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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

Note

On the subject of the period tracker meme in TWST…how do you think the guys would react, Miss Raven? Like what do you think their login lines would be or how would they react to you being on your period? Sorry if this is overstepping, in that case then please ignore. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable if this isn’t something you want to talk about.

[Referencing this post!]

I’m going to include Grim, the Ramshackle Ghosts, NRC staff, RSA boys, and Halloweenies here too because why not 😂 And these are going to be my general thoughts, since I think login lines are too short to capture the nuances of what I’m trying to explain! This is unironically some of my best work yet—

***Note: This is going off the assumption that Yuu has a platonic relationship with the characters (ie no romantic implications), similar to what is established in the actual login lines. I will also be assuming gender neutral pronouns for the reader, but there may be references to other menstruators that are women (such as characters' family members).***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

NRC Students

Riddle has the technical knowledge, but struggles to apply that knowledge when the situation demands it. H-He has never had to do this before! Riddle has his anatomy and physiology textbook out and reads directly from it as he tries to figure out how to best help you, double and triple checking the directions before handing you any medication or even a heating pad. Stiffly offers you tea and pours it for you himself. Offers to bring you any classwork you miss, plus homework. Being on your period is no excuse to not keep up with your lessons!

Trey goes into big brother/dad mode. Dotes on you. Bakes you cookies, pies, tarts, cakes, etc. to feed the munchies while you’re bleeding out. His food is also warm and comforting, like a hug. What are your favorites? Tell him, he’ll prepare them. Asks every other hour how you’re feeling or if you need anything. Gives an awkward laugh if you get into the particulars of periods. He’d rather not, he’s just here to make sure you’re okay.

Cater has tons of experience dealing with this kind of thing. When his older sisters were on their periods, they’d whine for him to go out and buy stuff for them—pads, snacks, OTC pain relief meds, you name it, Cay-kun bought it! He knows exactly what you need, so just leave it to him, okay~? Besides, he can’t just leave you hanging like this… even if you do look kinda cute and pathetic writhing like that!

Ace, UGH 💀 Quintessential teenage boy. No clue what a period is, doesn’t understand why you’re in pain—but claims that he, in fact, does know because (ah-HEM!) he actually has mad game and plenty of experience with women!! (He doesn’t.) Calls you while he’s at the Mystery Shop to ask for what pussy size you wear.

Deuce is in a similar boat as Ace. He kind of sort of knows what a period is but didn’t ever think about the particulars. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, can you blame him? Deuce hits the books to learn more about the subject (it’s what an honors student would do, right?) but is horrified to learn you’re “ovulating”. “D-Does that mean you’re going to lay an egg?! Are you secretly a chicken, Prefect?!” Tries to be polite and understanding about it, but comes off as awkward instead.

Leona has the tact to not openly remark on a woman’s time of month. He just kind of makes an unreadable expression and quickly looks away before you get any strange ideas. When he catches you alone, he makes some haughty remark that insinuates that he knows—and as you’re blanching with embarrassment, he (to your shock) casually tosses a bag of period supplies at your feet. There’s everything you could possible need in there!! You glance up, about to thank him, but Leona’s already sauntering away and waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t say I never do anything for ya, herbivore.” Now he’s off to nap peacefully—and, hopefully, you can too.

Ruggie just shrugs. It’s not really any of his business, now is it? The more time he spends loitering around here and lookin’ after you, the less time he’s spending making money at his part/time jobs! “Sheesh, looks like you’ve got it rough~ Glad I’m not you. I’d still have to work my tail off, bleedin’ or not!” Maybe if he’s feeling generous, he’ll save you some free food from whatever he can salvage from work. Want him to grab you something on the way over? Pay him for his time and effort!

Jack smells the blood at first and worries that you’re injured (n-not that he cares or anything). Once he realizes what that smell is, he’ll apologize and will make things right by dedicating himself to supporting you! Dutifully trails after you like a duckling that imprinted on the first thing he saw when he hatched. Quick to rush in and do things even when not asked to. Is okay with even carrying you around if need be—it’s a good workout for him, so it’s a win-win!

Azul shows up “randomly” with a care package he “just so happens” to have on him. Dramatically offers you the care package and thanks you for “taking it off of his hands”. Not-so-subtly also implies he can whip up elixirs that are effective at numbing period pain, or perhaps you'd prefer a massage from his strong octopus arms?—for a price, of course. He studied up on human physiology and had Jade snoop around for details on your cycle; this was all orchestrated well in advance and Azul intends on collecting on this favor at a later point in time. Does a smug little evil chuckle to himself as he walks away.

Oh, Jade knows. (See Azul’s section above.) He acts as though he doesn’t though. For example, he’ll hold something you need out of reach just to watch you squirm and struggle in discomfort to obtain it. Once you cast aside your pride and confess what’s going on, Jade will feign surprise and apologize. Brews you a relaxing mushroom tea to help with the cramps. Kindly offers his services, acts like the perfect, sweetest, most attentive butler you could ever ask for. (… Though you have unfortunately made the mistake of letting Jade into your quarters. He’s just waiting for you to doze off so he can rifle through your things and collect dirt.)

Floyd thinks it’s hilarious. Human bodies are so weird! You bleed every month? Hah, sure must suck. He’s so glad he doesn’t have to deal with that. Pesters you with a bunch of questions about how periods work. Asks if a band-aid is enough to deal with it. Laughs when you double over and coos about the poor Shrimpy. If he’s in the mood, he’ll give ya a lift—but it’s a bumpy ride, and he’ll attempt to parkour with you on him. Might cook you up some good grub too. It’s a gamble—are you willing to try your luck?

Kalim hears you’re bleeding and has a mild freakout about it. Hires the best medical team money can buy to examine you and to make sure you’re okay. Relieved to learn it’s just a period. “Hey, so… I’m glad you’re alright and all, but what’s a period?” he asks. Listens to you talk about it, but concludes he still doesn’t understand the intricacies. Gets the gist that you’re in pain once a month and resolves to totally pamper you for that week or so. Provides Oasis Maker water too--it's so refreshing! Whatever you want, just say the word and it’s yours! You’ll have nothing to worry about :)) Kalim’s sure Jamil won’t say no to lending you a helping hand too he’s being voluntold to.

Jamil is used to this drama/j from Najma. Very calm about the whole ordeal. Hovers and tuts like a mother hen, but more quietly judgy. Prepares delicious home cooked meals and pain relief remedies, fetches items + runs errands for you. Makes sure you’re comfortable. Even offers to plump your pillows. Basically feels obligated to do this on behalf of Kalim; wishes he were doing something else, but hey… this is preferable to having to deal with frantic last minute party preparations.

Vil is very mature and no-nonsense about it. Please, only a child would behave crudely over a woman’s natural bodily processes. He recommends vitamins and yoga stretches for alleviating cramps and to reduce bloating. Blends you nutritious smoothies and plans balanced meals to keep your energy up. Vil also prepares essential oils to help you relax. Here’s a diffuser for your room, and he has these bottles of fragrance you can dab on your temples and wrists.

You don’t even need to say anything. Rook gives you That Look (TM) that tells you immediately that he knows what’s up. Probably knows your period is coming like a week in advance of it actually arriving. Unexplained period supplies show up on your doorstep. There’s a note and a rose with them. Someone has written you a lengthy poem about how the “crimson petals” are “peeling away from thine flower”, so please accept these items and take care of yourself! The supplies replenish themselves whenever you’re just about to run out, too. Rook knows you’d probably prefer your privacy for these matters—he wouldn’t want to make you feel self-conscious! … So he makes sure to make himself discreet when he hides in your walls to watch over you and ensures you’re comfortable.

Whoa, you bleed every month? That’s METAL!! Epel has heard about periods from the elderly ladies in Harveston. The way they talk about it, it’s like they survived a war!! That must make your gut super tough…! It earns you his respect. He looks at you like you’re some kind of VIP. Epel gifts you a bright red apple every day, saying that it will keep the doctor away. Offers to rush by on a (borrowed from Ignihyde) magiwheel/blastcycle to drop off anything you may need.

Idia blue screens and keyboard smashes in a panic. It’s already hard enough for him to interact with people face-to-face but now you have to go and drop this bombshell on him?! How’s an otaku to cope?! Sends you memes and funny videos via a messaging app. Can’t be bothered with going in-person. Might send candies or ramen cups via a drone. You can’t see how alarmed he is whenever he sends you a new text. Not because he’s worried, but because the idea of a period grosses him out. Why are organic beings so unhygienic?? Machines are so much cleaner and more efficient!!

Ortho rattles off facts about your cycle based on the data he has collected. Basically a living period tracker. (It’s scary how much he knows about your health.) Has a list of light exercises, relaxation techniques, and OTC medications loaded to fire off at you. Also advises you eat each iron, fiber, and protein-rich foods to restock on the nutrients you lost from shedding your uterine lining. Remember to hydrate too! Ortho’s just trying to be helpful!

Malleus is familiar with Briar Valley politics, not bodily functions. Ever curious, he listens to your explanation of periods, staring and nodding slightly all the while. Comes to the conclusion that the child of man is suffering immensely and that it is his noble duty as a Draconia to look after the less fortunate. Proceeds to breathe a line of fire to “gently warm you up”. Then attempts electrical stimulation, which brings about a massive lightning storm that has you dodging, rolling, and sprinting to avoid being hit. Malleus dials it back when he realizes his attempts aren’t that helpful. Sulks about it until you tell him you really appreciate the attempt, but just good food and good company is enough for you. He’s able to provide, using magic to make the cutlery dance and to float over some delicious-looking dishes. Sits across from you and says he will keep you company for as long as you may need.

Lilia is oddly very knowledgeable about periods (you figure 700 years of living and a few hundred years of travel must count for something). Unfortunately, he refers to periods as “the peak of one’s fertility” just to mess with you. Keeps you company while you’re in pain and grabs whatever you need, no questions asked. Tells you about how women "back then" managed their periods with cloth rags, cotton, and even animal fur or dried toads. Peasant women had to go without, as they couldn't afford cloth. Endless stories and songs, sometimes exposited to you while Lilia hangs upside down from the ceiling. Do not, however, eat anything he tries to feed you, even if he claims they are "time-tested herbal remedies"! One time he suggested acupuncture or acupressure--techniques he learned of from the east--for period pain cramps. You turned down that idea, which he said was "a shame", as he had been meaning to try it out.

Silver notices you’ve been looking tired and a little out of it lately. Asks if he can touch you, then proceeds to pat you down in various spots…?! He nods and announces you he feels you have a lot of tension in your body, so you should exercise to relieve yourself of it. (You think about letting him know what’s up, but you’d feel bad for “tarnishing” his pure mind.) Invites you to join him for his daily training. Is kind enough to stop and wait for you to catch up or to adjust the exercise to make it more doable for you. Plenty of breaks to drink water and to catch your breath. His animal buddies sometimes bring nuts and berries as snacks or flowers, which you press to your nose to recharge. You and Silver rest in the shade of a tree and end up napping the day away.

Despite coming from a household with two women and even reading some books on growing up, Sebek is still quite bashful and skittish on the subject of periods. He thinks of it as something weirdly intimate but will never confess that to you. Sebek instead shouts very loudly that “mere menstruation” is “no excuse” to not get up and work hard!! Why, he’s had to endure much more hellish training under Lilia-sama’s tutelage!! … You have him to thank for everyone in the school knowing when it’s that time of month for you. (He gets bonked on the head by Lilia and Silver and is told to apologize, which he does so very quietly.) Hands you a book about menstruation and tells you to study up.

Grim has no concept for what a period is. Acts all cool about it though and promises he’ll take the best care of his minion!! He proceeds to struggle using a can opener to crack open a tuna can (it’s your lunch). Spends the rest of the day acting as a heating pad and weighted blanket over your stomach region. Surprisingly very effective.

NRC Staff + Ramshackle

Crowley smiles and wishes you well—but he keeps taking progressive steps back as he talks, almost like he’s hoping to wander off without you noticing. The man is on a tangent about the weather and changes the subject every time you try to bring it back to your period. What? You say he’s dodging his responsibility to look after his students? N-Nonsense! This is a matter for the school nurse, not the headmaster! You want a magic lift to the infirmary? Oh, would you look at the time! Crowley has a very important meeting to go to. You’d better be on your way to the infirmary then, hmm? Toodles, and best of luck!

Crewel is similar to Vil, aware and mature about how to deal with it periods in his own way. Has a spare pair of pants and a sweater on standby for you change into or to wear over stained bottoms. Gives tips on how to wash period blood out of various fabrics so they don't stain. Cold water, hand wash, air dry! Commands Grim to be a good boy and take responsibility for his partner. "Tend to their every need until they are at full health again. Am I understood?!" Tells you to take it easy, you won't perform at your best in your current condition--but he still expects your homework to be in tomorrow! Willing to grant an extension if needed.

Trein thankfully already went through this crisis when his daughters had theirs for the first time, so he knows just what to do now. Refrains from assigning detention for lateness and lack of attentiveness; lets you off with a very sternly worded warning. (Lucius makes himself comfortable in your lap during the lecture.) Trein discreetly passes along some pads after the other students have filtered out of class. Offers tea and light sandwiches in the teacher’s lounge. Lets you know you can come to him if the boys are being mean to you. He’ll give them a good scolding! After all, upstanding gentlemen shouldn’t engage in such behaviors.

Vargas recommends that you join him for exercising. Physical activity can help reduce period cramps, so up and at’m, champ!! Have you tried having a few dozen eggs? Protein can do wonders for the body! Here, he’ll prepare them for you in a raw egg smoothie!

With big ol’ grin, Sam cheerily advertises his wares. He’s got all the feminine hygiene products you could ask for, any snack you could want, OTC medications of choice, IN STOCK NOW!! The Mystery Shock also offers delivery for an extra little fee if you’d like to save yourself some time (and your body some effort).

The Ramshackle Ghosts are old and dead, so they're... let's just say not that well acquainted with bodily functions. They understand that you're in a tough spot though, so they'll step up unlike Crowley to ensure you're okay! They'll do your shopping, float over to the main building to fetch any work you miss, and grab grub for you from the ghost chefs in the cafeteria. Anything Crowley asks you to do, the Ramshackle Ghosts will do in your place. They even sew together some old curtains and couch stuffing to make a pillow for you to rest on. Randomly poke their heads through the walls to check on you.

RSA Students

Chenya’s eyes keep wandering, and he’s humming some tune or saying something cryptic about the color red. It doesn’t sound like he’s really listening to you, but no—he’s actually been listening well this entire time. Here, chew on this unidentified plant he picked up! It’ll help mellow you out and reduce the pain. Trust him, he learned this from his grandpa! And once you’re nice ‘n cozy…! Nyah! You won’t mind if he settles in for a little catnap beside ya, would you?

Neige frets for your health (it’s no good to lose blood) and, with a kind smile, tells you to please relax! He’ll take care of all your chores for the time being. Neige gracefully tackles the cleaning, cooking, and other housework. He somehow manages to get it done despite also balancing school and his celeb gigs, and never seems to be bothered by it. Sings you lullabies to help soothe you.

The Seven Dwarves do a a group huddle (Dominic leading) and debate about what they should do to help you. They try making music, preparing porridge, and offering you shiny rocks they found on the ground. Once they also picked flowers and swarmed your bed with them, as if they’re mourners at a funeral procession. They’re small gestures, but you figure it’s the thought that counts… right? 💦

Halloweenies (Halloween Event Characters)

Rollo frowns. Deeply. He does not understand why you’re telling him about this. “You ought to be keeping such sensitive health information to yourself”, he chastises you. Keeps his handkerchief pressed over his nose and looks the most disgusted and repulsed you've ever seen this man (save for when he's doomposting about Malleus Draconia). Might give you a croissant or some meds out of pity, but hands it over with his full arm extended to maximize the distance he has to stand away from you, or just leaves the items on a table and tells you to come fetch them. Says he will "pray for you."

Fellow never got a formal education, so what he knows about periods is limited to what he hears through the grapevine (ie various women he has conned). He’s aware it involves bleeding from… down there—he can smell it—but has no clue how to handle it. Has too much pride to confess to the truth. Acts like he knows what he’s talking about by playing up being a doctor. Has Gidel scribble in a notepad as if it is your patient chart while Fellow reads off your symptoms and gives you a random diagnosis he made up on the spot. Hands you an apple he finished eating (there’s only the core left) and pats you on the head, telling you you’ll be juuust fine~!

