good and take what I give you.”

“Don't-”

“The only thing I want to hear you say is my name. Let’s let your pussy tell me how much you want me.”

You screamed as he pushed inside, your walls burning as you tried to accommodate for the size of him. He hadn’t prepped you nearly enough, though your arousal took some of the pain away. He didn’t pause to give you a chance to adjust either, as if the wet sound of you sucking his cock in gave him permission to take what he believed belonged to him.

“Fuck, your pussy feels better than I imagined,” he groaned, your resolve cracking as you opened your eyes. He forced you to meet his gaze in the mirror and you watched in horrid fascination as he took you. The surrounding glass showed every angle of his claim, your reality becoming more and more distorted. He surrounded you. Consumed you. “And it’s all mine.”

You made a small sound as you braced your hands on the glass, forced to feel every drag of his cock. The more he moved, the more you tried to grind your hips back against his. It was shameful for you to like it, humiliating that you wanted to get off because of him. It was as if your body no longer belonged to you and maybe it never did. Otherwise, why would you want this?

“When I get you home, I’ll take my time. Get you addicted to my cock,” he grunted, smiling at the glazed look in your eyes. “I’ll record it. Make you see how much you love it.”

“Nick,” you gasped when he put his hand around your throat again, a silent command not to close your eyes or look away. You moved a hand to his wrist when it became harder to breathe. He loosened his grip enough for you to inhale and slid his hand down to your chest, squeezing one of your breasts with a moan. You moaned, too.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Look at you. Look at us,” he groaned as he thrust faster. The hand on your chest moved back to your throat when he reached under your skirt. “See how perfect we are together? How well you take my cock? You know you belong to me.”

The sloppy sounds of your cunt got louder as he found your clit and rubbed it quickly. It was almost too much, but you craved more. What was the point of denying him when your pussy kept trying to pull him back in? Why fight the inevitable pleasure when your body surrendered to him?

You weren’t sure how much time had passed and it didn’t matter. You were lucky to remember your own name. He was fucking you dumb and you wondered why the fear faded. You knew it would return when he finished, but you felt ecstasy for now.

“My fucking slut. Never letting you go,” he said, pinching the bundle of nerves with a smirk as you breathed his name. The familiar twist of pleasure grew and his name was the only word you said as dark indulgence flooded your veins. You were going to come and there was nothing you could do to stop it. “So come for me. Right. Fucking. Now.”

The rough demand made your fluttering hole squeeze around him almost painfully. You struggled to hold back, but the release washed over you like a tidal wave. All you could do was helplessly pant as you trembled, his soaked cock thrusting still so he could join you in sweet bliss. And you wanted it. You wanted him to come inside you.

You could hate yourself later for wanting it so badly.

“You. Are. Mine,” he growled, his name falling from your lips as he tipped over the edge. You spasmed around him still as he finished, your cunt filled to the brim. “Mine.”

You gasped for air as he buried his face in your neck, your body shaking as you pressed your forehead against the glass. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Maybe once you had the strength you'd run. Scream. Cry.

“Look at me,” Nick breathed, his lips touching your pulse. You blinked some of the haze from your eyes as you lifted your head, your heart still racing out of control. Minus the darkened tint in his cheeks, he looked normal. Not a hair out of place. Like he hadn't forced himself on you. “Didn't have to be like this, but it would've happened no matter what."

You nodded, believing him. He took you in the middle of the funhouse without a care of getting caught. He got what he wanted.

“And don't even think about running away from me or I'll chase you down,” he added.

Feeling his spend slide out of you as he pulled out helped the reality of the situation sink in. He took you and you didn't stop him. “I won't,” you answered in a small voice you didn't recognize as he tucked himself away and fixed his pants.

“Good,” he smiled, retrieving your cape from the ground and wrapping it back around you. “Because I'd hate for anything to happen to Kiki. Such a nice coincidence that some guy bumped into her, isn't it?”

You shook your head quickly, tears forming in your eyes again. “No, don't hurt her,” you begged. If what he said about your neighbor was true…

Nick cooed as he framed your face and gently kissed your lips. It was so tender and you almost believed he was capable of being good. Almost. “Be mine and I won't.”

He said it casually, but his eyes told you not to defy him. “I'm yours,” you whispered.

“Good girl,” he said, pulling a hand away to check his watch. “Time's almost up. Let's go.”

You had a hard time moving your feet, but he put an arm around you to help. It was like you were drunk, unable to see or think straight as he quickly found which mirror to exit through. You just wanted to go home, but he took your safe haven away.

Was Nick Fowler your villain or was he an antihero for doing whatever it took to get you?

“Don't worry. We'll let Kiki know you got home safely. You can even tell her I asked you out tonight,” he said, flashing a smile at you that made him look like he'd take a bite out of you. “And when we get back to my place, I'll get you addicted to my cock like I promised.”

So, what do we think? Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

Masterlist ⚓ Nick Fowler Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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