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multimilfs · 2 months ago

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Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader: The Reigning Game, Chapter (5/?) - Vows Made With Sacred Blades

Summary: With a new threat brought to light and victory on the horizon, what will you do next?

AO3

A/N: Not me showing up 3 years late to my own party...

In all seriousness, this story underwent HEAVY edits. I recommend rereading the whole thing as I added scenes and adjusted old ones. Also, I answered a bunch of questions in my end note on a03, so I'd also read that xoxo

Tag List: @white--lillies @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @thatmacrameisnotgonnahitchitself @thoroughly--confused (apologies if i missed anyone, it has been a while)

Warning(s): Blood, Suicide Mention

(Previous Chapters)

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.” P.K. Dick

You don’t remember when Agatha fell to her knees.

The sword catches the light, dripping with thin, bright blood. Agatha’s blood. It startles you that she’s the same inside as you; you had expected corruption to flow through her veins, staining her black from the inside out.

Agatha groans. Barely propped up on her knees, she’s using one hand to support herself while the other glows and fizzles out repeatedly. The sword doesn’t vanish, the wound doesn’t heal.

The wound may not have been by your own hand, but is this�� victory? Have you won?

“Coward,” Agatha spits, “stabbing me in the back.”

Your heart races with something strangely like fear, yet a little to the left. With every drop of blood staining the grass the emotion grows. Her winces with every move twist something in you. Revenge is like honey on your tongue—so why do you feel sick?

Let her die.

Lightness sweeps through your limbs. Walking away now would be so easy. It is your turn to have the last word.

“Help me up.” Agatha demands.

Her chest rises, though stutters each time as the pain of her flesh sliding over the blade renews. Under her breath she lets loose a string of obscene curses.

You tilt your head, your own voice sounding far away, “Why should I?”

Agatha freezes. For the first time since falling, she looks at you. You’re struck by the change in circumstances; not long ago it was you kneeling at her feet, begging. You’re seized by the desire to feel her beg.

You want to hold her heart in your hands and squeeze.

“Don’t do this. Not now.”

The laugh comes too easy, “I never took you for a sore loser, Harkness.”

“If you want to win, stab me yourself—don’t profit off of someone else’s fortune.”

You stare at her, hard; the paling of her skin, the way her fingers are clenched in the grass, palm sputtering purple. Her eyes are furious. There’s also something else there you can’t quite place.

“You don’t get it, do you?” You ask, “Being rid of you is winning. How it happens is irrelevant.”

Agatha’s lips pull into a smirk. It lacks the usual strength, but you still find yourself unmoored—fear creeping in where triumph was moments earlier.

Her eyes drag over you. Her own head tilts.

“You’d be beautiful like this—if it was really you.”

You can’t breathe.

“I beg your pardon?”

You stand back—watching, waiting. Her eyes bore into you, the pain in them becoming more evident. You feel sick.

It’s wrong to let her suffer, to watch her bleed out when you can help, but wouldn’t she do the same given the chance? How many battles had you fought, how many thousands cut down just so she could get to you? And she hadn’t allowed you the dignity of dying with your people.

No, she forced you into this circus.

You’re better than her; you’ll grant her the dignity of a swift death.

“You want to be the one responsible, always have.” Agatha says, the hint of a wheeze creeping into her speech. You’re surprised she held out as long as she did. “That’s why you put the poison in my tea, isn’t it?”

She… She knew.

She knew.

“Your death is for the best.” You say.

“She’ll s-slaughter them all. What was it you said—a Queen does what is best, even when it isn’t in her interests?” Agatha laughs, but it's hollow, weak, “Some Queen you are, signing their death warrant.”

You fall to your knees at her side.

Agatha Harkness is the source of all your problems, a tormenter you just cannot escape; but if you kill her now, you undo all you’ve done, and condemn your people to death—or worse. You have to act as a Queen ought. You need her.

“What do I do?” You whisper.

“Get… Get me outside this damn barrier. I’ll handle the rest.”

But hadn’t you already—?

When you stand, you’re barely able to lift Agatha to lean on you. If not for the little remaining strength she has you’d be done for. But you take what you can get and push through the screaming of your body to drag her toward the barrier that wasn’t there a moment ago.

The barrier gleams and twists in place. It's objectively beautiful, but what you’ve witnessed here has dulled your admiration.

You’re steps away when there’s a chuckle on your right, “I have to admit, you surprise me.”

You shove Agatha through before you can think. Without touching the barrier yourself, you turn, and stare into the eyes you’re coming to hate more than the original pair.

The too-wide smile again greets you, “With all that rage I expected you to take my sword and cut her apart.”

“I’m not a monster.”

“Aren’t you?”

“You said I had a fortnight.”

“You do,” She hums, unbothered by your glare, “this is a warning.”

“You think your promises weren’t warning enough? Your intentions were plain.” You snarl.

A distorted, hollow laugh crawls from her mouth, “You know nothing of what I’ll do to you. Your dear, sweet wife went easy on you.”

“You know nothing.”

She had been looking off at some distant marker, only for her head to snap violently to look at you, the crack making you flinch. The once-empty gaze is now full of fury. Behind the blackness, a flame burns bright.

“I know more of her than you’ll ever understand.” She hisses, “And if you were smart, you’d have let her die.”

And she’s gone, as if a product of your imagination.

You reach out and feel yourself pulled back through the barrier.

-- --

“If they never come out of there, what happens?” Darcy whispers.

Lady Darcy always prided herself on an excellent understanding of magic and magical theory; but with every moment spent in the world alongside Agatha Harkness, she grows less sure.