Gidel is too young to know what a period is. All he understands is that you seem to be in great pain, and he feels bad seeing you like this 💦 He sees you clutching your stomach or lying in bed; is it maybe a tummyache? Gidel offers you half of his loaf of bread. He gets tummy grumblies on an empty stomach too, so he knows what that’s like! Tries to do silly things like making funny faces and dancing to cheer you up.

Skully does not know what a period is. (I’M SORRY, bro lived like hundreds of years ago; am I supposed to believe they had pads back then, let alone menstrual cycle education for men???) He’ll listen to you explain, but his face gets paler and paler as you continue. Makes a shocked, wide-eyed expression, hands on his cheeks. A “why would God do this to women” look. Looks slightly faint after the fact, but offers to assist you with whatever you need; simply call for him, and this gentleman will come running!

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daisystwistedgarden · 8 months ago

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if you can't date for love, date for money.

ruggie bucchi remembers receiving this advice well. back when the news of his acceptance into night raven college felt like a dream, when the congratulations and well wishes from his neighbors back home clung to him like the subtle glow of streetlights at night. those days felt... fragile. breakable. there was a subtle tension in the air as he pondered whether the haughty halls of the academy would change him into someone he didn't recognize. he knew hunger pangs and cool nights on the savannah, not whatever bullshit academia had in store.

some of the folks his age-- deeper into their twenties, a bridge he had just begun to cross, with more life experience and cynicism under their belts-- had made jokes about him getting hitched to someone with enough money to give him a good life. money. status. no worries about where your next meal is coming from or if treating a broken leg can leave you homeless. hey ruggie. make sure you pick real good, okay? maybe if your in-laws are rich enough, you can get us all out of here!

ruggie was never one to have romantic fantasies. his ideal partner had a fat wallet and a retirement fund, a formless blob devoid of anything other than the sense of security only money can provide. rich kids just didn't get it. the scars of poverty ran deep.

why, then, did he not follow that advice given to him all that time ago?

his feet carried him across the icy steps of ramshackle, dry knuckles shoved into a threadbare coat, letting the puff of warm air from his tired sigh keep his nose from freezing over. he let himself into ramshackle dorm with a customary knock. the warm crackle of the fireplace greeted him, chasing away the clod draft he'd brought in as he left the entryway.

"i got some extra thaumarks from leona today." he announced upon spotting you in the common room.

"and i got my paycheck from the mostro lounge!"

your smile was infectious. an involuntary shyeheehee left his lips as you scrambled up to your feet, throwing your arms around him in greeting as he teased you for your eagerness.

getting paid was the excuse you had for making dinner together biweekly. when the strain of bills felt less heavy and spirits were lifted, you'd venture out to sam's shop and pick up something to make together. it was a night of luxury, of indulgence, the two of you feeling spoiled to have a meal your classmates would more than likely scoff at.

you were not the rich suitor of ruggie's dreams. magicless and lost in a new world, you'd managed to scrape by doing odd jobs and living in the rickety shack known as ramshackle dorm, all without complaint. he saw himself in you. scrappy. clever. there was an optimism in you that enticed ruggie to stay, even if it meant scraping by for the foreseeable future. "date for money, not love" was a proverb lost to the wind the moment you held a spoon up to his lips and urged him to try whatever you'd been mixing in that pot across the kitchen.

... well, not all advice is good advice. ruggie would rather spend the rest of his life shoving thaumarks into mason jars with you than in some spoiled rich person's mansion, anyways.

a/n: ruggie bucchi, contender for Most Boyfriend twst character of all time

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland #twst college au #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst ruggie #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucci x reader #twst ruggie x reader

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maucira · 4 months ago

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awfully petty

dandy x f!reader

cw: non-con, rough sex, size difference, unprotected sex, lots of tongue..

"Hey! I've got some goodies for sale~!"

"Spare a flower some tapes, will ya?"

"I've got some better items this time, I swear!"

The rainbow-petaled man's eye twitched in annoyance. Despite his countless efforts, always with a friendly demeanour, your group denied every offer. Dandy's seen them pick up tapes, collecting them throughout the toons' journey, so why won't they just buy something from his store? Poppy is on the brink of death yet she refuses to buy a bandage from his store.

Ah, that's right. You.

"Oh Poppy, you don't have to buy from him. We'll let you know once we've found a bandage, okay?" You said with a haughty tone to the blue toon. His brows furrowed subtly as he silently fumed. He hid his clenched fists behind his back as he watched you poorly attempt to hide the smirk that crept up on your face as you watched him lose his temper. Oh you little minx, why do you try to torment him so?

The group glanced over Dandy's items once more, his brain trying to grasp any sort of hope that lightly shone. "Don't make me angry." He spoke, irritation evident in his tone. His teeth grit together, surely they wouldn't refuse this time. He attempted to reassure himself in his mind, they wouldn't ignore him this time... Right?

Boxten's guilty smile said everything Dandy needed to know to immediately wipe all his hopeful thoughts away. "Uh... sorry, Dandy. Maybe next time?" He said in a softer tone. He took Poppy's hand and guided her away towards the large metal doors that led to their next round. Rodger and Goob were already facing the doors, the magnifying glass uninterested and the other messing around with his extended arms, but both waiting for the doors to open.

That only left one, the bitch who kept convincing the others to reject him. Your eyes turned up sharply, a patronising smile curling your lips. A barely audible snicker escaping you, just loud enough for the flower to hear. "Seems we're all good, Dandy." You said with a playful voice. He was sick of your annoying shenanigans, even before the tension that had formed between you two, you've always been like this. Always trying to piss him off, enjoying his reactions every time you'd get on his nerves.

"Be that way." He snapped, with barely contained anger. He pulled the lever and descended back down to where he stored his goods. You raised a finger to your lips, curling it to cover the smile that grew on your face. You loved to tease him, seeing his cute angry face as he stared at you with disdain. You hoped this time something interesting would happen.

Since the moment you stepped foot out the door, an uneasy feeling had made its way into you, settling in your stomach with every movement you took. You'd never admit it, but you were being extremely cautious this round. A soft tune played, the song that would play every time Dandy's shop opened, Clair de Lune. You wondered why it was playing. Had Dandy done something? A chill crept up your spine, making you shudder as you turned the wheel to pour ichor into the glass tube. It wasn't very ideal for the machine to be located in a remote corner, with the only way of noticing any twisteds being looking behind you.

With every drip of the black substance, time seemed to still further. It was uncomfortable being in a space with no way of escaping. Peeking behind your shoulder every so often, you tried your hardest not to miss any skill checks. Being attacked now would be terrible, actually, being attacked in general would be.

A relieved sigh escaped you as you completed the machine. You looked down at your watch, which showcased how many machines had been finished. "Three out of five complete... I should go check around to see if any others aren't being done." You muttered. Just as you were about to turn around, loud footsteps rumbled from behind you. They were heavy, loud, and seemed to belong to something much larger than any normal toon. Perhaps a new twisteds. God, you hoped whatever was coming for you wouldn't be painful with its attack. You whipped around, you knew something was about to turn the corner, who it was, was the question.

Your breath hitched, there was no escape, but luckily you still had two hearts left, so it should be alright. Right? A grimace came onto your face. Your heart hammered in your chest, but nothing could've prepared you for the shock that had encased you the moment you saw the giant twisted that stood before you.

A large grin was on the beast's- no, Dandy's face. His eyes glowed a beautiful red, and his petals once soft and rounded, now sharp and pointed. Fangs protruded out of his excited smile. In your opinion, it almost looked like a sneer. The short and petite flower you had tried to piss off just less than an hour ago, is now a large beast that towered more than twice your size. Your eyes travelled further downward, eyeing his knife-like colourful claws that threatened to tear into you at any second. He was horrifying.

The previously unbothered look on your face changed quickly, your brows furrowing and a quivering, small smile on your lips. It was always risky the game you played at, and you wouldn't give up so easily. Your body shook immensely as you stepped back slowly. "D-Dandy...?" You spoke, in a shallow tone with only remnants of the cocky demeanour you carried yourself with. The toon in question didn't respond, staying quiet as he placed another claw forward. The corner of his mouth seemed to grow the more he observed the terrified reaction you gave off. His grin unsettled you. As much as you'd like to doubt he'd hurt you, many of your other twisted friends wouldn't hesitate to harm you.

He stepped closer and closer, creeping until you were pressed right against the completed machine, and he, inches away from your face. You felt his hot breaths on his face as he stared you dead in the eyes. You instinctively attempted to shut your eyes when the heat of his breath hit you in the face, but a low growl resounded from him, making you open them again. "Dandy... come on, you didn't take what I was saying back there seriously, did you? I was only teasing..."

You slowly raised a hand, almost as if trying to calm a wild animal, but you knew the only one you were trying to calm was yourself. You placed a hand on his much larger face that stared down at you with a terrifying look. "Dandy..." You muttered as you observed his appearance once more. The tapes wrapped around his animal-like body, covered in the same sticky tar that you had poured into numerous machines.

His rainbow claws tapped the floor before dragging over to where you were. The sudden change made you pull your hand off of his face and bring it to your chest. "Dan... Dandy what're you doing?" You questioned, the meek smile slowly slipping off of your face as he brought his claws closer and closer to you. A distorted, gravelly growl that almost sounded like a mocking chuckle bellowed out as he grasped your torso with his hand.

You let out a quiet gasp as you felt his large hand encase your body. He brought his face closer to yours before a large, pointed tongue slipped out of his face. Your mind raced wildly, 'He's not going to kill me,' you thought, 'he's going to fucking eat me.' Tears welled up in your eyes, shutting them the closer he slowly closed the distance. Expecting to feel teeth crush your skull open, tears slipped down your cheeks. The thought of the sensation of your nerves on fire as teeth punctured your head, your brain being chewed up like a piece of steak made you want to vomit.

Instead of the horror you expected, the tongue slid up your cheek, licking away the tears before moving further across and beginning to lick your quivering lips. You opened your cloudy eyes in confusion, gasping once you realised he was trying to enter your mouth. You quickly regret it as his large tongue invades your mouth, barely able to fit it all in. It moved around wildly, shoving itself down your throat until you were gagging and choking on it. His saliva dripped down your chin, his much larger mouth producing way more than the average toon should.

You tried to yell out his name but only struggled coughing came out of you as he refused to leave your mouth. Your lack of air made you gasp as you choked on his tongue, but the heaving made you swallow more of his drool. You hacked violently as a disgusted look came onto your face. The corners of Dandy's mouth grew into a sinister grin as he pointed his claw to the top of your dress before a loud tearing sound was heard.

He finally removed his tongue from your mouth just as you thought you were about to faint from the lack of oxygen, but realising it now, that would've been far more merciful than to feel this creature defile you. You were shivering, and you couldn't tell if it was from the cold air or fear. Dandy had left you only your panties, the bra you were wearing torn off along with the dress. You hurriedly tried to cover your chest, but Dandy let out a warning growl as you did so, making you hesitantly lower your arms by your side.

"So that's it? You're going to rape me just because I joked around a little? Even I thought you were better than that, Dandicus." You scoffed. Dandy didn't respond, it seemed only growls could be made. He tilted his head, curiously or mockingly? You couldn't tell. His eyes drifted down to the floor for a second, before glancing back at you. You followed where his eyes went, only to see a large, large, red dick throbbing between his legs. It would take an idiot to not know he was aroused. He panted a giggle-like sound at your widened eyes. There was no fucking way that thing would fit inside you. You wanted to make that very clear.

"Dandy- Dandy, no. I'll- I'll fuck you after this floor if that's what you want. There's no way that thing will fit inside me! Do you even know how huge you are right now?" You said, stumbling over your words. No matter what you said, nothing was making him show a sign of stopping. That disturbing grin never left his face. His claw reached forward and tore off the last shred of dignity you had left. You tried to cover your lower body with your hands but he reached forward and grabbed your arms. He slammed your head onto the ground with a loud thud. He pulled you forward, leaning over you until the tip of his dick prodded at your hole. He rubbed the mushroom tip against your pussy, whines of disagreement leaving your throat as you begged that he didn't do it.

A shocked cry of pain came out of you as he rammed into you. Your gummy walls tightened around him instinctively as he buried himself to the hilt in you. He held your arms with one claw and used the other to spread your legs open. You screamed as he began to rut into you like a feral dog. He had no remorse as he harshly pounded in and out of you. An outline of his large bulge in your stomach was prominent as his pace was relentless. You thrashed under him, screaming and crying as blood dripped out of your pussy.

His dick was becoming coated in your slick, making it easier for him to violate you like a ragdoll. He panted heavily next to your ear as pleasure soon accompanied the pain, no matter how much you hated it. You let out wails, a mixture of pain and pleasure as he hammered himself straight into your core. It felt like he was splitting you open. You began to subconsciously rock against his dick, your body arching at his roughness.

Your cunt throbbed, painful goodness coursing throughout your every vein as you ground back onto him. You didn't want this, not at all, but your body couldn't resist its pleasure. The thickness of his shaft sliding in and out of you rapidly made your head spin, you felt faint as he continued to rock into you like there was no tomorrow. You could feel his dick hitting your womb with every thrust, making you cry out in pain. You let out whimpers as you began to constrict around him.

That sinister giggle of his sang out as he could feel you tighten around him. Your loud moans and grunts of pain soon accompanied his deep panting. You screamed out his name as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten and release on his dick that never stopped for a moment. The pain became more as he overstimulated your poor cunt.

You could feel the heavy slaps of his balls against your ass as his thrusts became faster and faster before he loudly snarled next to your ear. His claws scraped the wooden floor behind your head, splintering it as he released into you.

Large amounts of cum spilled out from him, it felt as if he was unloading bucket loads into you. He didn't stop until your pussy was dripping his cum out of you, then squirted the rest out onto your stomach. Besides the shallow pants, he was silent. He tilted his head at you, mockingly this time. Tears were cascading down your cheeks, you weren't sure you were going to be able to stay awake until the others finished the machines. Dandy picked up your shredded clothes and tossed them on top of you, what a gentleman. He stalked off, not giving you a final glance and began to run to a finished machine.

You sat up pathetically against the machine, sniffling and sobbing before bringing your knees up to your chest. You knew you had to get out of there, but you didn't want the others to see you in such a vulnerable state. You used your torn panties to wipe the excess cum off of you, a lot of it gushing out of you. You cried for a long moment, before trying to salvage what you could of your clothes, only your dress being somewhat useable if you patched it up. You slipped it on, a gaping tear straight down the middle. You tried to stand, but your legs gave out underneath you. Tears wouldn't stop falling as you began to crawl to a shelf that had a sewing kit, maybe the creators felt pity for you and decided to help you a little. You messily stitched your dress back up, leaning against the bookshelf before continuing to sob into your knees.

Just by your luck, Poppy had peeked around the corner, a worried expression on her face as she hurriedly rushed over to you. "What happened to you!? Okay, okay... ah shit. Can you stand? Here, let me help." She rambled out before pulling your arm over her shoulder and supporting your waist with her other hand. "I don't know what the hell happened to you, but Rodger's on the last machine. I'm getting you out of here, pronto!" She exclaimed, rushing you in front of the elevator and standing with you behind a few boxes.

"Thank you... Thank you, Poppy..." You heaved out through your cries, before poorly attempting to cradle her. "Hey? It's all good, I'm always here for you, y'know?" She said confused, but a smile appeared on her face as you hugged her. A ding rang out through the area, interrupting your moment with Poppy as she gasped and ran to the elevator with you, huffs of annoyance escaping you as you were pulled inside.

You could hear the heavy footsteps of Dandy as everyone rushed into the elevator. Luckily, no one had died, thanks to you being raped probably. You heard Goob and Poppy cheer, a relieved smile appearing on Boxten's face. You observed everyone, and thinking of it, you'd go through that hell again if it meant keeping your friends safe. You leaned your head against Poppy's shoulder, cheerful chatter in the air.

A ding was heard, and confusion silenced the toons before everyone looked at the shop that was rising into the elevator. Dandy's eyes were on you, a happy grin on his face as he giggled.

"Let's not make that happen again, shall we?"

One thought was in your head.

'I'm going to kill that fucker.'

#dandys world x reader #dandy x reader #dandys world #fanfic #cw: noncon #dandys world smut #dandys world x reader smut #cross posted on ao3 #i was super nervous to post this i hope you guys enjoy

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grifffins · 1 month ago

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🚗 Passenger Princess 🚗

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

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

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

wc: ~ 16k

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

also on ao3

taglist: @ahsfan05, @emilynissangtr

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you say flatly.

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

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

“Thank you for your sacrifice.”

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

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

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

You arch a brow. “Do I?”

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

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

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

Right. Obviously.

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

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

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

“It’s my car.”

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

“Oh, do I?”

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

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

You shake your head, amused. “Unbelievable.”

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

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

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

She doesn’t move.

You blink.

She blinks back.

“…Lilia?”

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

You stare at her. “Why?”

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

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

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

How did you get here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should pick something,” she says.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

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

You scoff. “I’m just here to—”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re calling me devoted now?”

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hums. “Mmm. But I’m right.”

And the worst part? She is.

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

“Thank you for your service, cara.”

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

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

Right.

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

You're free tomorrow, yes.

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

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

Free for what?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Oh, you’ll see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t argue with that.

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

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

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

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

“I’m not accommodating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow. “Because you asked.”

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

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

For now.

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

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

You blink. “What?”

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

You stare at her, unimpressed. “Why?”

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

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

She simply smirks. “Not officially, no.”

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

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

Just for a moment. Just a favour. Right?

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

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

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

You arch a brow. “A list?”

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

Of course it is.

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

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

“Here.”

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

You blink. “What’s this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smirks. “I’ll take that risk.”

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

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

You’re enjoying this.

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

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

You hesitate. “I—”

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

You roll your eyes. “Obviously.”

“Then come with me.”

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

And the worst part?

You do.

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

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

You’re outside, aren’t you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have got to stop touching my settings.”

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

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

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

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

But here you are. Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try me.”

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

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

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

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

The worst part? So are you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I prefer to think of myself as persistent.”

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

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

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

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

You wait.

Nothing.

“…Lilia.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not a no.”

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

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

“You think you’re charming?”

She hums. “I know I am.”

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

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

You don’t.

And, eventually, she relents.

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

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

“Same time next week?”

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

She smirks. “I don’t assume , cara.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Remember the café incident?”

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

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

A necklace.

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

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

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

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

Lilia glances at you, intrigued. “Oh?”

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

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

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

“It doesn’t matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

And, god help you, you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And somehow, that’s worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone buzzes from its place on the passenger seat.

Where are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something about it makes your grip on the wheel tighten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give her a flat look. She smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But somehow, none of those answers feel like enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now you can’t stop thinking about it.

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

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

You nearly miss a turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost miss a light.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lilia tilts her head slightly. “On?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart does something stupid.

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

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

She hums along without hesitation.

And you?

You realise you’re already in too deep.

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

You blink, glancing at her. “What?”

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

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

She shakes her head. “Not tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She exhales slowly. “Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You arch a brow. “Like what?”

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

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

“Yes, but you listened.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You care?”

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

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

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

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

You flick a glance at her. “What?”

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

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

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

Lilia hums. “No, I didn’t.”

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

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

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

You exhale. “Sometimes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glancing at her, you frown. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She has to be playing with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your pulse jumps again.

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

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

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

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

“But what if I don’t?”

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

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

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

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

It means something.

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

And maybe it’s better that way.

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

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

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

Your lips twitch, despite yourself.

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

Not yet.

But one day, you will be.

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

It doesn’t happen the way you expect.

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

It happens in the car.

Of course it does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she leans in, just enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close the distance.

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, she’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re staring.”

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

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

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

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

She barely suppresses a laugh. “Doing what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Pull over.”

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

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

“Pull over.”

This is the moment where you lose.

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

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

“Still distracted, cara ?”

You don’t answer because you can’t.

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

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

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

That’s it.

That’s the moment you break.

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

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

“Finally,” she breathes, smug and utterly satisfied.

Huffing against her skin, you press a slow kiss just below her ear. “You are so smug.”

She tilts her head, offering you more, fingers slipping beneath your jacket, nails scraping lightly against your spine. You shudder, and she feels it. She smiles, completely pleased with herself.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Her voice is sweet, taunting, eyes half-lidded as she watches you struggle to hold on to the last shred of control. She’s waiting for you to lose yourself completely, to give in, to let her win.

And god help you, you do.

You claim her mouth again, devouring the smirk off her lips as your hands slide beneath the hem of her dress, fingertips grazing heated skin. Her gasp stirs something dark and wanting in your chest, something that has been building for far too long.

Then—

A sharp knock against the window.

You freeze.

Lilia stills beneath you, her breath catching.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then—

Her lips twitch.

She giggles.

Groaning, you drop your forehead onto her shoulder, trying not to kill whoever just ruined this. Lilia, of course, is absolutely delighted, her voice teasing as she exhales against your ear.

“Oh, cara ,” she whispers, breathless, wrecked, and entirely too pleased with herself. “You poor thing.”

Gripping the wheel, you inhale sharply, forcing yourself to breathe. But one thing is certain, you are not driving her home yet.

Not until you finish what she started.

You don’t look at whoever knocked, don’t acknowledge them, don’t even care. Without a word, you shift the car back into drive, gripping the wheel tightly as you pull away from the curb. The silence is thick and unrelenting, pressing down on you like a weight neither of you can ignore. Lilia doesn’t speak, doesn’t tease, doesn’t do anything except sit in the passenger seat, her presence palpable in the quiet tension that lingers between you.

The city lights fade behind you as you drive further out, leaving behind the busy streets and the watchful eyes of strangers. The road stretches ahead, long and empty, the world outside growing darker with every mile. You don’t stop, don’t ask where you’re going, don’t explain. She doesn’t ask. She already knows.

The air in the car is charged, thick with anticipation, every passing second winding the tension tighter. The only sound is the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic beat of your pulse in your ears. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s weighted, filled with everything you were about to do before you were interrupted.

You don’t stop until you’re far from the city, where the roads are deserted and the only light comes from the dim glow of the dashboard. Pulling off onto a secluded stretch of road, you finally park, hands still gripping the wheel as you exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to release the tension coiled in your muscles.

“Get in the back,” you say, voice low and steady.

Lilia lifts a brow, amusement flickering across her face as she shifts slightly in her seat. “Oh? Are we in a hurry?”

Your patience is already razor thin, and she knows it. She’s playing with you, testing the limits of your control, pushing just far enough to see how much restraint you have left. Your hand moves before you can stop yourself, gripping her thigh firmly, fingers pressing into warm, soft skin as you drag her closer, your breath ghosting against her lips.

“Lilia,” you murmur, your voice a warning, not a request.

Something shifts in her expression, the smirk faltering just slightly as her breath catches. Her thighs press together beneath your hand, and in that moment, she understands. She knows you aren’t bluffing. She knows exactly how much you need this. She knows that if she doesn’t move now, you won’t hesitate to take her right here, seatbelt be damned.

She doesn’t rush, she never does, but she listens. With slow, deliberate movements, she slips into the backseat, her dress riding higher as she stretches out against the leather, watching you with quiet, knowing amusement. The heat in her gaze is unmistakable, her body language an invitation you don’t intend to ignore.

Your jaw tightens as you inhale sharply, steadying yourself for just a moment before you follow, knowing there’s no turning back now.

The moment you shut the door behind you, Lilia grins, tilting her head slightly, fingers curling against her knee. “Finally joining me?” she purrs, voice smooth and teasing.

You don’t answer. There’s no hesitation, no thought beyond the heat coiling between you. You grip her hips, dragging her against you, pressing her back against the seat as your mouth crashes against hers. She moans, breathless and eager, hands fisting into your jacket, nails scraping along the nape of your neck as she pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss is hungry, desperate, every sound she makes only spurring you on. Pressing your thigh between her legs, you feel the sharp hitch of her breath as she grinds against you.

Instinct takes over, sharp and electric, as you push her dress higher, sliding your palm up the smooth skin of her inner thigh. The moment your fingers barely graze the damp heat between her legs, she whimpers—soft, needy, utterly wrecked. The sound freezes you, stealing the breath from your lungs. That single, helpless noise will be the death of you.

Leaning in, your breath skims over her lips. “Again,” you murmur, voice thick with want. “Let me hear you.”

For weeks, she’s teased, played the game, stayed in control, always knowing just how far to push. But now, she obeys. Another whimper, quieter but just as devastating, escapes her lips, and it’s enough to ruin you completely.

Your grip tightens on her thigh, spreading her legs wider, fingers dragging along the heat of her skin, not quite where she needs you but close enough to make her squirm. Her head tilts back, lips parting as she exhales a shaky breath. Smirking, you press your lips against the curve of her throat, letting your teeth graze just enough to make her shudder.

“You look good like this,” you murmur against her skin.

Lilia lets out a breathy laugh. “Like what, cara ?”

Your lips brush her pulse as your fingers skim higher, teasing, making her tremble beneath your touch. “Needy.”

She gasps, a real, helpless little sound, and that is what finally shatters the last of your restraint. There’s no more teasing, no more patience. Sliding your fingers beneath the damp fabric between her legs, you groan at how wet she already is.

Lilia moans, her back arching as her hands clutch at your shoulders. You swallow the sound, pressing your fingers deeper, slow and deliberate, curling just right—

She shakes beneath you, breath catching, nails digging into your skin as she moves against your hand, chasing friction, chasing you. You watch her, the way her lashes flutter, the way her body reacts to every touch, the way she falls apart beneath your hands.

“You love this, don’t you?”

Lilia nods, voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

You’re done for.

The second you give her what she wants, she whimpers again, thighs trembling as your fingers curl deeper, moving in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing her open, coaxing her closer. Her head falls back against the seat, lips parted as she gasps, body shuddering as she grinds against your hand.

Your smirk is against her lips, teasing, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Say it.”

She tries to speak, but her breath hitches as your fingers pick up their rhythm, slow but relentless, pushing her higher, closer, until—

“I—” she chokes out, her nails digging into your shoulders, her body taut with tension.

Then you flick your thumb over her clit, pressing down just enough, and she breaks.

“Fuck, yes—”

A growl rumbles from your throat as she shudders beneath you, her hips jerking, legs shaking. Watching her come undone is intoxicating. “That’s my girl.”

Lilia moans, high and helpless, and something about the way she completely gives in, the way she lets you take her apart, makes your own restraint snap. You kiss her deeply, swallowing every gasp, every breathless plea as your fingers keep moving, fucking into her with purpose, dragging her higher, right to the edge.

She’s close, you can feel it, the way her body tightens, the way her breathing turns ragged. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost pleading—

“Please—”

A groan tears from your throat as you press against her, curling your fingers one last time.

Lilia shatters.

Her body tenses, her back arching, head tipping back as she gasps, hands clenching around you as she comes apart completely. It’s beautiful.

You watch her, hold her through it, pressing soft kisses against her jaw as her body slowly, slowly comes down. Her breath is still uneven, fingers still gripping you like she’s afraid to let go.

Smirking, you run your nose along her cheek, murmuring, utterly pleased with yourself.

The moment you shut the door, Lilia smirks, breathless and utterly wrecked, but the glint in her eyes tells you she’s not done. She stretches out against the seat like she’s settling onto a throne, self-satisfied and pleased with herself, fingers trailing lazily up your chest as she tilts her head.

“Mmm. Just thinking,” she muses, voice smooth and teasing.

You narrow your eyes. “That’s never a good sign.”

She grins, wicked and knowing. “No, it really isn’t.”

Before you let her question it, you move.

You grab her by the waist, trying to shift her onto your lap, but the cramped space makes it awkward. She lets out a breathy laugh as she braces her hands against your shoulders, knees knocking against the seat as she tries to settle over you. It’s messy, uncoordinated, her dress riding up in the struggle, and by the time she finally straddles you properly, you’re both breathless for an entirely different reason.

Then, before she can say something smug about it, you grip her hips and press her down, forcing her to grind against your thigh. The laughter catches in her throat, replaced by a sharp gasp as the friction sends a shudder through her. Nails digging into your shoulders as she clings to you. She’s still soaking wet from earlier, still sensitive, still desperate, and now she’s grinding against you, rolling her hips as you force her to chase the pleasure.

Your breath is hot against her skin as you murmur, “What was that, princess? You wanted me to do something?”

Her thighs tighten around you, and she shudders. “Oh, fuck—”

You groan at the sound, gripping her hips tighter, guiding her, making her move exactly how you want. She whimpers, fisting your jacket, her body trembling as she grinds harder against your thigh.

“You talk too much,” you whisper, pressing your lips against the soft skin beneath her ear. The moan she lets out is high and breathless, her confidence wavering under your touch.

You slide your hands beneath her dress, fingers grazing along her bare waist, pulling her flush against you, making her feel every inch of your control. She exhales a shaky sigh, forehead pressing against yours, before her voice drops to barely a whisper.

“Touch me.”

Your blood boils. She’s already wrecked, already falling apart, and now she’s begging? You can’t make her wait, not when she’s pressing against you like she needs this, like she needs you again.

Your hand moves between her thighs, fingers teasing her, dragging along the heat of her skin before finally pushing against the soaked fabric between her legs. Lilia gasps, her hips rolling instinctively, chasing your touch. Her nails dig into your shoulders as she whimpers, desperate, wrecked, completely at your mercy.

“Fuck,” she whispers, voice broken, raw.

You smirk against her throat, dragging your lips along the delicate skin, teasing her, taunting her. “What was that, princess?”

She whimpers, body trembling as your fingers slip beneath the fabric and slide inside her. Her hips stutter, grinding down against your hand, her entire body reacting to you.

“You—” she chokes out, nails scraping down your back, “you bastard—”

You chuckle darkly, curling your fingers inside her, pressing against that spot that makes her shudder. “You don’t sound very convincing.”

Lilia’s breath catches, her hips jerking as she grinds against you, chasing every stroke of your fingers, chasing you. You love this, love how she’s already close, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

“Oh, fuck—”

You don’t let up.

You kiss her hard, devouring her moans, swallowing every gasp as you fuck her open, your thumb pressing against her clit, relentless, pushing her right to the edge.

Until she breaks.

She cries out, her back arching, her body trembling, thighs clenching around you as pleasure rips through her. You hold her through it, dragging her through every wave, savoring the way she falls apart in your arms.

When she finally collapses against you, breathless and wrecked, forehead pressing against your shoulder, you smirk, dragging your fingers through the mess between her legs, your voice low and teasing.

“Oh, princess—”

Lilia shudders, still trembling against you, but the second she gathers herself, you know—

She isn’t done yet.

The second she recovers from the wreckage you left her in, she moves. The shift is clumsy in the cramped space, her knee knocking into the seat as she struggles to maneuver herself, but it doesn’t stop her. She barely gives herself room before she presses into you, hands slipping over your body with a deliberate slowness, feeling, teasing, learning exactly how to unravel you the way you just did her.

Her fingers trail down your stomach, pressing over the fabric of your jeans, feeling the heat beneath, smirking when she finds you already aching for her. She’s smug, insufferable, dragging her palm over you through the denim, watching the way your breath catches, the way your body tenses. The teasing touch is just enough to make you squirm, not nearly enough to give you what you need.

You growl, grabbing at her hips, trying to grind up into her touch, but she just chuckles, dragging her nails up your stomach in lazy, infuriating strokes. “So impatient,” she murmurs, leaning in, her breath hot against your lips. “Let me take my time.”

She moves carefully, hands working at your jeans, shimmying them down awkwardly, shifting back as she struggles to get them past your thighs in the tight space. It’s clumsy, far from the elegant seduction she’s probably envisioning, and she lets out a frustrated breath when the fabric catches on the seat. You snort, arching a brow. “Having trouble, princess?”

Lilia glares at you, jaw tight, before yanking them down with more force, successfully freeing you but nearly kneeing you in the process. “Shut up.”

You chuckle, but it dies in your throat when she settles between your thighs, her hands spreading over your bare skin, smoothing upward, her nails scraping just enough to make you shudder.

She exhales softly, her expression shifting, losing its teasing edge, darkening with something else entirely. Her fingers trail between your legs, brushing over you just once, featherlight, enough to make your breath catch.

“Oh, cara,” she purrs, voice smooth, slow, utterly pleased. “You’re already so wet for me.”

Your stomach tightens.

She slides her fingers lower, pressing down just slightly, teasing, not yet giving you what you need. She’s watching you closely, taking in every reaction, every flicker of anticipation, every tiny twitch of your body beneath her hands.

You exhale sharply, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you force yourself to look at her, meeting her gaze head-on. “Stop teasing.”

Lilia smirks, dragging her fingers up again, slipping just barely beneath the fabric still covering you. “You want me to stop?”

Your jaw tightens. “You know what I meant.”