Agatha Harkness is an anomaly; the kind of witch born once in a thousand years. It seems as if magical anomalies follow in her wake, but are they caused by her, or merely drawn out of hiding by her power?

They stand alone in the clearing with their thoughts, Guards and company preparing to take their leave should the two of you return. Hope fades more every moment.

Lord James looks utterly defeated, “I… I don’t know. They’ve left no heir.”

“Which means The Council will appoint one.”

A look of dread passes between the two.

“We can’t let that happen.”

“How are we going to stop them?” Darcy raises a brow.

Lord James Woo spent his life serving at your side, and proudly; you’ve held tight to propriety, unbent by corruption, guiding with level-headed and clear intent. The tactics in his mind now would never have your approval.

But if you’re dead, he has to look out for the living.

“We lie.”

Darcy blinks.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you properly. We lie?” She hisses.

“What else do you suggest?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, something less stupid!”

James winces.

“We say she appointed an heir prior to… this. Agatha didn’t sign off, but she didn’t speak against it, either. You and I were both witnesses.”

Pacing the small length between them, chewing on her nail, scenarios pass through both of their minds. Scenario one; somehow, the Council accepts the word as fact. Scenario two; they’re disbelieved and exiled at best, executed at worst.

You find lying reprehensible. But your goal has always been to protect the people, to offer them the best; they have to try and do the same.

“Say they buy it; who is her heir?”

The look the question earns her is particularly scathing for James. She smiles sheepishly.

Only one within the kingdom held enough of your trust to be named heir in your place. Only one person you knew would hold up under the weight of expectation and would keep the best interests of the people in mind.

The set up could not be more perfect if they tried. Not only is the woman of royal blood, but her Mother’s House widely acclaimed for their military and strategic prowess. Factor in her closeness to you and it makes the nomination impossible to ignore; far stronger than the minor Lord they would put in her place.

“Alright,” Darcy agrees, “but we’ll give them all the time we can.”

“Right.”

Luckily, or unluckily, they do not wait long.

One moment the space before them is empty, the next there is a heap of woman kneeling on the ground, propped up by a shaking arm. A heap with dark hair and clad in purple.

“Foolish fucking woman.” Agatha bites out loud enough for them to hear.

Darcy notices the sword moments before Agatha straightens, pushing said item out of her body with a long moan. James freezes. Darcy shrieks.

Agatha pays them no mind; slamming her hand onto the barrier that doesn’t allow her to pass, magic crackling at her fingertips and then pulling in, wrapping around the witch as she breathes it in. The wound in her middle knits itself back together before their eyes.

The barrier ripples. You blip into existence.

There is a split second where you blink and make eye contact with Darcy and James. The next, your eyes are drawn to the swirl of magic being pulled from the barrier and turning violet.

“Are you alright?” You demand, gripping her arm, turning her to face you as your eyes roam. Your body screams with exhaustion.

Agatha goes taut. Her theft stops when she turns to glare at you. When her lips pull up in a mighty sneer, you expect the lashing of a century; you had been seconds away from leaving her for dead, after all.

Her body relaxes in your grip, her voice careful, “I’m fine, dear.”

“Swear it?”

“I swear.”

Something inside you relaxes. You’ll live to see another day if she is near to lend her power—and well enough to do so. Your people’s safety is nearly assured.

How, though, to secure a promise of protection from her that isn’t all talk? You can’t bind a witch like her to law, try as you might. She will always have the upper hand of immeasurable power. You need that power bent to your will.

An itch scratches at the back of your mind; a memory long forgotten, a whisper of words once-said that you can’t quite understand.

“What the hell happened in there?!”

Darcy’s voice interrupts your racing thoughts. You hear the borderline panic in the question.

How heavy you feel, how weary. What about you attracts so many threats?

Agatha speaks before you can, “A new adversary has presented itself.”

“And they’re responsible for all… this?” James waves to the barrier.

“More or less.”

A look passes between Darcy and James.

“They’ve given us fourteen days to prepare, as if we need that long,” Agatha scoffs, breezing through, “but you’ll stay here and tell us of any changes. You have ravens?”

“We send word on horseback.” Darcy answers, slowly.

“Horseback? My god, how do you get anything done?”

With a wave of her hand, a metal cage appears with five ravens inside. They’re curiously quiet. Beady eyes look into yours, far more intelligence behind them than you anticipate. Their feathers shift violet in the sun but remain pure black otherwise.

Your Father seldom had the patience for training ravens; though he had attempted on and off throughout your childhood. The experience was rife with highs and lows. He would boast to your Mother, glowing with triumph one day, only to come back sullen the next. Every raven he attempted to train had flown away when it mattered.

Not for the first time, you wonder what had gone wrong; you did not know any creature that would flee permanently if endeared to their owner.

Agatha opens the cage door and holds out a finger. The nearest one steps up, though the others hop forward to nuzzle at her hand.

“Yes, hello,” Agatha coos.

Hand extracted, raven perched obediently on her finger, Agatha sets her shoulders. An air of arrogance surrounds her. She waves her other hand and a blank piece of parchment appears in the space between you.

“Write me a lovely note, darling, and I’ll show you all how to send it.” Agatha’s smile is saccharine.

“Would that I had a quill.”

“You know how to use your fingers, don’t you?”

The low, raspy note of her voice makes you flush.

You draft up a suitably nasty message and sign it with a flourish. Batting your lashes, you fold the letter, and go so far as to press a kiss to the back before handing it over. She smirks.

The kiss on the back raises into a wax seal. Agatha winks.

She beckons you forward with an impatient tilt of her head. You follow, stepping further into her space than you're comfortable with.

“Hold out your hand,” She commands and you do, mimicking her own position, “Repeat after me—Serva.”