She hums, pretending to consider, before leaning in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just above your hip, fingers slipping fully beneath your underwear now, dragging over the slick heat between your thighs.

You inhale sharply, hips jerking at the contact, and she grins against your skin.

“There’s my good girl,” she murmurs, tracing a slow circle over your clit, barely applying pressure, just enough to make you whimper.

Your hands fist into the seat, your body twitching at the deliberate pace she’s setting. She’s barely even started, but you already feel too sensitive, too on edge, the anticipation almost unbearable.

She watches you, eyes dark, utterly absorbed in every reaction, and then, finally, finally, she slides her fingers lower, sinking one inside you, slow, controlled, teasing you with every inch.

Your breath shudders.

Lilia exhales a pleased hum, tilting her head, watching the way your thighs tremble, the way your body clenches around her.

“Oh, cara,” she purrs, curling her finger just right, pressing against that spot that makes you gasp. “You take me so well.”

You whimper, head falling back, nails digging into the leather seat as she strokes inside you, slow, deliberate, coaxing every little sound from your lips.

She leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Do you want more?”

You nod, words failing you, breath ragged.

Lilia chuckles, sliding another finger inside you, stretching you just right, her palm pressing against your clit as she picks up the rhythm, stroking deep, slow, torturous.

Your hips roll instinctively, chasing the pressure, and she groans at the way you move for her, how responsive you are, how easily she has you unraveling in her hands.

“So eager,” she breathes, curling her fingers again, pressing harder, making your thighs shake. “I could make you come just like this.”

You moan, head spinning, everything narrowing to the slow, devastating drag of her fingers inside you, the way she’s murmuring against your skin, the way her lips brush over your jaw, her breath warm, teasing, unbearable.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmurs, voice rough, admiring. “Falling apart for me.”

You whimper, grinding against her hand, chasing that edge she’s so carefully pulling you toward.

She speeds up, pressing her palm down, her fingers moving just right, just perfect, and it’s too much, too good, too overwhelming.

You cry out, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes over you, your thighs trembling, your breath shattering, everything breaking apart beneath her touch.

Lilia groans, watching you fall apart, letting you ride it out, stroking you through every wave, pressing her lips to your temple as your body slowly relaxes, your pulse still pounding, your mind hazy.

She stays there, holding you, pressing slow kisses along your cheek, your jaw, whispering things too soft for you to catch, things meant only for you.

And when you finally come back to yourself, breath still uneven, Lilia pulls back just slightly, her lips brushing against your ear, voice still rough, still teasing.

“Oh, cara,” she whispers, trailing her fingers through the mess between your thighs, utterly satisfied.

“You look so pretty when you beg.”

You roll your eyes.

Lilia is sitting there, hair a beautiful mess, her lips definitely too red but not from her lipstick, her thighs still bare. She’s smirking, entirely too pleased with herself, radiating self-satisfaction as she stretches lazily against the seat. You groan, throwing your arm over your eyes, already dreading the inevitable smug remarks. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Lilia chuckles, tilting her head, fingers idly tracing patterns against your stomach. “Like what, cara?”

You lift your arm just enough to glare at her. “Like you won something.”

She hums, her nails skimming over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge. “Oh, but I did.”

Your jaw tightens. Because she’s right, and she knows it.

You roll your head back against the seat, exhaling sharply, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. Big mistake. Lilia shifts, leaning in, her breath warm against your throat, her lips brushing against your skin, teasing, testing. Her voice is a soft, satisfied purr. “You were so sweet for me, cara.”

You shiver, and she notices.

She always notices.

Her lips graze your jaw, lingering just enough to make your stomach twist, and then, utterly pleased with herself, she whispers, “Would you like to do it again?”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling low in your gut, because you would. You absolutely would. And from the way Lilia watches you, lips curved, gaze half lidded and knowing, she already knows that.

You should feel sated, triumphant, satisfied, at peace. Instead, you’re lying in the backseat of your own car, exhausted, tangled up in Lilia, who looks entirely too smug. You groan, covering your face with your arm again. “I’m never driving you anywhere again.”

Lilia laughs, stretching beside you, unbothered, fingertips dancing absentmindedly over your skin. “Oh, cara,” she muses, voice like silk and satisfaction, “we both know that’s a lie.”

You tense, because she’s right. She always is. She knows you too well, knows exactly how to push you, how to unravel you, how to get what she wants.

You exhale, tilting your head and moving your arm just enough to glance at her, watching the way she smirks, the way she looks at you like you’re her favourite thing to toy with. You meet her gaze, let the silence stretch just long enough to make her think she’s won, then smirk right back.

“Oh, cara,” you murmur, voice low, teasing, throwing her own words right back at her.

Lilia stills for just a second, just long enough for her breath to hitch, for her eyes to flicker with something warm, something unguarded. But then she grins, shaking her head. “Stealing my lines now?” she muses, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

You shrug, exhaling through your nose, settling deeper into the seat. “You make it too easy.”

She hums, fingers still tracing faint patterns against your ribs, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Oh, baby,” she says, and you know, you just know she’s about to say something infuriating.

And you’re right.

She tilts her head, watching you with quiet amusement. “You know you’re driving me home.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You are the worst.”

She hums, entirely too content. “Mmm. But—” She stretches, arching her back, looking entirely too smug. “You keep picking me up.”

You sigh, shaking your head.

Because she’s right.

Of course she’s right.

You were always going to pick her up.

It should have changed after that night. After everything. But somehow, it doesn’t.

Lilia still texts you at inconvenient hours, still waits outside with her arms crossed, expecting you to pull up, still slides into the passenger seat like she belongs there, draping herself over the chair with a dramatic sigh as she adjusts the temperature to her exact preference. And you? You still pick her up.

Because of course you do.

You’d like to pretend there’s some resistance left in you, some shred of dignity after what happened in the backseat of this very car, but there isn’t. There never was.

One evening, she gets in, stretching luxuriously as she settles into the seat, utterly unbothered. You glance at her, unimpressed. “You do have a driver’s licence, right?”

She scoffs, looking at you like the question alone is insulting. “Of course I do.”

You hum, drumming your fingers against the wheel. “Ever use it?”

Lilia shrugs, smirking. “Not when I have you.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You are so spoiled.”

She leans in slightly, voice mockingly sweet, her lips grazing your jaw just to be obnoxious. “And yet, cara—”

You groan, already knowing what’s coming. You finish her sentence for her, “I keep picking you up.”

She grins, and with an exasperated sigh, you put the car into gear. Because, once again, she’s right.

No matter how many times you threaten to make Lilia take the bus, no matter how often you grumble about being at her beck and call, you always pick her up. And she always waits for you.

It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is, how natural. How seamlessly your life has shifted to accommodate her presence in your passenger seat. And the worst part? You like it.

One evening, you’re parked outside her flat, engine running, waiting for her to come down. The usual. Except tonight, she doesn’t rush. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with a look you can’t quite place.

You frown, rolling down the window. “What?”

She hums, tilting her head. “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

Lilia steps closer, bending slightly to rest her arms on the edge of the window, her gaze warm, knowing. “I’m just wondering something.”

You sigh, already tired. “Which is?”

Her lips quirk slightly, but there’s something softer in her expression. “If I stopped waiting for you,” she murmurs, “would you still show up?”

The question shouldn’t make your chest feel tight. You should roll your eyes, scoff, say something dismissive and move on. But you don’t.

Because you know the answer.

And so does she.

You inhale slowly, grip tightening on the wheel before exhaling, resigned. “Get in the car, Lilia.”

She smiles, pleased, like she’s just confirmed something for herself. Then, as always, she slides into the passenger seat like she belongs there.

Because, of course, she does.

And you? You were always going to pick her up. No matter what.

#lilia calderu #patti lupone #lilia calderu x reader #agatha all along #agatha all along fanfic #my fanfic #maybe one day i'll like my writing today is not that day

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goodeapple · 10 days ago

Text

pedal to the metal (cregan s. modern hotd pwp o.s.)

pairing : Cregan x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : MDNI PWP, hate sex babyyy! cunnilingus (creg's a munch, let's talk about it), p-in-the-v, doggystyle, sex in a public place, misogynistic language/illusions, brat taming, general yummy stuff

word count : 3,500+

note : two updates? in less than two weeks? who is sheeee. but actually, i have a nasty sinus infection and i feel like a hot air balloon so any love from ya'll would cure me. all my love, always xx

"How much do I owe you?"

"Your money's no good here." Cregan rumbles, letting his eyes roam leisurely down the enchanting bends and blooms of Ysilla's body.

The dress she's slid into is nothing short of obscene- the silky caramel color a twin shade of her soft, supple skin. The entirety of her chest may be covered to the base of her throat courtesy of the halter neckline, but that doesn't account for the backless design that bares her down to the bounce of her ass. She's all leg and sky high heels, the hemline stopping short just below her cheeks. Her midnight hair is twisted up and off her shoulders, displaying the huge fucking diamonds decorating her earlobes.

She's a showroom car in the middle of his dingy garage. Untouchable. Unattainable.

Ysilla eyes him with a healthy sprinkling of mistrust, giving him a very unimpressed once over. Every speck of grease on his jeans seems to grow darker, the dirt under his nails thickening into a damning paste. Cregan grits his teeth, recognizing the look for exactly what it is- he's shit under her shoes.

"Just do me a favor, alright?" He goes on before she can't stop him, the perk of her eyebrow haughty and aching to rebuff him. "Lay offa Jace. Man's been through the ringer, he doesn't need you piling on all the time."

The look of gobsmacked shock on her pretty face is priceless. Cregan bets no one's ever talked to her like that before.

"You don't tell me what to do, Stark."

"Not telling you, I'm askin' you." He bites back, rolling his eyes. She picks Jace up sometimes, pulling up in her candy apple red Corvette- no doubt thanks to mummy's money- and doesn't even bother to get out and set foot inside of Stark & Son's Body Shop. She'll lay on the horn, harping at Jace to get a move on and stop wasting my fucking time.

Real classy gal.

"It's my brother's own goddamn problem that he wrapped his Ferrari 'round a tree while he was pissed. Now Mum's making him work off his house arrest in this shit shop, and I have to take time out of my day to pick him up from daycare? Bite me." Such vitriol seems unlikely to come from sparkly glossed lips but it pours like oil, easy and thick off her tongue. She's crossed her arms, cocked a hip, and is glaring at him something serious.

'Shit shop' eh? Cregan snarls, Northern pride burning through the tips of his ears. He stands, kicking away the rolling stool, all six feet and more of him swallowing up the Targaryen daughter in his shadow. Even with her heels, she still has to look up at him to give him her nastiest look.

"And where are your priorities exactly, Princess?" Cregan doesn't make a habit of talking to women like this but Ysilla gnaws at him like frostbite. Plus, he's got nothing to lose. His uncle is the one doing the favor for Jace's mum. Cregan doesn't owe anyone shit.

"You off to another club? Didn't I just see your photo splashed over every mag from here to Rook's Rest last week? Partying and gettin' sloshed, stumbling into limos face first and ass up." He chuckles, enjoying a little too much how her bronzed cheeks bloom rosy, the whites of her eyes growing frosty. She's positively fuming- he's surprised steam hasn't shot out of her ears yet. Cregan decides to push his luck, tucking a stubborn curl behind her ear, tracing the shell of it in faux tenderness.

"What're you searching for at the bottom of all those bottles? Who are ya looking for in the ones that end up in your bed?"

He expects the smack because that last bit was a little too far. Shit stings, he'll give it to her, waggling his jaw to dissipate the pain. He rubs at the skin of his cheek, the stubbled flesh hot under his hand.

"Struck a nerve, did I?" He laughs darkly, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. It's a valiant effort, one made in vain as another manicured paw sails through the air and attempts to get familiar with his face. Cregan catches Ysilla's hand, yanking her into him if only to limit how much destruction she can cause.

"You get one Princess, you don't get another."

Cregan watches the narrowing of her captivating indigo eyes, her little angry breaths hot along his chest. Maybe he'd laugh at the fact that her pissed off face is about as menacing as a pouting puppy if he didn't realize all of her is pressed into the entire front of him. He refuses to focus on the softness of her breasts pillowed against his ribs. Blocks out the rosemary of her shampoo drifting up his nose from the strands swaying under his chin.

He lets a traitorous thought drift into his head, a whisper of how fucking perfect she feels against him, how deliciously right she is in his arms.

"What dumb slag told you that you were hot shit enough to talk to a girl this way?" Ysilla spits, trying to yank free her wrists he still has locked in his meaty fists.

Cregan scoffs, releasing her and taking a step back- for his sake or hers, he won't answer, not even in his head. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She rubs at the tender skin under her Cartier bracelets, and Cregan argues with himself to not feel too bad. Considering his face still hurts like a bitch, he doesn't take much convincing.

"Maybe I would."

He almost misses it, Ysilla's voice dimmed down to a near whisper. But it's just the two of them this late at night, so she may as well've screamed it at the top of her lungs.

Of fucking course.

"Oh, I see. Does that turn you on? Guys treating you like shit?" It's his turn to cross his arms and look down the tip of his nose at her. "Or do you just want a man that won't bow down to you because of your last name?"

"Easy, big boy." Ysilla sneers. She spins on her heel, sauntering away from him and Cregan certainly does not stare at the beguiling jiggle of her ass.

She finds a seat, reclining on the hood of her Corvette, the same one he was doing a solid for Jace fixing up, faulty fuel sensor and a shitty transmission hidden under the shiny red hood. She may be a bit of a twat but she's still my sister. Can't have her skiddin' off the Long Bridge, Mum would have my ass.

"I've had enough night-outs to last a lifetime. Maybe… I should try out something different." She crosses her long legs at the ankle and the shop lights might be severely unflattering on most people, but of course that doesn't apply to her. The white glow bounces off her polished skin, illuminating her in a showcase display, enticing anyone who may spare a glance. Fuck, he wants to take a bite out of her.

"What? Wanna slum it?" Cregan can't believe this shit- maybe Ysilla knocked a screw loose when she swatted at him earlier and he's hallucinating like a bad fucking mushroom trip.

She giggles, an evil little sound that would probably make a baby cry. "Your words, not mine." Her fingers dance at the edge of her dress, dipping below the hem, raising it just so. She's got thick thighs, creamy and unblemished, and Cregan thinks of how easily they'd spread apart for his shoulders when he'd go face first between them. His silence stretches on and Ysilla takes it as an unspoken answer.

"No? Your loss." She shrugs, pushing to her feet.

"Bend over the hood. Keep your heels on."

He's somewhat proud his voice doesn't shake. He's no blushing bride but this is pretty ballsy. The shop door isn't even locked- he'd opened it for her once she arrived and expected her to walk right back out of it in a matter of minutes. His guys are all long gone for the night, probably already a few pints deep at the pub, but this isn't the best part of King's Landing. Anyone could try the door and walk into the porno he's apparently shooting in his garage.

He expects a fight, at least a snide remark or two but Ysilla is full of surprises. She gives him a sexy little smirk, staring him down like she's expecting him to back out. When all he does is raise an impatient eyebrow, she bites her lip in anticipation and spins around. She walks her hands up the hood of her car, positioning herself in the most alluring display of come take me now Cregan's ever seen.

He doesn't make his feet move but suddenly, somehow, he's behind her, nearly flush with the back of her thighs. He wedges his steel toe in between her stilettos and knocks them apart. Ysilla gasps as her legs spread, goosebumps peppering over the naked skin of her back.

He lets himself enjoy this, running his palms from the bare slope of her shoulders, down the sides of her covered breasts, and over the small of her back. She feels fantastic, all woman, and his cock pulses thickly behind his fly. He sees her fingers flex along the gleaming red metal she clings to before the sight drops away as he squats behind her, his face level now with her delicious derriere.

Ysilla peers at him from under her arm, a surprised little laugh escaping her. "Thought you'd be the kind to just shove it in."

Cregan shimmies the expensive silk of her dress over the swell of her hips, exposing the globes of her ass to the tepid night air. He smiles, the softest look he's aimed at her so far tonight. "Ye of little faith, milady."

She's beautiful, every inch of her. He suckles a string of bruises from the back of her knee to the swell of her cheek, stamping down the urge to sink his teeth into the lavish bounty of her body.

"Gonna kiss my ass, Stark- oh! Damn se Sīkuda, fuckkk."

He indulges a dip of his tongue into where her thong blooms a dark dot, her honey soaking through the delicate material. He sucks on it like a man starved, pulling the sweetness out and onto his ravenous taste buds. A treat before the main course, he shucks them out of his way roughly, before burying his tongue inside of her cunt with no finesse.

Ysilla startles forward, shouting out another curse but it falls on deaf ears, Cregan a man drowning in lust. Bitter she may be inside but between her legs is fucking sugar, the feminine musk of her arousal coating his mouth in a saccharin syrup. His eyes slip closed, losing himself in her decadent tang. He winds his arms around the front of her thighs and hugs her to his face, keeping her stuck against his insatiable tongue. He leaves her hole only to dip forward to wrap his lips around the pretty little pearl of her clit, enjoying how her legs quiver like jelly when he sucks too hard.

She's gonna have beard burn, he just knows it- he didn't have time to shave this morning. But he thinks of her tomorrow, sitting at the mile long dinner table he's sure they have at Dragonstone Manor, and how she'll wiggle and whine as the butlers pour her tea, working herself up as she rubs her tender thighs together. He yanks her impossibly closer, smothering his face in her pretty pussy. He feels her tighten, her hips arching backwards to ride his face, her moans echoing off the high ceilings and crashing down around them. He groans, mouth full, and the vibrations roll through her like a thundering bass.

Ysilla screams before she slaps a hand over her mouth, her orgasm sending a wave of sweet slick down his chin. He spears her on his tongue, dragging her on and off it, making sure to draw out her aftershocks until her legs kick. Cregan finally tears himself away, albeit unhappily, to gulp down air to fill his burning lungs.

"Don't tease, Stark." She whines, reaching blindly behind her to push at his head.

"Don't tell me what to do, Targaryen." He parrots back, his speech slurred, drunk from his feast. He relents though, rocking onto his feet, going to flick open the button of his jeans.

"Rubber." Ysilla commands, breathy and impatient, laid across the hood like a fucking Playboy spread. Her fingers have snuck between her legs and she rubs between her slick lips with unhurried small strokes.

Cregan pulls his wallet from his pocket, shifting through the bills before pulling out the foil packet (he keeps one handy, in case of emergencies and all). He tears open the edge and rolls it on, pumping himself once for assurity before lining himself up with her entrance. He snatches Ysilla's hand away from fondling herself, and he holds her sultry stare as he brings her wet fingers up to his mouth. He sucks them clean, her French-tipped nails curling loosely over his tongue.

"You're filthy." Long gone is her previous acrid tone, in its place a needy, erotic purr. He winks at her, releasing her hand. She lets it flop bonelessly to her side, weak with satisfaction. He takes a hold of her hips, raising her up so that she teeters on heels.

He catches her eye, raising a brow in an unspoken question. You good?

She answers with an annoyed miff of her mouth. Just get on with it.

Cregan's never claimed to be the smartest guy around but shit, he doesn't need to be told twice. He slides forward, his spit and her slick letting him in with no resistance.

"Fuck, that's good pussy." And he almost wishes he were lying- her ego could use a good adjustment- but he's currently sliding into the wettest, silkiest, hottest cunt he's ever had the privilege of being invited into.

He takes a moment to focus on not being a minute man but as soon as the temptation to cum in under thirty fades, he gives her just what she needs. Hard, fast, and rough. He's sure she'll bruise- he's a big guy, plus the way he's squeezing at her hips and the start of her thighs is anything but tender.

"Fuck it like you own it, Stark, come on." Ysilla slaps at the hood, meeting him thrust for thrust. Even with dick in her, she still thinks she's the one calling the shots.

"Do you ever not talk?" He bites back, fisting his grip into the roots of her hair. She flutters around him as he pulls, hard.

"Only when there's something in my mouth." Cheeky thing. She wants filthy? He shoves two fingers down her throat, bumping cruelly at the crowns of her teeth and scraping at the back of her tongue. She doesn't even gag, just hums and sucks on them like his work worn hands are a popsicle in July.

"Pampered little rich bitch. Fucken desperate for some Northern cock, eh?"

Cregan thinks that she tries to whine out something, thinks he might hear prick, but the digits shoved in her mouth and the drool slipping down his wrist stunt that. Her nails burrow into his foreman, Ysilla clinging to him as he fucks her like a beast. He's not gentle, pistoning in and out of her so harshly that the Corvette rocks beneath them, the tires squeaking.

She whimpers, her throat spasming around his fingers. A thought, unbidden, worms its way into his thoughts. What if she fakes it? And that pisses him the fuck off. Nah, if she wants to get down and dirty, she'll remember how hard she came when she was pinned underneath him. He rips his fingers free and only gives her a chance to cough once before gripping her jaw tightly.

"Tell me you like it." He rumbles into her ear, his Northern flourish thicker when he's turned on.

Ysilla moans, a broken, lovely sound that makes him grin like a fool.

"I fuckin' love it, oh my Gods." That's even better.

Cregan kisses her on instinct, planting one just below her ear, over the thrumming string of her pulse. She vibrates in a shiver, curling into him, the curve of her spine accepting the beating of his hips. Southern girls must not be used to good dick because Ysilla is fucking gagging for it. Her hood's gonna look like it just got a fresh wax from the way her wetness dribbles down her thighs.

"Fuck yeah, take it take it take it take it." His hand wraps around her throat, a mind of its own, and hauls her to his chest. She's shaking, wild gasps for air whistling from her lips. Her hand dives down her belly, her fingertips searching for the sensitive slip of skin that'll bring them closer to the end of their fucked up little union. And Cregan may not enjoy her company but he's certainly enjoying this. He catches her wrist, trapping her against her own beautiful body as he winds both arms around her.

"Un uh, you cum when I tell you to. Should make you beg for it. Should put you on your knees, with your pretty kitty aching still, teetering on the edge, and paint your face with my spunk. Think you're too good for me? When your pussy is squeezing the absolute life outta me?" Cregan thinks of putting a collar on her. Leading her around on a leash, tugging her forward to have her lap at his cock. "Cregan's Bitch" inscribed on a dangling gold charm that'd rest between her tits. She'd look good in pink- it'd make the rosiness of her lips glow lusciously.

Fuck, he's close. And for all the shit he may talk, he's not pulling out of her A1 snatch now.

"So do it. Beg me, Princess. Beg me to let you cum."

Seemingly past the point of acting blasé, the plea tumbles from Ysilla's mouth before he's even done talking. "Yes yes yes, please baby, let me cum. Let me cum all over your cock. Break me in half on it, unnfff. Cregan!"

There it is. "Only because you asked so nicely." And his callous raised fingertips glide down to strum at her clit until she sobs, her legs going out, the only thing keeping her up Cregan's thick arms around her. She shivers and shakes for ages, guiding him through his own release as he cums into the condom.

He presses his forehead to the center of her back, taking his time so that his knees don't buckle when he stands up. Pulling out of her sucks, leaving her warmth the last thing he wants to do but his back is screaming at him to straighten out and he's sure her legs must be at least half asleep by now. He ties off the rubber, tossing it into the bin behind them before he tucks himself back in his boxers.

He snags a clean rag out of a drawer- it comes with a few oil stains sure, but it's been washed a thousand times. He wipes Ysilla clean, gentle around the raw skin of her inner thighs and the swollen lips of her center. She sighs softly, whispering a soft thank you into her arm pillowed beneath her chin. He kisses the side of her hip in acknowledgement, sliding her sodden panties back to cover her up. He helps her roll onto her back and she squints up at the track lights glaring down at them.

He doesn't say much and neither does she, the afterglow fading until all that's left is the sweat sticky on their skin.

"Can I take you out to dinner? I'm fucking starved." It's not a proposal or anything, just good manners in Cregan's opinion.

Ysilla looks down at her dress, wrinkled from him rucking it up and spotted from where she'd sweated through parts of it. She looks at him pointedly, less attitudey than before but still with her signature sharpness. He laughs, unperturbed and lighter than fucking air. That's the best orgasm he's had in… shit, probably ever.

"I have a long sleeve you can throw on. Some sweats too." He ducks into the office and riffles through his gym bag, returning with the clothes that he'll sure will swamp her from head to toe. He tosses them onto the hood beside her.

"Couture, no doubt." She grumbles but she's already undoing the button at the nape of her neck that keeps the straps in place. It falls away like a bow off a present, revealing the one part of her he hasn't seen.

He'll need a few before he can go another round but even so, his dick twitches in interest. He may be an ass man but Cregan's positive now there's no piece of her body he doesn't want to lick. Ysilla notices his shameless staring, forgetting his shirt she'd started to shrug on in her lap. She smirks, cupping her tits, her thumbs and forefingers pinching the dusky rose nipples into stiff peaks.

"Like what you see?"

Cregan doesn't answer, not aloud anyway. He sweeps forward, coming to stand in between her lax legs. He cradles her face and that cocksure smugness melts like butter from her eyes, and she blinks big and wide up at him. Her lashes flutter, petals in a breeze, and Cregan takes his chance. He seals his lips over hers and swallows down the sigh she breathes into his mouth.

It's chaste, paling in comparison to the railing he just gave her but it doesn't make it any less nice. It's really nice actually, nicer than it has any right being. Ysilla wraps her legs around his hips, dragging him into glue to her front. Her breasts squeeze against his chest, her tongue demure as it traces his bottom lip. The scratch of her nipples against his work shirt sends her whimpering, and she clutches onto his biceps for purchase.

The growl of his stomach wins out over the tightening in his jeans, and with enough willpower to win a war, he pulls away. He gives her another peck, enjoying the way her face goes soft when she's not frowning.

He traces the beauty mark at the edge of her cheekbone, waiting for her eyes to slip shut before he yanks the long sleeve over her head. She pops through the shirt's opening like a bushy little groundhog, and Cregan smirks at the glare she daggers him with.

"So, kebabs or fish and chips?"

Damn se Sīkuda . Damn the Seven

#hotd #house of the dragon #modern hotd #cregan stark #modern cregan stark #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark smut #ysilla targaryen #hotd smut #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you

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drewizz · 4 months ago

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THIRD TIME - 02. peripheral

pairing ꕀ rafe cameron x reader

WARNINGS. none. (except that the yearning starts..)

WC. 1.2K

TAGLIST. open! comment or send in an ask

series masterlist. previous next

peripheral. (adj) related to the key issue but not of central importance

The soft chime of the coffee shop door was as familiar to you every morning, likewise your bitter espresso you ordered. It wasn’t just a part of your routine – it was your peaceful oasis. It was your moment of solitude and silence before the day demanded too much from you. With a content smile and a sigh, you stepped in the shop.

The comforting, aromatic smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries wrapped around you, quite a stark contrast to the beachy smell right outside the other side of the door. It was early enough that only a handful of customers lingered, their quiet murmurs of all different conversations blending with the low hiss of the espresso machine and orders being yelled out.

You had already ordered your usual, picking it up from the counter. But then a sharp laugh cut through the hum of the coffee shop.

It was him.

Rafe Cameron.

Of all the places and all the mornings, he had to be here. Leaning casually against the counter, his phone in one hand, looking all effortlessly polished and annoyingly at ease.

Your first instinct was to leave. No coffee was worth this. But then you caught yourself. Why should you let him ruin your morning? This was your place, your time.

You turned your attention back to the pickup counter, as if you were searching for your order. (There was only one drink on the counter.) Maybe, if you stayed quiet and kept your head down, he wouldn’t notice you.

But it’s Rafe, and Rafe always notices.

“Well,” his voice carried across the shop, loud enough to attract a few people’s attention. His smirk followed shortly after, all sharp and cocky. “We meet again. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You ignored him, busily shoving napkins inside your bag.

“Not even a hello?” he teased, stepping closer.

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t look at him. “I didn’t realize we were on ‘hello’ terms.”

He let out a soft chuckle, more amused than offended. “Fair enough. But you’re not very good at pretending I’m not here, you know.”

You turned then, fixing him with a glare. “What do you want?”

He leaned away from the counter, standing up, tilting his head as if your question genuinely amused him. “What do I want? I guess a conversation. Isn’t that what normal people do?”

You scoffed. “Normal people don’t start conversations by picking fights.”

His grin widened. “I wasn’t picking a fight. Just saying hi.”

“Right,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “Because you’re so friendly.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You’ve got a lot of fire for someone who barely knows me.”

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve for someone who barely knows me,” you countered back.

Rafe laughed again, the sound surprisingly genuine, though it did nothing to soften the edge of his presence. “I think I know enough.”

“Oh, really?” You challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between them just enough to make your pulse quicken. “You’re stubborn,” he said, his tone low but teasing. “Quick to snap. And you're getting haughty for no reason.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you’re arrogant, condescending, and way too full of yourself.”

He held your gaze, his smirk never wavering. “You’re not wrong.”

The audacity of his admission left you momentarily speechless.

“You don’t make conversation. You make trouble,” you muttered, carefully picking up your coffee.

“Trouble?” he repeated, mock-offended. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” you said flatly.

He laughed again, a low sound that grated on your nerves and sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. “So, is this you're way of proving that you’ve got me all figured out already, huh?”

“I don’t need to,” you replied, your voice sharp. “You make it easy.”

For a moment, his smirk faltered, just a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual smug expression. “And here I thought you were full of surprises.”

With a roll of your eyes, you were heading straight for the door. However, you didn’t get too far.

“Hey, wait,” Rafe said, his voice stopping you in your tracks.

You turned halfway, one hand on the door, your patience wearing thin. “What now?”

His expression was oddly casual. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t know my name?” Your eyebrows shot up. Huh. You never realized that your name was never mentioned between each other.

“Not yet,” he admitted, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “But I figured I’d ask.”

Your pulse quickened – whether from irritation or something else, you couldn’t tell. “Why do you care?”

“Curiosity,” Rafe said simply, his gaze steady.

“Curiosity kills the cat,” you replied, your tone clipped.

His grin widened, and he leaned in closer, slightly dropping his voice. “Good thing I’m not a cat.”

You stared at him, torn between annoyance and the undeniable attraction of his presence. There was something irritatingly pleasant about the way he looked at you, like he was slowly peeling your layers as if you were an orange, trying to reveal a secret deep inside you.

“You don’t need to know my name,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. For a moment, the cocky grin slipped, replaced by something almost close to genuinity. “Fair enough,” he said quietly, surprising you.

But the moment passed quickly. His smirk returned, all sharp and confident. “But you know this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other, right?”

Your fingers tightened around your coffee cup. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Neither,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Just the truth.”

Your stomach twisted in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge. Teeth gritting, you answered. “If you’re done wasting my time, I’ve got places to be.”

He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. “Hm. See you around then, mystery girl,” he replied with another cheeky smirk – the words somehow seeming to be more promising than needed.

You turned without another word, pushing the door open and stepping into the crisp morning air.

The street outside felt cooler than earlier, a sharp contrast to the heat that Rafe’s presence always seemed to stir. You walked briskly, your coffee in hand, trying to shake the strange sensation away.

But as you walked down the street, his words stayed with you, echoing in your mind.

This isn’t the last time we’ll see each other.

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a threat. It was just a fact.

And the worst part? You weren't entirely sure you hated the idea.

Back at the shop, Rafe watched you leave, the door swinging shut behind you with a faint chime. He turned back to the counter, his drink now ready, but he didn’t care about that for now.

He didn’t know why he was so intrigued. You didn’t seem like the other girls he usually spent time with – those who laughed too easily at his jokes and stuck around despite knowing better. Or the ones who listened too easily to what he asked them to do.

You were different.

Maybe it was the fire in your eyes or the way you never backed down even when he pushed. Or maybe it was something else entirely, something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Whatever it was, he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be the last time he’d see you. All for some reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he didn’t want it to be.

And he liked it.

NOTES. second day and chapter teww!!!! ngl i was not expecting much interactions but i am already sososo thankful for all the love it's been getting!! very very excited to share the constant yearning and tension (unresolved...??) between rafe and reader.. stay tuuuned

TAGS. @urbrunettebombshell @rafesfavouritegirl

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strawberryblue-blog · 5 months ago

Text

Stay away —Héctor Fort.

summary: Hector is a customer at the coffee shop where you work and you start to have feelings for him.

warnings: none. angst, enemies to lovers?, Hector being flirtatious and arrogant, etc.

words count: +2k.

#SEXYNOTE: This story is divided in acts, which are short stories that take place at different points in time.

—Act one.

You dismissed some customers with a smile after they thanked you for your service. You took the things from the table and walked to the counter to deposit them there.

You heard the door of the store ring open and the murmur of kids coming in as they laughed and played. You sighed taking your notepad to put it in your apron when your friend, Carla, reached for it with a knowing look.