“Serva.”

You don’t expect the raven to launch herself from Agatha’s fingers into flight; but when she does, you’re helpless to do anything but watch as she flips and twists in midair. Beside you, Agatha mutters something about showing off.

When the bird pauses and hovers, there is a flash of white light, and the letter is gone from your hands and tied instead around her leg.

Agatha scoffs, “Obedire.”

“Obedire.”

A strong burst of movement brings her back to perch on Agatha, head bowed. You tilt your head. Agatha strokes a finger over the back of the raven's head, scratching lightly.

“To the castle.”

A warble and she’s off, flying North with single-minded focus.

There’s a certain wistfulness in watching her go. What must it be like to fly, to have the freedom of the world laid out before you? Yet, she isn’t truly free; remaining captive to a Mistress who only lets her take to the skies when it suits her. How alike the two of you are.

James is staring at the still-caged ravens. One of his fingers is stuck through the bars and scratching along the raven’s head in a mirror of Agatha. It warbles, shifting closer, but doesn’t take its eyes off of its Mistress.

“It can’t be that easy.” Darcy says, arms crossed.

“Ravens are far more intelligent than horses,” Agatha shrugs, “and easier to care for. Treat them properly and they’ll do whatever you command.”

“They’re so sweet.” James coos, earning affectionate noises from the group, “Oh yes you are.”

One bird has remained on the other side of the cage away from James. Their eyes aren’t wary like you’d expect, just… curious. They sparkle with awareness.

Faintly, you hear Darcy and Agatha bickering over the merits of horses vs ravens, but you pay them little mind. You cross around the large cage to where the lone raven sits. They follow your approach.

You crouch to be eye level. The raven tilts their head.

“Hello,” You murmur, “what are you doing over here all alone?”

As expected they do not talk back. They don’t even warble. Fluttering their wings, you wait for them to cross around to another section of the enclosure blissfully absent of people. Yet, their wings settle and they bow their head.

The pose offers you a closer view under their plumage. You can see the true length of their dark feathers, where they come to connect to hidden flesh. A white protrusion among the plumage brings you pause.

Every glimpse of your Father’s ravens had been from afar; seeing them fly around his office and listening to his curses when they didn’t land at his command, or catching sight of one when they escaped their enclosure and dove through the nearest window. You’re left at a loss when faced with the trust being presented.

Would it be worth attempting to help, or will you only cause harm in your ignorance?

“A pin feather,” Agatha says right beside your ear.

You jump.

Agatha is bent next to your crouched form, propped up by one hand on the trunk where the cage sits. The position puts her face just slightly above your own. When you turn, your eyes unconsciously dart to her lips, before meeting her eyes.

The look on her face is curious. She’s taking you in like one takes in a specimen they’re studying.

“How do I fix it?”

“Pinch gently and roll it between your fingers.”

When you reach in, the raven bows her head again. She is utterly still as you follow Agatha’s instructions to the letter. Her head pops up and shakes—the white covering falling away. She nuzzles your hand sweetly.

“Say ‘thank you,’ Aquila.” Agatha says.

Aquila lets out a sound that is remarkably similar to thank you. You blink.

When you regard Agatha, you catch a glimpse of the expression leveled at Aquila and the other ravens; pure, uninterrupted affection. The emotion softens her features, eyes crinkled at the edges, lips upturned. Her beauty is striking.

Darcy and James watch from your periphery. You shake yourself from the trance you’re in.

“We should go.” You say, hushed.

Agatha turns, looking over your features, and nods. She straightens and offers out a hand. You take it. In a swift turn, she weaves your arm over her own, acting the part of lead.

Her face is neutral, but beneath her gaze, your companions fidget and shift.

“If you return my ravens in any state less than what they’re in now, I will torture you slowly.” The statement is punctuated by a raised brow.

“We—We’ll take good care of them.” James vows.

Agatha nods. She regards you, waiting.

“Be careful. Send a letter if anything changes, but don’t go searching for anomalies—am I understood?”

Darcy nods. A haunted look passes over James’ face, dimming the usual light in his eyes. Without so much as a glance to his companion he steps forward.

“Your Majesty, may I have a word with you privately?”

You blink, grip on Agatha’s arm tensing unconsciously.

“Of course.”

Agatha releases you with a sideways glance. You focus on your advisor and friend, who at the moment resembles a wilted flower. Grim is the expression he wears; an expression you haven’t seen in a long time.

He leads you until you stand at his side under a half-blackened tree. The bark on one side is perfect, not a divot out of place, while the other side crumbles at a glance. You run your fingers along the dying side and wish for it to one day grow strong again.

Looking back, you see Agatha and Darcy side-by-side, both pointedly ignoring one another; Agatha reading a book without actually handling the pages and Darcy looking around, lips puckered in a whistle.

“Is something wrong, James?” You ask when he comes to a stop.

He fidgets. Meeting your eyes, he gives you a long look. Tilting your head makes him look away. He clears his throat once, then twice.

“Your Majesty, I— Well, you see, we—” James sighs, then blurts, “Have you given any thought to an heir?”

You blink.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Marriages usually bring about heirs to fill the succession, Your Majesty, and with another conflict seeming imminent I believe having something in place is worthwhile. Has there been a discussion between you and your—Her Highness?”

“I’m familiar with the expectations of marriage,” If your voice is a touch frosty, you don’t give it much attention, “and I don’t much appreciate that the topic of conversation in private parlors pertains to my marriage bed.”

“Your Majesty—”

“What is it you suggest, James? Am I to bring a child into what could turn out to be another war?” You snarl.

James flinches. Upon seeing this, regret turns a knife in your chest.