"Enjoy your table" she teased as she watched the boys sit at their typical table.

You rolled your eyes, sticking your tongue out at her as you turned to put on your best fake smile. You could feel a few stares as you made your way towards that table, the murmurs began to hush as they noticed you standing near them.

"Hey boys" you greeted politely. "What can I get for you guys?"

Your gaze met one of theirs and you smiled slightly towards the gaze of the young man, who quickly raised his head flirtatiously. Your skin bristled as you felt a shiver down your back but you pretended to smile towards them as if nothing was wrong.

The group of football players that came every afternoon after practice, some were flirtatious, some were more shy, some were chatty and some were quieter. There was one of them in particular who had tried to get your attention every time they came over but you never let it get to you.

"The usual, Y/n, please" Ferran said with his smile. And you nodded taking note as you remembered their orders.

Even though you knew exactly what they asked for, it was part of your job to ask what they wanted. They usually had the same thing but you knew that sometimes some of them changed their choices.

They had been coming in for coffee for at least five months, almost every afternoon. And even though you thought soccer players couldn't drink coffee, it turned out they could.

Of course you knew who they were. Everyone knew, even if you weren't into that world. The coffee shop was near the Barcelona stadium. Anyone who lived here would know exactly who they were. FC Barcelona and Spanish national team players. You still tried to stay out of the way and just do your job. It wasn't like it mattered much anyway.

"Anything else?" you asked looking around as you noticed some customers calling you.

"Your phone number, linda (beautiful)" one of them mumbled and the others cheered as they heard "linda".

You bit your tongue nonchalantly. You didn't feel flattered, or embarrassed, or special. It was just the opposite.

It was disgusting.

Hector Fort. You knew perfectly well whose voice it was. His name, his reputation, his talent. He had gained a lot of fame these last months with his plays, becoming a great player and all the women in town were dying for him.

But not you.

And he had been trying to flirt with you since the first time he sat at the cafeteria tables with cheesy compliments, little hints, trying to have something from you. But you wouldn't let him.

"In your dreams, honey" you mutter low and their friends again squeak an 'uhhh' mockingly as you turn and walk away from them.

The hour passes as you continue to serve the customers. But you can't fully focus on your work, you're scattered. For some reason that word is going around in your head. It wasn't the first time he had flirted with you but this time he had had some effect on you and you didn't even know why.

But for minutes you found yourself turning your gaze to his table, looking for the author of the word. And every time you looked, he was looking at you.

Haughty, head held high and with a flirtatious smile on his perfect face.

You could even see how his friends were talking to him but he wasn't paying attention to them, you were his attention. He was looking at you like you were the only person in here and it made you shiver.

He had been looking at you for days and you know it because you used to look at him too, although then you ended up looking away to do your job.

It was the first time you were so attracted to a client but you kept pretending he was just another one, because he really was. So, you put the ideas out of your head and went back to your daily tasks.

—Act two.

Another afternoon came and this time you found yourself waiting for the group of boys. You knew they would be here any minute and for some reason you had been longing for them to arrive (or maybe just one).

It had been two days since they had come and you were beginning to feel something strange in your chest. The sound of the door chimed and you turned to greet whoever had come in but were surprised when you saw only Hector enter.

He entered quietly and sat at his table, waiting for your attention. As you greeted the pair of grandparents who were saying goodbye, you grabbed their cups and took them to the wash quickly, you had to go serve customers.

But not just any customer. Hector Fort, who for some reason made you feel nervous.

Your eyes focused on the boy sitting alone as he waited with his arms on the table, sighing and stretching his legs. You swallowed saliva and silently approached the table, wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as your heart raced faster and faster.

Why did you suddenly feel this way? You had served Hector thousands of times before with his friends. You'd been serving clients for six months now, you never got this nervous. It was just your own ideas.

"Good afternoon, what can I get for you?" you asked sounding friendly but hiding the fact that you almost had a mini heart attack.

Hector's amused look rose from the table and watched you in front of him, nervous and almost trembling. A smile appeared on his lips and you could have sworn he enjoyed watching you as your voice trembled.

"Hi, linda" he greeted flirtatiously. "Are you on the menu?" he asked as he gave a quick glance of you.

«Linda» he had used that word again. You couldn't answer his stupid question sarcastically like you used to, because your heart went into overdrive and you froze how stupid.

"Just a black coffee, please" he indicated after a second. You nodded and smiled sideways, watching him.

Why had he come alone this time? You wanted to ask him. Normally all his friends came, it was already like everyday life. He wasn't wearing his typical workout clothes like when he used to come most of the time either, so you guessed that maybe he had come from somewhere else.

He looked particularly handsome today, though. His well shaped jawline shone with his glowing skin, his static curls static, he had a carefree, relaxed look. He made no jokes, no off-hand remarks, apart from the little joke from earlier.

He looked different. More real, more human. It sounded weird but it felt that way.

"What?" he asked with a smile. "Do I have something on my face?"

Oh god. Dear lord.

You'd been staring at him like a crazy person. That must have been awkward. It was. Damn. You shook your head barely and turned, literally running away from Hector. How embarrassing. Your cheeks burned at the thought that you'd been staring at him as if you'd forgotten who he was. You closed your eyes slapping your forehead and the image of the young man came back to your mind. Your stomach churned and you had to sigh for peace in your chest.

—Act three.

You finished delivering the order to a table and sighed, walking to the counter. Gina waited for you and pointed to the group of players laughing among themselves. They were back again.

After the lonely sight of Hector you thought maybe they wouldn't come back but here they were. So as part of your job, it was your turn to serve them again. It was quicker than you thought, you walked over and took the order quickly. Although you tried not to look at him, Hector's stare had been stabbing you the whole time. So you quickly escaped from the table while they continued to watch something and laugh.

You hadn't spoken to Hector since that afternoon. You asked Carla to replace you because you felt bad, but it was a little lie so you wouldn't go back to that table. Now you were watching them all laughing together as Carla poured coffee into the cups.

"Would you give this to Pedro?" she asked with a shy smile and you smiled as you watched her cheeks turn pink.

It was a slice of strawberry cake, one she had made in the morning. She had talked to Pedro the last few days and they had gone out to dinner two nights ago. You nodded and after taking all the things, you approached the table. With a smile, you handed everyone their order and when you got to Pedro, you took the cake.

"I didn't... order this" he mumbled confused.

"On the house" you muttered giving your friend a quick glance. Pedri watched her and his eyes sparkled at the sight of Carla greeting him. His friends mumbled something and some laughed carrying him.

"Only one night in your bed and you already have girls making you desserts" you heard Hector's voice sarcastic towards Pedro, laughing along with his friends who feasted.

"You have to teach me, friend, other girls prefer to play hard to get" he muttered straight to you and some of his friends hid stifled laughter, others just looked at him confused.

Your heart froze. He was talking about you. He said it with some suspicion while pointing his gaze towards you. You idiot. Not only had he just embarrassed you he also said that about your friend, he was calling your friend easy. He was an idiot.

His mocking look confronted you and you wanted to throw your coffee on him but you weren't going to do that. He didn't even deserve your attention, so you kept serving them as if you hadn't heard that. Smiling and holding your posture to show him that he wasn't worth it.

But something inside you resonated.

What had happened to that boy who came here alone the other afternoon? He had behaved well, he hadn't made jokes, he hadn't made fun of the situation. He just sat down, ordered his coffee, paid politely and greeted you on your way out. You thought that maybe something about him was worth admiring, that maybe he wasn't a jerk like they said or he looked like.

But now... now he was back to being the arrogant idiot Hector Fort. How everyone painted him.

Your chest shrank with emptiness. Your fingers trembled as you set his mug down in front of him and you wanted to tip it over again but you didn't.

—Act four.

Several days passed and like every afternoon, the group of boys continued to visit the store. Right now they were laughing while talking and pointing at something. Today it had been your turn to be behind the counter and you were glad at a certain point, you didn't want to go near them. You could see how Carla brought her red cheeks every time she came back from that table, you knew she liked Pedri, a shy and kind young man, who used to apologize for his friends' mess sometimes.

Compared to Hector, Pedro was someone kind and humble, he would never try to go over the top like the other idiot.

Why did he think you would go out with him? You were a simple girl who only worked to live and pay for your studies. You spent most of your time cooped up here or studying, you didn't have a bulky body, you weren't famous, you didn't even like to go out. What made him think he could treat you like you were just another prude? Idiot.

His jokes were constant, about your phone number, about taking you home, about what you were wearing, about anything to say to get your attention. It was unbearable. And normally you were used to dealing with idiot men trying to flirt with you. But Hector was so much more.

"Stop looking at him!" you heard a little shriek from your friend.

You turned your head quickly toward him. Damn. You'd been staring at that idiot again. Like he was going to commit some crime and you'd be the one to stop him, hoping to catch him in the act. You were watching out for your friend. You didn't know what his next move would be and Carla wasn't an object for him to appreciate. But you knew that was a pitiful lie. You were looking at him.

"I wasn't watching" you say nonchalantly as you brewed coffee in the machine and started it up.

"He's asking about you" he mentioned and your heart skipped a beat.

You relamiste your lip ignoring his comment but your body shuddered. You had been hiding behind the machines, in the kitchen, dodging his gaze, trying to go unnoticed. For some reason you were beginning to feel different around him and you wanted to eliminate any kind of empathy you felt for Hector.

He was a casanova. A womanizer. A jerk.

But you were starting to feel things for him. Like that time he flirted about your sweater or when he noticed you'd cut your hair, no one had ever noticed before. How he smiled at you as you set the coffee down in front of him or the time when his fingers caressed yours when he took the cup from your hands to help you. Your world stopped.

Ever since then you couldn't stop thinking about him. About his damn perfect face, his curly hair that you had wanted to stick your fingers in and comb through, about his muscular arms and the tattoo that covered his forearm. You had definitely lost your mind. You couldn't like him.

So since then you had tried to change your place with Carla during the evenings. You didn't even want to see him from afar. You needed to move on and ignore any feelings that grew in you. You were just a simple coffee server. He was all you would ever have.

—Act five.

After a long day in the cafeteria, you had finally finished serving the last customers of the day. Carla and your manager had already gone home and you were finishing up your business.

It had been a quiet afternoon, especially since the football group hadn't shown up today. But you tried not to make a big deal of it.

It was all gone.

Your little feelings for Hector, they were gone. Your mind was now clearer since you had started dating one of your classmates, nothing serious but at least your mind was occupied with something else. You clearly didn't like Hector, you were just a little persuaded by his constant flirting and you were over him.

So you had gone back to work as a waitress, ignoring the guy who was still trying to get close.

You had started to get along better with some of them, Ferran used to come up to the counter when you were there, he would talk to you and Carla. Sometimes they were joined by Alejandro or Pedro, two other nice and attentive guys.

When everything was ready inside, you left the premises and locked it with the key, making sure it was secure. It was late at night and you would change home today, there was nice weather and you weren't too far away, the streets were empty and it wasn't a dangerous area.

"Hey..." someone greeted and your hand shook as you held the lock.

Your body froze and even though your back was turned you knew exactly who it was. You gulped, catching your breath to slowly turn around. Surprised you watched the boy approach with his hands in his pocket and his gaze expectant.

"Oh, hi" you greeted in confusion. "Sorry, we're closed" you indicated pointing to the shop.

"I know, I was expecting that actually" he mentioned and you raised your eyebrows.

Had I been waiting for you to close? What did that mean?

"For what exactly?" you ask confused.

"To walk you home" he replies and your blood freezes. You are speechless.

Had he been waiting for you to close the place so he could take you home? Did he know you were due to close today or was he just passing by? He hadn't come to the coffee shop yesterday, nor today and you guessed it was because in a few days they would be traveling out of the country for an important match, as you had heard from Ferran.

"You don't have to" you say stowing your things in your bag.

"But I want to, if you let me" he takes a step forward and stands close to you. His deep gaze makes you sigh.

"It's not far. Better go home, Hector" you indicate starting to walk down the sidewalk.

You don't want any trouble. You don't want to owe anyone any favors, least of all him. It's not a bad way, you can just walk yourself home.

You sigh when you feel his footsteps behind you, following you. You turn a little and see him walking a few feet behind you, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on you.

You stop. He stops. You start walking again. He walks back. You stop again and he stops again.

Your belly rumbles and you close your eyes as you feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. What is he supposed to do? Follow you home? Doesn't he understand your words? Or maybe he's just trying to protect you? No. He wouldn't do that, he doesn't have to.

Feelings start to well up in your chest and you feel like you're starting to suffocate. Having him around makes you feel like this. You don't want to feel this. You don't want to fall back into his nets.

"What do you want from me, Hector?" you ask tiredly turning around completely.

When your gaze meets yours your barriers fall. You'd been putting yourself in all this time saying you were over him. You had been pretending but you couldn't do it anymore. You liked Hector.

"I just want to walk you home" he murmurs low and slow.

"Why?" you insist. His gaze glows in the darkness like lanterns as he takes several steps towards you.

There is an overwhelming silence and with your gaze you ask him for explanations. Hector scratches the back of his neck nervously and stands up straight.

"Because I like you" he spits without preamble and your body freezes. "Haven't I made that clear enough to you these past few months?"

You shake your head. He's playing with you. You can't like a soccer player, not someone famous and handsome like him. You're a gamble. Surely he and his friends planned it all while you fell for it like a fool.

"No, you just want to play with me" you almost scream exhausted.

"Why do you think that?" he questions confused and takes another step. ""Is it because we are different?"

You deny again and want to turn to continue on your way but he stops you. His hand encircles yours and he spins you around, you fall onto his chest and your hands rest on his muscles as his hands wrap around your waist.

Your heart starts pounding as you notice how close they are, his breath mingles with yours and you swallow a sigh. Your eyes drop down to his mouth and you're dying to touch his lips, full, marked and appetizing. All your skin bristles as you feel his hands on you, you want to touch his face, his skin, his mouth, his neck. You want him to wrap his arms around you, to hold you, to kiss you.

And he does it. And you let him. His lips crash against yours and you merge in a strong and passionate kiss. His lips are warm and tasty and they kiss fleetingly feeling.

Your chest squeezes with mixed feelings that you thought had vanished. But in reality they haven't. As hard as it is for you to admit, you're in love with Hector. But he's not for you. You are not for him.

Your hands rest on his chest and you shoot out of his kiss, moving away from him.

"I can't" an overwhelming sigh leaves your lips. He looks at you confused and tries to get closer but you stop him.

Your head is dizzy and your lips are burning to kiss him again. But you can't.

"Listen to me, please" he tries to say it but you deny it. "I like you, ¿okay? A lot. I want to be with you" He insists on taking a step but you take another step back.

The butterflies in your stomach make you scared. He's not for you. You don't even know him. You can't.

"I don't want to have you around, stay away from my life" you scream with tears in your eyes before you turn and start running in some direction.

Tears fall down your eyes but this is the best thing for you. For both of us.

—Act six.

Since that night you have never been the same. Your feelings for Hector have grown inside you and now every time the door rings you expect him to be the one who enters the cafeteria. But he doesn't.

Hector hasn't come in since that night, especially after you asked him to leave you alone. He really did. He just stopped coming, stopped insisting. Maybe you overreacted that night or were too harsh and now you feel guilty. He took the news of her walking away very seriously and you were starting to feel your heart breaking.

The worst thing is that you yourself had broken your heart. Being afraid to love or at least to accept that someone could love you. That's what you wanted to think, but Hector wasn't someone for you. You didn't deserve him, you were just a girl who works to survive.

You two could never have anything. You didn't even know if you were really something to Hector. Maybe he was just messing with you and you were here losing your mind.

You walk slowly and depressed to his table, as you have been doing for the past two weeks. Your classmates are there, laughing and chatting as usual. But he's not there.

"Hey guys," you greet barely. "What can I get for you?" you repeat listlessly.

The players greet you and make their requests as they always do for almost seven months now. You want to ask about him, you want to know about him. But you don't know how to say it. You don't even know if you have the right to know. But you think you could take the risk.

"Isn't Hector... coming today?" you try to ask without sounding curious. His friends look at you in denial.

"He stopped coming with us" says one of them. "He says he has to do things" he explains.

I don't think he has anything to do. He just doesn't want to come here anymore. And that breaks your heart.

"He was the one who was excited to come before but now he stopped coming" says another laughing. "We actually got to know this place through him and I think it was the best decision to come here."

Your heart breaks into a thousand pieces. You smile, feeling your eyes sting from holding back tears.

"Thanks guys" you can barely say with your voice in a trickle. You turn on your heels weakly and begin to walk away from them.

Your chest burns and you start to feel like crying. You did that. You hurt him. You told him to stay away and now you ruined everything. All because of your fucking fear of loving someone. Someone like him.

Hector Fort, Barcelona player and Spanish national team player. The boy who has inhabited your heart for the last seven months.

The man you're in love with.

#hector fort one shot #hector fort x you #hector fort imagine #hector fort x reader #hector fort #football imagines #imagine #football one shot #fc barcelona

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year ago

Text

The Crew Heads with Reader: Bro Code

G/N. Silly. (Jake Kim, Eli Jang, Johan Seong, Samuel Seo).

"What is that?"

You point at the red mark, the ring of teeth on his tattooed arm and Jake mutters something under his breath.

"What?"

"...Bite." He forces out.

"Courtesy of?" Your eyes flicker over to Eli, who has found a very interesting spot on the floor.

Really, it might be the most interesting thing he has ever seen. He wouldn't be able to remove his eyes from it for love nor money. Not even if Yenna shrieked, screamed, screeched in front of him

"No-one." Jake says, wordlessly agreeing with Eli that the ground is fascinating and staring resolutely at it too.

Because if there is one thing the Crew Heads agree on, it's bro code.

Fighting one another, beating each other up is one thing-

Sure, they might kill each other. Sure, some of them hate each other. It's nothing personal though. Just something they do.

...What real men do. Casual grievous bodily harm, accidental oopsy murder. You know how it goes.

But where you're concerned - snitches get stitches. And stitches from you, doesn’t bear thinking about.

Where you're concerned, the story could be they were all holding hands, skipping along the road, then simultaneously ate shit together. Falling over one by one like dominos.

It would be the utmost worst violation of bro code to tell on each other. Even if you're the one now cleaning up the aftermath.

Under silent oath, a pact formed with just one quick catch of the eye, they promised they would not tell. If you found out, if they confirmed - you would give them hell. A fate worse than death.

"And Johan, let me guess. You fell and gave yourself a blackeye." You arch an eyebrow in his direction.

Johan nods, lips pulled down in a pout and eyes (one fine, one bruised and swollen) narrowed at another spot at the floor. The appeal of the scuffed floorboards is contagious, three of the four Crew Heads gaze now firmly fixed on it.

"No brass knuckles involved?" You ask, and get a short shake of the head in response.

"Just like Samuel's back injury isn't from being thrown on the ground?"

Samuel's eyes dart over once to Jake, then he rearranges his face into a haughty, cold expression. As if that was a ridiculous suggestion and not the truth.

They were absolutely not fighting. They would absolutely not get caught.

"Of course not." He sneers, then pain flashes across his face as a short, sharp spasm shoots through his body.

You resist laughing and spitting out that that's karma for lying.

Instead, you sigh. Still have enough control to refrain from face palming.

Right.

Sure.

However-

As if this all wasn’t obvious enough. Perhaps the most damning evidence of all, is the Converse print on Eli's right cheek.

You look pointedly at Johan's footwear. "And I suppose Eli has become an ambassador for Converse, if he's wearing their logo on his face?”

Eli, on impulse, tries for a nod before his brain catches up and realises how ridiculous that sounds.

You continue on, not missing Eli’s twitch. “It's got nothing to do with you lot fighting, and someone kicking someone in the head, hmm?"

Nervous glances are exchanged.

“Eli didn’t bite Jake? Samuel didn’t give Johan a black eye? Jake didn’t slam Samuel to the ground? Johan didn't give Eli a taste of his shoe?”

This entire conversation is futile. It's clear as day they were fighting. Even a blind, deaf and mute person would be able to tell.

Still.

Bro code.

"No," comes the chorus of voices, and you consider fatally maiming them all yourself.

#who the fuck is eugene anyway #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism fic #jake kim #eli jang #johan seong #samuel seo #jake kim x reader #eli jang x reader #johan seong x reader #samuel seo x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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morallygreychaoticneutral · 5 months ago

Text

Astarion was not a "corrupt" magistrate.

Hello again. Just more opinion about my favorite battle buddy. Warning, trigger words in use. Game spoilers.

It's not quite set in stone that Astarion really was a magistrate, but we are going to go with the idea he was for this thought pocket. Also this is just game as it is now info use.

I don't believe he was corrupt magistrate. There were a few things in the game that called that out, but one in particular really set it in stone for me.

His response to the Ansur lair puzzle regarding justice.

Astarion: “Mercy?! Please. Justice should be a harsh lesson. All the better to deter the next vagabond.”

This makes me think he was a bit of a hard ass as a magistrate, but not corrupt. Had he been dealing dirty in the background I really feel like this answer would have been more dismissive or flippant. But he is pretty intent that this is his stance. Very, iv said this a thousand times, type feel.

I think, he was more of a by the book, law is law type. You murder and rape you swing from the gallows. You steal from a shop keeper, you do time. Period.

My theory is, he got beat up because he wasn't lenient with a member of the Gur that was on trial.

"Leniency?! You have been found guilty of negligence resulting in the death of a innocent! You are owed nothing!"

Could you hear it?

"But he talks about being hedonistic and indulgent all the time. "

Yes, but most patriar level citizens were spoiled entitled brats that did what they desired. Have you talked to some of them in the upper city? Yeeesh.

Was he arrogant? Most likely. Prejudice? Obviously (insert gnomes here). But being a haughty jerk does not make one evil.

Sex, nudity, orgies, parties, over indulging etc are not taboo in Faerun. If everybody is consenting to be being naked in a fountain, hopefully in a private villa garden, its not a crime. He talks about that like its a memory, but I like to think his wine drunk giggly ass was actually in that fountain.

If you want to have a little rabbit hole fun, break down the name. Faerun = Fae Run = Run by the Fae. And last I checked, fairies were always down for some naked in the water time. I mean, come on, you can go to pound town with a bear. (No offence, Halsin.) You think they are going to draw the line at how may wieners you can have in the same pot? I think not.

I think the criminal behavior came after he was turned. Cazador may have been targeting him, but not because they were involved. But maybe due to him looking like his old master Vellioth? And he took advantage of a situation. Who knows, lots of ideas there.

"But he's always getting onto Tav for doing the "right" thing."

Yup, Tav is being too trusting and getting too involved with other peoples problems. Why is this an issue for Astarion? Kindness was what got him entombed for a year. He cared about that sweet mans life and was severally punished for it. Its akin to being mauled by a dog and then watching people just reach out a pet every one they see. The anxiety of that attack is still there and it paints every encounter with its opinion. Danger.

"He's not smart enough."

Oh I bet he is. You can be whip smart at a subject and socially akward at the same time. I'm very good at my job. I know it inside and out and can give you any detail, rule, configuration at the drop of a hat in the most professional and proficient way possible. But ask me to be eloquent in a social situation? HA! You are better off asking a rock to fart. Unrelated.

"But he wants to ascend, and that's evil."

That is more about who is is after years of torment and abuse. Not before.

I think the rogue role was adopted to stay alive while hunting. And what a gods awful fate to be turned into the thing you hated the most. A criminal.

I'm sure Caz was real tickled by that. Expletive Adjective.

#astarion #baulders gate 3 #headcanon

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marauder-misprint · 3 months ago

Text

Ministry Party

Sirius Black x fem!Slytherin!reader

series masterlist

5.6k words

cw: swearing, fluff, Y/N

All of the Slytherin girls were going home for Christmas so your train compartment was packed like usual. Beatrice was gushing over her parents’ plans to take her to Paris during the break and how she planned on meeting a Beauxbaton boy for some holiday romance. Cora and Pandora were listening intently, but you stared out the window. You weren’t really interested in the love story that wasn’t likely to happen. After a while, Dorcas excused herself, saying something about going to find Marlene’s compartment.

“So, Y/N, do you have any plans for break?” Cora asked once the door slid shut.

“Mum and Dad are a bit pissed about my grades so probably studying? Bit dull, I know,” you said uninterested.

What else were you supposed to say? Your parents might host a party where you’ll get drunk and grounded for the rest of break? You weren’t traveling. You didn’t daydream about meeting some boy on the streets around your house. If you were lucky, your mum would take you shopping so you could get gifts for everyone. More likely than not, you’d spend most of the break in your house, doing nothing too exciting.

Cora frowned with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Well, what’s no fun. Bea, you should abduct her! Take her to Paris with you!”

Beatrice smiled. “Yeah! Oh, you’d love it! It’s beautiful and the food and the wine!”

“I’d be forever in your debt if you stole me away,” you replied teasingly, although you did want to stop her from ranting on and on about the wonders of Paris again. “I’ll be lucky if I get to leave my neighborhood. No way Mum’s letting me leave the country.”

“Evan and I’ll be home. You should come visit,” Pandora says. “Wouldn’t be leaving the country.”

You gave a haughty laugh at that. “Oh, please. Do we need to cover how my parents can be? My mum would say she never gets to see me and I see you all term. It’s no use.”

“That’s not very hopeful,” Pandora scolded.

“My home isn’t hopeful. It’s where hopes go to die.”

The air in the compartment seemed to thicken. It felt like you had revealed a part of your home life that you usually kept behind closed doors. You didn’t know what they expected though. You stole from just about every store you went into and from people you thought needed to be taught a lesson. You had an ability to get alcohol and hide it somewhere in Hogwarts. You got a few bad grades and now your entire break would likely be forced revisions with your father telling you that your grades are a reflection of your future income; he had been a top student in all of his muggle schools. He would tell you that he didn’t get to where he was by slacking off.

“Now that I think of it, I can’t say Evan will be around all of break,” Pandora mused out loud after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

“Junior?” Cora asked.

“Junior,” she confirmed. “Ev never brings him around and I know they don’t go to Junior’s. Not actually sure where they go…”

“Don’t you have twin telepathy or something?” Beatrice asked.

The three girls laughed. You sat in silence, thinking about all the snide comments your parents would make. You were flexing your hands and cracking your knuckles unconsciously. Or maybe you did realize that you were doing it. It was somehow soothing. The repetitive pops from your fingers was a quiet symphony to you.

---

As you had predicted, being at home wasn’t a picnic. Your father gave a rant about grades and how important they were. Your mother said it was a blessing that Professor Slughorn didn’t drop you from his Slug Club. They insisted you revise everything that was covered in the semester. After the first two days back, however, the house was eerily quiet. You received and responded to letters from your room. You studied. You would reread spell books on the couch in the conservatory. Your mother would bring you the occasional cup of tea, but you knew it was more to check on your progress than an act of kindness.

“Y/N, come on! We need to get going!” your mum called up the stairs on Christmas Eve.

You stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom. It had been a while since you wore an actual dress. You wore skirts at school, but this was different. Your mother had picked it out, along with a pair of heels. It felt like a bit much. You looked through your jewelry box and frowned. Nothing looked like what you were picturing in your head to go with the dress. Then you remembered your school jewelry box that was at the bottom of your trunk. You dig it out and unlock it. You let out a small laugh as you hold up Williams’ necklace before putting it on. It looked perfect. You glance at Regulus’ ring. No. You relocked the box and grabbed a few rings from your normal jewelry collection.

You poked your head out of the door. “Mum! Can I borrow some earrings?”

You hear her sigh impatiently. “Yes, but be quick!”

You hurried into your parents’ room and took a quick look through her boxes. You grabbed the first pair of silver hoops that you could find. Then you met your mother by the front door.

“Oh, that’s a lovely bracelet. When’d you get that?”

You looked down at your wrist. It was the tennis bracelet from Madam Malkin’s.

“Not sure. Found it in my room over the summer,” you answered.

The two of you got into the car where your father was waiting for you.

“So, it’s Christmas Eve. I’m dressed up. You’re both very dressed up. Where are we going?” you asked from the back seat.

“You haven’t told her yet? No wonder she willingly got into the car,” you dad said, giving you a look in the reflection of the rearview mirror.

You did not like the sound of that.

“We are all going to the Ministry’s Christmas party,” your mother said shortly.

You let out a groan and threw your head back against the headrest. “I should’ve stayed at school!”

“Y/N…” your mother warned.

No one spoke for the rest of the drive. Your father put on music at some point to break up the silence. The Christmas party was for sucking up to some of the Ministry’s biggest donors and influences. It was stuffy and boring. None of your friends were ever there and the bartenders were determined to only serve those of age. Worst of all, you didn’t have a room you could easily retreat to to avoid it all.

When you arrived and your parents got out of the car, you stayed seated. You didn’t even unbuckle. Your mother opened your door and glared.

“Come on, Y/N/ Out.”

“No,” you said with a softness to your voice. “I’m good here. I’ll see you when it’s over.”

“Darling, listen to your mother. You’re coming in,” your father insisted.

He reached in and unbuckled you. You let out a noise of protest. Then he put his arm around you and forcibly removed you from your seat.

“Hey, hey, hey! Stop!”

Another couple arriving gave your family odd looks as they walked up to the building.

“You need to learn to carry yourself like a proper young lady or you’ll never get any respect,” your mother snapped at you. “That includes going to events you don’t want to be at. You must act respectable tonight. These are my employers!”

You rolled your eyes. “I think I’ll just burn high society to the ground.”

Your mother chose to ignore your comment. She led you and your father into the building, greeting her coworkers and the event workers politely. Your father walked slightly behind you to make sure that you didn’t make a run for it. Once inside and without coats, he took his wife’s arm and walked with her, leaving you to either follow them or make it on your own. You scanned the room. Like usual and as expected, you saw no one your age. You recognized a few people from your parents’ smaller parties. You sighed. Then you realized that you lost your parents in the crowd. Apparently, if you stop walking for a moment, they speed off without you, despite saying they would keep an eye on you to make sure you behaved. You spotted a bench just off to the side. That would be your spot for the evening, you thought. As you sat down, you tried to suppress the urge to bang your head against the wall.

“Orion and Walburga Black! Welcome!” you heard an event work say.

“You brought your sons, how lovely,” one of your mother’s coworkers said.

“Yes, they’re getting old enough to attend these events now,” a voice that must have been Walburga said.

“Turning into young gentlemen,” Orion added, pride in his voice.

“Welcome, Regulus and Sirius!” the event worker said.

That made you want to bang your head against the wall even more. You turned your head just in time to see the family walk forward. You could see them all exchanging words, but in hushed tones. You assumed the boys didn’t want to be here as much as you did. Then you saw both of them spot you at the same time. You pretended not to see them, leaning back on the bench and closing your eyes.

“I see a classmate,” Sirius said smoothly, his voice no longer hushed. “I’ll find you when it’s time to go.”

“Go with him,” Walburga instructed Regulus. “Keep him out of trouble.”

With your eyes shut, you didn’t see him nod and follow his brother toward you. They stood in front of you with their hands in their pockets. They stood there in silence for a moment as you kept your eyes shut. You knew they were standing there, but you hoped they would leave if you ignored them.

“Y/N,” Sirius said.

You opened your eyes slowly.

“Maybe I was asleep?” you suggested flatly, looking from one brother to the other. “Not buying it? Eh, worth an attempt.”

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asked coldly.

“Mum works for the Ministry. I’ve told you.”

Sirius gave his brother a sideways glance.

“Been to this event before?” he asked, sitting down on your left.

Regulus sat down on your right. You felt awkward and could feel yourself blushing. You would have endless questions from your mother if she managed to see you like this.

“Sadly, yes. I’ve managed to get out of a few, but, alas, not this year.”

“How… how long is it?” Regulus asked.

“Feels like twenty questions. You two have 17 left. But at least until 10. If they can’t get people to clear out, it goes longer.”

“What do we do?” Sirius asked.

“Sixteen,” you counted. “I usually do whatever I can do to pass the time. Rubbing elbows with Ministry members and who they consider as elite isn’t really my cup of tea.”

The ‘who they consider as elite’ made Regulus uncomfortable. You knew it would and it was only confirmed by him shifting in his seat. Sirius, however, seemed unfazed by it.

“Food? Drink?” Sirius questioned.

“Food is passed around on trays. Not horrible. Desserts are top tier. Drinks, you have to go through the bartenders at their stations.”

“Hm, that’s not going to do,” Sirius said, standing up. “Care to dance?”

He held out a hand to you. You just stared at it. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw the expression on Regulus’ face; it wasn’t pleasant. You took Sirius’ hand and he led you to the dance floor.

“Any reason we just left your brother on the bench?” you asked him, casting a quick glance back to were Regulus was still sitting.