“No,” He says, quietly, “You know I’d never suggest such a thing.”

Anger is rung out of you like water from a towel, you ask, carefully, “What would you suggest I do?”

“Appoint a successor. If you do it, The Council can’t do it for you should you…”

You nod.

“I will consider it.”

“Safe travels, Your Majesty.”

When you walk from the half-dying tree, you walk alone to the carriage. Along the way Agatha falls into step at your side. You cannot find the energy to hate her company.

-- --

You had been a precocious child; at only six, testing the might of your station against the will of those left to care for you. As Crown Princess, your commands had superseded that of your minders the second you drew breath. Once or twice you’d felt guilty about how Celine—your governess—would puff up, only to deflate and bow with a ‘yes, Princess’—but the guilt was washed away by the incentive of whatever you’d wormed your way into.

By seven, your Father had been made wise to your behavior; though you could never figure out how; you had long since commanded all your minders not to speak a word of your commands. But he knew and sought to punish you in a manner that made a lasting impression.

He let you sit in silence.

Silence, he had said, was the best teacher. One cannot ignore their innermost self if they’re forced to face them.

The room he had the servants make up was plain; boasting only a cushioned chair in the center of the space. You were not permitted to drag said chair over to the window. The task of sitting with your thoughts was as simple as the room, and far more boring.

Guards were posted outside the door to see you were not disturbed or harmed. No servants were allowed in otherwise.

You’d thought him a silly old man. In the absence of distractions you had your wild, adventuring mind to keep you busy—you would not fall into whatever trap he believed he’d set.

But two hours turned into four and your head ached with the effort of conjuring up more daydreams. Then you slept. When you woke, there was no more sunlight, and your head no longer hurt. You imagined you were a bird flying through the window and laughing in your Father’s face. It did not satisfy you. You paced the room, then sat back down, then paced again. Despite having rested, your body began to ache with exhaustion and the pain in your head from before returned.

“I hate him.” You’d whispered, then immediately regretted it.

For how busy he was, he still found a sliver of time each week to see you. Sometimes it was something quick like sitting in on one of your lessons, or, on special occasions he’d join you and your Mother for dinner. For how harsh he could be at times, you’d never been anything but excited when he walked in the room.

The guilt at the words spoken to yourself prompted your mind to spiral. How else had you been cruel, spewing awful words where it was not deserved?

You had been unkind, you’d realized. By commanding the servants in ways you had no right to, you had opened them up to punishments of which they were undeserving. Above all else, you were still a Princess; not yet of the right to command in the ways your Father did.

Guilt was a powerful emotion. And when your governess was permitted to peer in, she found you on the floor before the seat you’d been allowed, knees to chest, shaking with tears.

The moments following had been a blur. You think Celine had tried to usher you to your feet, but it’s a missing piece; all you remember is being carried from the room and falling asleep, waking to your Father standing above you.

“You’ve learned your lesson?”

You nodded.

“Good,” He offered a stilted pat to your head, “Do not forget it.”

The guilt had made you sick for the remainder of the week; everything you ate, save for the smallest portions, found the way back up. Celine was one of your only visitors, with the exception of your Mother and your teachers.

Your Father had been right in the end; silence had been your greatest educator.

You wish you were alone with the silence now, but as of late, everywhere and everything is touched by Agatha. She sits on the other carriage bench, book held magically aloft as she reads.

To say you’ve been through a lot in a day would be selling your experiences short; yet your mind keeps returning to the blood on that sword and the sickening pride of knowing she had no way out. You had, for a moment, tasted victory—revenge. And now you close your eyes against the nausea it brings. How close you’d come to condemning your people, all to satisfy your sickening desire.

She had remembered your goal; but was it only to manipulate you into keeping her alive? In her words there had been a subtle promise of usefulness, of protection. Subtle isn’t what you need.

You’ve no idea how long Agatha’s been alive. The true weight of her power is a mystery to you that you’re not likely to solve alone. Her peers could judge her power, but would any come if you called? You need to bind her power to what serves your people but short of a Witch’s Vow there’s nothing—

A Witch’s Vow.

The forgotten thought itching at the back of your mind is realized. You thrum with satisfaction.

“You made a promise today, to help my people—I want you to swear on it.”

Agatha gazes up, a lazy smile stretching, “Very well, dear. I swear.”

“Make a Witch’s Vow over it.”

She goes still. The smile vanishes and something passes through her eyes. The book that levitates before her dissipates in a pop.

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“Demanding a Witch’s Vow does not bind me to one.”

“It would protect you.”

“Protect me?” Agatha scoffs.

“You make this vow to me and I’ll pause my attempts in killing you.”

“I’m not afraid of you, dear.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure you’re afraid of her.” You say, tilting your head. A smug smile stretches over your features, “And what’s to stop her from coming after you again, should I ask?”

“Your shortsightedness is embarrassing, darling, I thought we were past this; if I die, you and your people follow.”

“Given your unwillingness to swear aid, it seems we’ll die either way. I’m simply planning for the outcome with the greatest reward.”

You watch her, she watches you. Her narrowed eyes dart over various planes of your face and for once you have no desire to shrink under the scrutiny. Had she wanted to kill you, you’re confident she’d have done so already; no, she wants you alive, and that can be used to your advantage.

Her eyes glow purple and hands clench in her skirts. Agatha sighs and her eyes return to their normal blue.

“You’re as open a book as they come, it’s a wonder she even needed into your mind.” Agatha rolls her eyes, “We need to work on that.”

You tuck your curiosity away for later, “Will you make the Vow or not?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll make your silly vow. Name your terms.”

“I want you and your magic sworn to the service of the kingdom—and that you will not act against it over the duration of our agreement.”

“No. New terms.”

“Those are my terms.”

“Swearing my magic to the service of your kingdom restricts my use of it for any other purpose. I’m not wasting my time on the same trick.”

“It wouldn’t be forever. You’re only bound until I dissolve the agreement.”

She leans forward, baring her teeth, blackened hands stopping just short of grabbing you. Her nails seem longer, sharper. Should she grab you, you fear for the damage they’d wreak on your flesh.

“I know your manipulative little mind, darling, and I won’t let you chain me to your kingdom until it no longer pleases you.” Agatha snarls, “New. terms.”

Despite the show of force, that sense of calm remains. You see the heart of her, the fear swimming in her eyes over the idea of being chained, restricted. Powerless. Does the fear of losing her own power fuel her joy at taking your own?

You should feel offended that she thinks so little of you—never have you desired to chain someone, to bind them—but the better side of you seldom interacts with her. The idea of her in chains pleases you. You shift as that pleasure makes itself known at the apex of your thighs.

“During the duration of our deal, you’ll act in the best interests of the kingdom. If there are threats, you’ll do what you can to handle them; and if there are people in need, you’ll lend your power to aid them.”

Agatha regards you thoughtfully, “No little clause about not killing you?”

“My death serves no benefit to my people.”

Her eyebrows raise. With a shake of her head she holds out her hand, palm up. You mimic the action.

An artful flick of her fingers and a wisp of violet summon an ornate dagger into her open hand. The hilt is short, silver wrapped in indigo briars that while appearing sharp don’t seem to mar Agatha’s hand. A blade of black metal extends from it, curving to-and-fro, until sharpening to an intense point.

You wince at the sight of it, “Can you not… use magic?”

“You want a sacred Vow, don't you?” Agatha scoffs, “There’s no Vow more sacred than that made with a Coven Blade.”

“You don’t have a coven.”

Agatha scowls, “I am aware. It was inherited.”

“From who?”

“My Mother.”

“If it belongs to her coven, shouldn’t one of her fellowship have it?”

“They would,” She says, turning and holding the blade point-down above her palm, “if they weren’t all dead.”

Without so much as a wince, she carves an X in the center of her palm, flesh parting cleanly. Blood pools in her hand.

“Oh.”

She moves so fast you don’t know to anticipate the pain until it blossoms up your arm. Looking down, you wear a matching X, complete with the ever-growing pool of blood.

Agatha presses her palm to the top of your forearm, just below where it meets the elbow. Blood seeps between her fingers and around the curve of your arm.

“I, Agatha Harkness, swear upon my blood and gifts, that I will act in the best interests of your kingdom. I will destroy any entity that threatens these interests and lend my power to those within your borders that require its support.” As she speaks, she drags her hand down the length of your forearm, leaving a smear of red in its wake. When she clasps your palms together, she looks at you, magic swirling in her eyes, “This is my Vow to you.”

Upon the final word, lavender flame erupts down the length of your arm and her own, burning away the blood left behind. It moves and wedges its way between your interlocked palms. The light that emits, violet and white and so bright it burns, forcing your eyes closed. The flesh of your palm is mended as if nothing happened.

Agatha’s palm still bears the X, though healed.

“So I don’t forget.” She winks.

“If you did, what would happen?”

“For something small, maybe a little zap, some exhaustion.” Agatha shrugs, “Something large… I’m sure the punishment would fit the crime. Eager to see me tortured, are you?”

You do your best to ignore the salacious grin.

“I want to be sure you won’t get off easy, that’s all.”

“Getting off is plenty easy with the right help.”

The roll of your eyes doesn’t hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. She cackles at the sight. You don’t attempt to muster a glare, convinced it would only amuse her further.

“What is your plan for protecting the borders?”

Her eyes still twinkle with amusement. You’re not sure what is so funny.

“Protecting the borders is a little difficult since she’s within them, dear, but I can exclude that section from my wards if it pleases you.”

“How?”

“We do not have time for you to learn the basics of casting.”

“Fine,” You sigh, “but I want the wards handled discreetly.”

“I’m not all explosions and smoke-clouds—that was only to get your attention.” She smirks.

“Is everything a joke to you?”

“Yes.”

Villages faced with the might of Agatha’s forces had once chosen between fighting or fleeing. Though some had made a third choice; hanging themselves from rafters at the whisper of impending invasion.

Monica had gone to pay respects in your place, once. When she returned, she had requested three days leave. The look in her eye she returned with has never gone away.

It’s been weeks since the threat of Agatha was settled; what would the people do if they caught wind of another war on the horizon?

Agatha sighs, as if reading the thoughts on your face, “I will be discreet. Best interests of the kingdom, remember?”

“I want to go with you.”

“That is the opposite of discreet.”

“We’ll go under the cover of night—”

“I know you’re woefully uneducated in the ways of witchcraft, but the weight of transporting two beings and setting wards of the size we’ll require? Too much, even for me.”

“There has to be a way. Please.”

The hard lines of her face soften just so. Her blue eyes are contemplative, seeing more than you would like.

“Two of the sites are on our way. The others I’ll handle alone—a sudden tour of the borders might raise a few suspicions.”

You deflate. Something within you that had once been ready to argue turns to liquid, slithering around your heart, tugging on all the little strings that make your eyes water.

“Thank you.” You say.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness fanfiction #agatha all along x reader #agatha harkness imagine #a3 #wlw #wlw imagine #sept2024 #multimilfswritings

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savedbythedrafts · 5 months ago

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I have many thoughts about Bridgerton.

Was it the perfect season? Absolutely no.