The younger boy’s face was stoney. Sirius laughed as he took your waist. Automatically, your arms went around his neck. You swayed to the slow song that was playing.

“Oh, he’ll get over it. He would like to rub elbows with the Ministry-deemed elite. And from what I’ve heard, you and I, we’re cut from the same cloth.”

Rolling your eyes, you asked, “And what have you heard?”

“That you got Hog’s Head to serve you something other than butterbeer and then left after he found out you’re not pureblood.”

You scoffed. “Is that all? Because I’m sure as hell more than that.”

“Let me think,” he paused. “You’re the source of the drinks at Slytherin parties. You defended that Hufflepuff at the beginning of the year.”

Your hand came down to touch the necklace you stole because of that event.

“You’re not too bad at school, and people like you.”

“You have to be liked to be in the Slug Club,” you said, unimpressed.

The music changed to a waltz and you both changed how you were holding each other.

“I don’t think being in the Club is your entire goal.”

“It’s not. Getting out alive is.”

“Huh…” Sirius said with a chuckle. “Who’s trying to kill you at Hogwarts?”

“Well, no one right now. That’s the perk of being well-liked.”

“I suppose it would be. I also know that you’re pretty and I’ve told as much. I told you that before Reg even asked you out.”

“You were drunk out of your mind,” you reminded him. “I could smell the whiskey on you before you got in my personal space.”

Sirius laughed. “And what I wouldn’t give to be that drunk again. Gives a little extra confidence-”

“Not that you need it,” you cut him off.

“If there’s more to you than being a half blood, then there’s more to me than my confidence.”

You looked over where Regulus had been sitting. He was no longer there. You assumed he went to find his parents or talk up some higher up Ministry worker. You noticed that several people were watching you and Sirius as you traveled around the dance floor.

“Where did you learn to dance anyways?” you asked him.

“Mother had me ‘n’ Reg take private lessons over the past few summers. You?”

“I went to a few classes two summers ago. Mum wants me to be a well-rounded young lady,” you laughed. “She still won’t drop it.”

“You’re well rounded in some parts,” he leaned in to whisper.

“Oh fuck off!” you scoffed. “Don’t make me slap you when you were actually being tolerable.”

“What do you mean by actually being tolerable? I’m a constant delight.”

“Maybe to Potter and Lupin and Petticoat.”

“Pettigrew.”

“Whatever. You say you’re more than your confidence but then you showcase your ego that’s up your arse.”

“Like you don’t have an ego?”

“My ego is earned.”

Sirius laughed.

“Besides a handful of house points, what’s your ego for?”

“Being liked and being able to handle it.”

He rolled his eyes, causing you to glare at him. You couldn’t believe you were still dancing, but you couldn’t seem to let go of him.

“That doesn’t earn you an ego. There has to be something more. I can earn house points. People like me. I can handle it. What’s the difference between you and me?”

“I… I… I’m not obnoxious when I’m being myself,” you found yourself saying.

The song ended and you took the opportunity to let go of him. You hurried off the dance floor and disappeared into the sea of people. Sirius stood still in the middle of the dance floor, watching you run away from him. Part of him wanted to follow you and get a real answer for why you thought you were better than him. By the time he decided that he did want to go after you and reached the edge of the crowd, you were long gone. He sighed and pushed his way through people. He kept an eye out for Regulus or his parents. It felt right that he should be avoiding them; it’s not like he wanted to be associated with them anyways. Unless someone was saying ‘the Blacks’ son, the one that’s nothing like them.’

You saw Regulus talking to the head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Your mother complained about him a bit; he was a source of plenty of paperwork. They seemed deep in conversation, which made you smile. You did admire how he could put aside his feelings to get down to business. But, like Sirius said, you just weren’t cut from the same cloth. You could tolerate each other most of the time, but his stance on blood status was a real killer. You turned to walk in the opposite direction.

“It must be my birthday,” you muttered to yourself, smiling.

A full glass of wine was left unattended at a table. You casually walked over and picked it up. You took a sip and grimaced. It wasn’t your favorite nor a drink you would pick out for yourself in just about any other situation, but when you weren’t being served by the bartenders, you took what you could get. Holding the glass close to your chest, you walked away from the table and back towards the bench where you had originally been sitting. You involuntarily held your breath until you saw it. No Sirius nor Regulus nor your parents in sight. Coast was clear. You sat down and watched the people on the dance floor. When a song that required ballroom dancing or a waltz or something similar, it was amazing how many people flocked to the floor. If it was something more modern or something without well-known choreography, the floor emptied out more. You could tell that one group of younger employees were the interns your mother told you about. They joined the floor when the older songs ended and moderns stuff played, as they should, you thought.

“So, you found yourself a drink. Thought they didn’t serve underage people,” Sirius said, leaning against the wall next to your bench.

“Go away, Black. Didn’t you get the hint that I was done with you?”

“Ah, that’s the problem though. I wasn’t done talking to you and, well, I get what I want.”

You rolled your eyes and looked up at him. He had loosened his tie and his shirt was less tucked than it originally was.

“Fine,” you said curtly. “Talk. Can’t promise I’ll respond.”

He took a seat on your left, just like before, except this side, he was sitting sideways with his right leg propped up so he could rest his arm on his knee and be facing you. You returned your gaze to the dance floor.

“I want a real answer for why you’re better than me. Not obnoxious? Please.”

“I never said I was better than you. I said my ego was earned.”

“Same difference.”

“I don’t intentionally piss people off. I don’t purposefully make fools of people. I don’t step too far out of line.”

“You wore Regulus’ ring after things went south between you,” Sirius said.

Your breath hitched. You had to look at Sirius. How had he known? His grey eyes were boring holes into the side of your head so when you turned to look at him in surprise, he was already staring very deeply. A knowing smile appeared on his face when he saw your surprise.

“At a loss for words?”

You pressed your lips together as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“No,” you said coldly. You tried to steel your expression into something blank. “I just don’t recall which ring you’re talking about.”

A lie, but you didn’t know how much the brothers talked.

“Regulus give you more than one?”

“He never gave me a ring.” Not a lie.

“So you just happen to have a silver ring with emeralds in the same design as one my uncle gave Regulus, huh?”

“Apparently so.”

“And you just happen to have the same necklace that I’ve seen that seventh year wear?”

His eyes flicked down to your necklace and back up to your eyes. You frowned. There was no way Sirius knew. How could he know? Sure, the girls knew about your sticky fingers, but that was it. You studied Sirius’ handsome face instead of responding.

Then his expression changed.

“Oh. He never gave you that ring.”

Sirius was connecting the dots.

“He found out that you’re not pureblood and now you have that ring.” He paused and you swore you could see the gears turning in his head. “That girl nearly attacked a Hufflepuff and you have that necklace. And the bartenders aren’t serving you yet you have a wine glass…”

“What about it?” you asked, trying your best to keep your voice level as if that would somehow convince Sirius that he was wrong when he was absolutely correct.

“You fancy yourself a vigilante,” he said nonchalantly. He said it like an off-handed comment that meant nothing. His grin widened with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Told you we’re cut from the same cloth.”

You rolled your eyes before taking a sip from your glass. You swirled the liquid around. Part of you regretted responding to Sirius when he asked why you thought you were better than him. Now he knew too much. He took the glass out of your hand and had a sip himself. You snatched it back, giving him an annoyed look.

“Get your own,” you grumbled.

“Darling, you know I can’t. Unless you tell me where you got yours.”

You sighed, but maybe this would get him to leave you alone.

“Found it on a table. It’s the only way to do it around here.”

Sirius stood up and stretched dramatically. Then he held out his hand to you again.

“Help me find one.”

You lazily looked up at him with a confused look.

“It wasn’t a question, love.”

The look changed from confused to annoyed in a flash. He reached to grab your free hand and pulled you up.

“No need to be rough,” you snarled.

“Come on,” he said, his smile never leaving his face. “Hanging out with me? Helping me find my own drink? Gotta be better than sitting by yourself.”

You drained the glass before setting it down on the bench.

“Let’s find me another one too, then.”

You were conflicted with how you felt about Sirius never dropping your hand as he led you through the throngs of people. Whenever you got too close to his parents or Regulus, he pulled you in the other direction and you did the same when you got too close to your own parents.

“I’ll never hear the end of it if they see me with you,” you hissed at him, earning a hearty laugh from him.

“They can recognize a Black from a singular glance?”

“No. You’re just a boy.”

After a few circles of the tables, you both had collected new drinks. Sirius had yet to drop your hand. He pulled you back toward the bench where all of this had begun, but then he kept walking. He turned down a hallway and through a door; you were dragged with him. He certainly had an iron grip. After going down another hallway, he opened another door.

“Perfect,” he said as he let your hand go at last.

You followed him into the room. It looked like a normal conference room. There was a long table down the middle of the room with chairs along its edges and a podium at the front of the room. Sirius took a seat and gestured to the chair next to him. You wordlessly sat in it. It didn’t take Sirius long to become comfortable; he rested his feet on the table as he leaned back in his chair. You, being in a dress and heels, kept your feet on the ground, although they were outstretched in front of you and crossed at the ankles.

“Did you just… assume there was a room somewhere?” you asked.

“Every good host knows to have rooms where people can disappear to,” he said, throwing his head backwards to shake out his hair. And then he ran a hand through it. “And, believe it or not, the Ministry has to be a good host.”

“I think there are different definitions of good host, Black,” you said.

You were about to go into a tangent about how your parents locked the spare room and their bedroom for parties. If someone needed a lay down, they would have to find your parents or risk being found in the kid’s room. However, you didn’t feel like explaining about all the parties your parents hosted to another Black. Having done so with Regulus was enough and that was on a date. This was… survival? You were doing whatever you could to pass the time. You looked around the room and decided that staying on the bench might have been a better idea. At least then you’d have something to entertain you.

“What’s with the sour look?” Sirius asked.

You frowned. “Nothing to be entertained by in here.”

He laughed. “Babe, I’m right here!”

“Do not. Call me. Babe.”

“Ooh, struck a nerve, did I?”

You made to stand up but Sirius stuck his arm out, stopping you.

“Sorry. Won’t call you that again. Just trying to have fun.”

You rolled your eyes and adjusted in your seat.

“So tell me ‘bout yourself.”

“Why?”

“To make conversation with the lovely girl in front of me?”

You shot him a disbelieving look.

“To pass the time?” he offered.

“You could tell me about you instead. You love attention, don’t you? Love talking about yourself?”

Your voice was teasing but Sirius knew you meant to be insulting.

“Tell me about this date you went on with little ickle Reggie. I only get so much from the rumors that go ‘round the castle, you know.”

You gave a soft laugh with a shake of your head. This guy. You lightly scratched your forehead.

“Uh, sure. Fine. Whatever,” you mumble. “There were two, actually. Watched a quidditch match and then explored the Hogwarts wall.”

You paused and looked at Sirius. You were surprised to see that he was staring at you, rather than literally anywhere else in the room or out the windows. He doesn’t say anything, but he gave you a smile to encourage you to go on.

“Then we went to Hogsmeade together. And it was going fine. Went to the Hog’s Head and just talked. It was fine. Until blood status came up and he told me to get off my soap box because I’m a pureblood so obviously I can’t talk. And I had to correct him, because I’m not. And he got quiet. You could tell… I could tell it was going to be an issue so I paid and left.”

The room filled with quiet as you stopped talking.

“And then you got yourself a pretty little ring.”

You exhaled loudly through your nose.

“Yeah. I got myself a pretty little ring. Happy to know that about me?”

“It’s an interesting tidbit, that’s for sure. You know, I have a matching ring. Red for Gryffindor though.”

“Great, so I’ll throw mine into the Thames next change I get.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “You’ll throw Regulus’.”

“It’s mine now. I don’t give things back.”

“Then why bother throwing it?”

“Because you have a matching one.”

“It’s not like anyone would know.”

“I’d know and that’s enough.”

The room got quiet again. You swirled your drink round and round in your glass. You were nursing it because you knew the moment you finished it, you’d want to leave the room to get another. Leaving the room wasn’t really the bad part. It was the likelihood that Sirius would follow you out. You stared at your drink in between sips. Sirius really had picked a boring room.

Because you were so focused on your glass and refusing to look anywhere else, Sirius stared at you unnoticed. It was almost like back at school. Only this time, he had an advantage. He was close to you. He could see the freckles on your arms. He could see the few loose strands of hair that were falling from your updo. He could see the eyeshadow you had on for the party. He could see your lipstick fading a little bit more with every sip you took and every time you moistened your lips.

After a while, Sirius chuckled. A thought had occurred to him and he was about to share it with you.

“You know, I-” he started to say before the room’s door swung open.

Both of you turned to see who it was.

“There you are,” Regulus’ cold voice rang through the room. It wasn’t a yell but the emptiness of the room made it bolder than it really was.

Sirius groaned as his brother entered the room and took a seat a few chairs down from you.

“Tired of the Ministry elite?” Sirius asked, his voice suddenly colder compared to when he was talking to just you.

“Mum told me to keep an eye on you,” he answered monotonously. “Saw you come this way and you didn’t come back.”

“Mummy’s little pet, aren’t you?”

“Wait,” you said, sitting up straighter. You suddenly remembered hearing at some point that Sirius had run away over the summer. “Why are you even here?”

Your question was pointed at Sirius, but neither boy spoke.

“You’re living with the Potters now, aren’t you? Why the hell are you here?”

Regulus laughed. It was colder, harsher than you recalled.

“The dumbass forgot something in his room. He came back to get it and well, Mother has a way with persuasion.”

You looked from boy to boy. Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was probably the first time you saw him uncertain and almost squeamish. His body language wasn’t the confident boy you were becoming acquainted with, but he glared daggers at Regulus in an oh-so-familiar way. Regulus’ expression was slightly amused. You felt the need to break up the silence that was building between the boys.

“Something important enough to go back for, but not enough to have been packed the first time,” you said with no real purpose.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“What was it? I didn’t hear,” Regulus said. He sounded so casual in comparison to Sirius.

“It… it doesn’t matter. I have it now and once we leave, I’m going back to the Potters.”

The room filled with thick silence again. You returned your gaze to your cup. With a Black brother on each side, you felt like you were sitting in the middle of a war zone. You only sort of knew what the war was about, which made it all that much worse. How do you defuse a bomb when you only know one of the wires?

You’re not sure how much time passes between the last time anyone spoke and when you finish your glass. When you place it on the table in front of you, Regulus stands up and gives Sirius a stoic look.

“We better find Mother and Father.” A trained formality took over his way of speaking, as if preparing to talk to the adults again rather than peers. “Then you can go back to your family.” Bitter venom dripped off the last word.

Sirius nodded and stood up. He followed Regulus out of the room and you were left alone in the room. You sighed. But then the door opened again.

“I thought you were leaving?” you said, looking up at Sirius as he walked back into the room.

He closed the door behind with extreme care to ensure that it didn’t make any noise.

“Regulus doesn’t know you stopped following him, does he?”

“There’s something I need to say first.”

He had thought about it. He wasn’t going to say what he had intended when Regulus joined them without invitation. He needed you to know something else.

“Okay, so say it,” you said, waving your hand in the air to say ‘go on, get it out.’

“I really do think you’re pretty. And you probably are better than me, earning that ego of yours. And that takes a lot for a person to do. But you did get immediately between the seventh year and the Hufflepuff. You did it before anyone else really knew what was going on. I didn’t know that you were the one Regulus liked right away, but once I did, I started to look for what he saw in you. And I found it. I see it. And that’s why I can’t leave just yet.”

Your eyes went wide as he approached you and put a hand under your chin. Then he leaned down to kiss you. It was sweet. Soft. Momentary. Then he straightened and headed back toward the door. He opened it and paused, looking back at you.

“Think about me,” he said before leaving to find Regulus and his parents.

You just sat there. A dumbfounded look was etched into your features at what had just happened. You needed to process it. You didn’t understand how you went from two dates with Regulus months ago to a kiss with Sirius. You thought about what Sirius had said. That he looked for what Regulus saw in you and then he found it. So they had talked about you, or at least about a girl Regulus liked, and then Sirius put two and two together. You also wanted to know what he left behind and went back for, and what their mother had said to Sirius to persuade him to attend this event with them.

tags: @nsr-15, @kabekusa, @made-for-oliverwood, @sunflowerscloudydays, @salvatt1, @sammyreid, @ravisinghs-wife, @petrificustottally

Hit the point where I need a masterlist for the series - woot woot

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff

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