But it quite honestly is my favorite season so far because it made me realise how the enemies-to-lovers trope has rotten my brain when this is what I want to see. Gentle love, best friends becoming partners.

Things that I absolutely loved this season:

-Pen's arc: In the book she gives up whistledown to become a romance author which is nice, but now we have a legitimate journalist in the house who has proved her accuracy at such a young age. People who are worried about how she's gonna get her info now that people are guarded? Um her main sources were always the maids and footmen and she is observant enough to run a column. Plus now that everyone knows who she is, people might anonymously send her reports (as happens in journalism) which gives her SO MUCH POWER. I am a journalist and I can't stress enough how incredible that is. I know book fans expected the last speech by Colin but imo her taking full control of her decisions and willingness to face the consequences makes it so much better.

-Eloise and Pen patch up: Both of them going to each other for comfort and support when the shit hit the fan made my heart warm. When Eloise comes back, I hope she knows herself a bit better and actually brings her grand ideas to reality.

-Benedict going about his viscount duties in absence of Anthony without the rage of responsibility whilst discovering his sexuality 10/10. Man was also fully involved in all of his siblings feuds, mainly whatever the fuck Gregory and Hyacinth were upto. CUTE. Actually shoutout to all the Bridgertons, they were so perfectly chaotic.

-THe FEATHERINGTONS OMG: I am the youngest daughter of my family as well as the black sheep- so unpredictable, unconventional that no one in my family gets me. That's why I relate to Pen so much and I'll defend her to death. To see the sisters and Portia realise Pen's worth made me sob. Phillipa saying I hope my daughter becomes a writer? Cherry on cake. But Portia opening up to Pen and being vulnerable and proud at the same time was so bloody well done.

-Polin: Fans being livid about the lack of spice in part 2 (minus the incredible sex scene in ep 5) is understandable but I blame the marketing for it, not the showrunners. Over the course of part 1, we saw Colin's relationship with intimacy change drastically. His want for connection becomes a necessity and if they just jumped into angry sex without actually resolving anything, it would have ruined his character development. I think it's the incredible chemistry between Nic and Luke in general and the heavy emphasis on the horniness during the press tour left the fans understandably wanting for more. But in general, their romance felt quite authentic. The Pride and Prejudice 'dancing in the room alone' callback, goofing around in the church, Colin coming to terms with what Whistledown meant to the ton and himself, Penelope's newfound confidence thanks to Colin's frequent words of affirmation, it was all good.

Things I would change to make this season better (this is turning into a full article now but read ahead if you have been here so far):

-The bloody editing: Pardon my french but why the fuck Benedict's prolonged threesome scenes not edited out? He has a whole season coming up so I don't understand so much focus on that weirdly edited scene amidst the drama. Just one shot of establishing his pansexuality (or bi but I am hoping it's pan) would have been enough? I love Ben, he is my favorite brother but this gave me the ick. To think these 3-4 minutes could have been used to extend the last Polin intimate scene. We could have had a good 5 minutes of Pen topping Colin after the BIG REVEAL but noooo. Even the subplots should have been kept short and sweet. Unlike some fans, I am not completely against the inclusion of the Mondrich family, Cressida's back story, the build up to Benedict's and Fran's actual stories, and more. But I believe too much footage was given to these even though the show clearly focuses on one couple per season. Get your shit together Shonda, this is not 20 episode Grey's anatomy, we can't focus on EVERYONE.

-Colin's anger after the wedding: Now I understand why he didn't want to have the wedding night given the stressful circumstances but him being angry till Francesca's wedding made no sense. How I would have written the resolution would have been something like this- In the hours before Rae leaves the house at night, Colin would have been reading the letters, figuring out how Pen is so whistledown at core (like he actually does the very next day but in absence of Pen). And instead of coming into the room to get a blanket, he could have brought in his own manuscript, asking her to read it as promised and taking up her offer to let her edit. This scene was literally in the book and was so easy to adapt. I would give my left kidney to see Colin sitting near Penelope, watching her powerful writing in action. Again, no spice required, just this. This would have made Pen's 'just love me' speech to Colin so good, but alas!

-Cressida: This is the arc I am most pissed off about. Eloise's reconciliation with Pen was great but completely abandoning Cressida to misery was so outta pocket. I realise Eloise is still not a fully realised character and is barely 20 (she's just a girl) but she was always kind. If I was writing Cressida's arc, I would have had Eloise come to her rescue at the end by borrowing some money from Pen and helping Cressida escape to Vienna or better Scotland. I highly doubt Pen would have minded if she knew how similar both of their circumstances were. I detested Cressida in the books because I'll be honest the books were pretty two dimensional with no real character development and just grand gestures (I'll understand if you come for me but this is how I feel, sorry). But the show made me care for her and I wished she could have found some happiness in life.

Overall, I'll rewatch it because the tiny details were so good this season I believe I can relish those till the next season. And I'll miss Polin immensely. But Shonda please, you can do better.

#bridgerton #polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #nicola coughlan #luke newton #netflix

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crypticdesire · 5 months ago

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embracing the mess

MINORS DNI

dom top gn reader x sub vil shoenheit (around 7.2k words)

cw: general sickness that’s messy, sneeze kink, minor feederism, emeto, piss, ondontophilia

a note from vern: i knew i adored the lovely whumpee that is sick vil, but i did not expect to get so into writing him with emphasis on the sick... but here we are 7.2 k words later... oops. ngl i didn't edit this as thoroughly as i normally do so pls pardon any mistakes!

You already know something is wrong with Vil without even seeing him. You’re ten minutes early to your first class and he’s not already there, which is a very rare occurrence. Some might think with all the effort he puts into his appearance it would be reasonable for him to show up at the last minute, but that wasn’t Vil at all. A part of putting care into his appearance also applied to maintaining his dignified manner, which meant always arriving early.

You don’t have any messages from him, so all you can do is sit down and wait for him. Rook walks through the door with four minutes to spare without Vil by his side like usual, and you feel your eyebrows furrow with worry. Seeing your expression Rook gives you an apologetic smile.

‘I’m afraid Roi du Poison will not be joining us today” he says as he slips behind you to get to his seat. Normally there’s a seat in between you for Vil, but he takes that spot today not needing you to prompt him for an explanation for your partner’s absence. “He’s feeling a bit under the weather, but he requested that I give this to you.” He takes out a small envelope and slides in front of you. There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but you miss your chance to let it slip out as Professor Trein begins class.

There’s no way you could wait until the end of class to read Vil’s note to you, so even if it means getting scolded by the strict Professor Trein, you have to read it now. Unfortunately for you, Vil prefers to sit in the front row, so you have to make extra efforts to be subtle, taking the note out of the envelope below the surface of the desk and placing it in front of you when Professor Trein’s gaze is directed elsewhere.

You smile faintly, tracing your fingers over the familiar way he addresses his letters to you. My love. Vil developed a habit of writing letters as that was how he responded to mail from his fans, preferring the elegance and personal touch it afforded him. He made sure you knew, however, that he had his own special stationery for you that he selected with you specifically in mind. Scanning over his words, you noticed that his handwriting was slightly different, not sloppy but a bit uneven and hurried, which was a sign in itself he wasn’t feeling his best.

Just like Rook had told you, Vil explained that he wasn’t feeling well and decided rest was a priority for him right now. He didn’t want you to worry though and insisted that you didn’t miss any of your classes to check on him. You smiled wryly. He knew you a bit too well.

While you could appreciate how considerate he was, you felt as if there wasn’t a point to being in class anyway since your mind was more focused on worrying about Vil than the lecture. You came up with the compromise in your head that you would check on him during lunch, bringing him some food and seeing his condition for yourself. That would allow you to convince him to let you stay for the afternoon and take care of him if needed.

“Headed to the Pomefiore dorm?” Rook gives you a knowing smile as you two gather your things at the end of class. “I would hardly think less of you if you did,” he continues “We both know how stubborn Roi du Poison can be when it comes to letting others look after him.” It made you feel better knowing he wasn’t opposed to you ignoring Vil’s request.

You exhale a deep sigh. “Honestly, I want to, but I thought on Vil’s behalf I’d wait until lunch, but you’re the one who saw him this morning. What do you think? I mean he’s not one to skip class for something minor, so it has to be a little concerning, right?” Despite thinking you had your mind made up earlier, your resolve to wait until lunch was waning.

“Hmmm” Walking out into the hallway, Rook hummed in thought though seeing a glint of amusement in his eyes you were sure he already decided his opinion.

“I think…” he tapped his lips with his gloved index finger. “You should trust your instincts” he didn’t even try to hide his smile as he looked at you from the corner of his eyes. “Ne t’inquiète pas! I’ll collect any notes or assignments you two need from your classes”

“But we’re not all in the same classes” you pointed out, but he only chuckled.

“But I am very resourceful” he punctuated his claim by tapping you on the nose. “Vas y, vas y” he waved his hand flippantly in the air, cutting off any more opportunities for you to voice opposition.

“Well, merci ami” You at least knew that much French even before you started picking up phrases from Rook. “We’re lucky to have you as a friend” You added with your lips tugged into a grateful grin, which Rook met with a wink. With your conversation over, you two headed in different directions, your feet taking you towards the Pomefiore dorms with a small detour to grab some things Vil might need.

Standing in front of his door, holding one bag with food and one with various types of medicine, you couldn’t be more grateful that he gave you a spare key once your relationship got more serious. How terrible would it be if you skipped class for him and then you couldn’t even get in on the chance he was sleeping?

You entered as quietly as you could, the bit of sunlight seeping into the room through his stained glass window keeping you from having to stumble in the dark. You glanced over at Vil’s bed as you put your stuff down, but you were only able to see his form under his covers. Making your way over to the other side of the bed, the sight you encountered made the thread of worry in your stomach bind into a tighter knot rather than loosen.

There was a waste bin on the floor beside his bed with some discarded tissues, but it seemed he wasn’t able to successfully drop them in there every time with some littering the floor around it. He had his cover tightly pulled around him, covering everything except his face, the sheen of sweat on his forehead juxtaposing the impression that he was cold. Moving closer to his face, you could see the redness dusting his nose and the light catching onto the wet surface of the snot that leaked onto his upper lip.

With a deep frown on your face, you couldn’t help but reach out to him, resting the back of your hand on his forehead. He didn’t seem to be burning up, but his skin was warmer than it should be, perhaps meaning he had a mild fever. Not wanting to disturb his sleeping yet, you decided to do some other things for him: picking up the tissues on the floor, picking out medicine that you thought might be useful to him, and ensuring he had a cool glass of water on his nightstand. Lastly, you soaked a washcloth in cool water, taking it with you as you pulled the chair at his vanity closer to the bed so you could sit at his side.

Taking in the slight grimace of his face you gently pushed back the sweaty strands of hair sticking to his flushed skin, hand lingering on his cheek once you were done. With your other hand, you pressed the washcloth to the warm surface, moving from his cheek to his forehead to his neck, which was still hidden under the duvet and just as clammy as his face. You felt a twinge of guilt as a noise formed in the back of his throat, bare eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to pull himself out of sleep and open his eyes.

You moved the hand that was on his cheek to stroke his hair as you patiently waited for him to wake up or fall back asleep. It was the former that happened, a pout on his lips as his sense of awareness tried to overcome the fog in his mind and likely exhaustion of his body. Even once his lilac eyes settled on yours, he had a delayed reaction to your presence.

“Mmm,” he let out a soft groan, eyes narrowing when he became capable of forming a coherent thought. “What time is it?” his nasal voice came out meekly.

“Still morning actually” you let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I came here after my first class” You pressed your lips together as you waited for his reproach.

“Rook told me writing that note was a wasted effort” he sniffled, managing to slightly roll his eyes. You saw his body slightly shiver before he wrapped the cover tighter around his body, the edge of the duvet lifting to just cover his chin.

“And look at you. I don’t regret coming to check on you because, no offense love, you look absolutely terrible” You hoped your breathy laugh softened your words. “Have you taken any medicine?”

Eyes closed you’re not sure if he’s mulling over your words or falling back asleep, but you soon get your answer to both questions. “No… It wasn’t as bad…” he pauses inhaling a breath, eyes fluttering closed like he might sneeze, so you reach for a tissue on the nightstand.

“when…” he tries to finish his sentence as the urge to sneeze fades but as soon as he speaks another word he’s forced into a deeper intake of breath. This time he does sneeze, a loud and violent sound going directly into his hand. It’s a sound too uncouth for most people to believe it to be made by Vil.

“Ugh” he moans sounding even more nasally and he almost lets himself wipe his hand on his cover, but he stops at the last second lip curling in disdain.

“Here” You take his wrist in your hand, taking the tissue you grabbed to wipe the slick and sticky mess off his palm. It takes three tissues to clean it thoroughly, a little satisfied hum coming from Vil as you take your time cleaning in between his fingers. You dab a tissue on his face too trying to clean up the mucus without irritating the bit of red sensitive skin too much. Despite your efforts to be gentle, Vil hisses, turning his face slightly away from you.

“I’m sorry” you murmur, your fingers going back to rake through his hair. He responds to your apology with a faint smile, sniffling before he attempts to finish his reply to your earlier question. It’s not an easy task for him, evident by the way he keeps making pauses while he talks, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to capture the thoughts that must feel like sand slipping through his fingers.

“I didn’t feel as bad when I first woke up….”

“body slightly aching, stuffy nose, a little nauseous” He clears his throat.

“I still started getting ready...”

“my body felt so heavy, becoming more and more exhausted by each little thing I did...”

“rook came and suggested I rest” He sniffles.

“back in bed I felt worse and sweaty but I fell asleep anyway”

He looks like he can hardly keep his eyes open now, his eyes remaining closed longer and longer with each blink. He seems to be done talking, so you move to examine the medicine you set aside, selecting the ones that seem they’d best help with his symptoms. You frown as you read the directions.

“Well, it says you’re supposed to eat with this one…. but I think it’d really help you” You direct your gaze to him again. “Do you think you could eat something? I grabbed some different stuff for you since I wasn’t sure what your appetite would be like” You listed them off on your fingers.

“Some pumpkin carriage stew, bread, crackers, and applesauce. Of course, I can go get you something else too.”

“I’ll try the stew” he lets out a soft grunt, wincing as he attempts to move his body and sit up. You help him out by adjusting his pillows and pulling the edge of his duvet around his body so that his shoulders and back are covered. He leans his head back on the headboard, eyes weakly trained on you as you get the stew out, which has thankfully retained some of its warmth. He’s wiping his nose with a tissue when you get settled again at his side, so you lift the waste bin, allowing him to easily drop it there.

“You’re going to feed me, aren’t you?” It’s nice to see some amusement flicker across his features, lips pulled into a small smirk.

“Of course, of course,” you’re stirring the stew held by the small hollow pumpkin. Satisfied you lift the spoon to his mouth, which he opens just enough for you to slide the spoon between his lips. You pause after the first bite to check in with him.

“What do you think? Can you manage to eat some more?” he nods his head, so you continue to slowly feed him the stew, finding yourself a little too transfixed by the way his lips wrap around the spoon. Arousal swirls in your stomach at the sound of the shaky exhales he releases between bites. Desire fills you from the way he thickly swallows the stew before wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. Excitement builds in your chest when he chooses to fix his heavy-lidded gaze on your face rather than the food you're feeding him.

He’s eaten about half the stew when he refuses to eat anymore, claiming to feel a wave of nausea. You could see him approaching his limit before that with his breathing becoming heavier and pauses between bites needing to be longer. You can see signs of nausea affecting him now, his lips pressed into a thin line as he continues to take subtle swallows, you guess that his mouth is producing excess saliva. You can also feel yourself approaching a limit yourself, your pants straining against your growing bulge.

“You did so good, darling” you praise him putting the stew down.

“I’m going to give you a second, but then I want you to try to get this medicine down, okay?” With his eyes closed he meekly nods his head, appearing like he’s mustering up his best efforts to keep the nausea at bay. You take a moment to press the back of your hand to his forehead and then his cheek, which reveals his fever has gotten worse.

After getting his assent, you soak the washcloth in cool water again, repeating your earlier action of pressing it to his face and neck. You resist the urge to palm yourself as he lets out small moans of relief and briefly entertain the thought of getting yourself off after he’s fallen back asleep. It doesn’t take too long for that to happen, he drifts back off to sleep almost as soon as he’s taken the medicine. He would only take a couple of sips of water to get the pills down, so you hope the medicine will work enough so that he can drink more water and rehydrate after he wakes up.

Now that he’s asleep, however, you use the opportunity to make a quick trip to your dorm room to gather some things so you can spend the night in Vil’s dorm. You’re unashamed to admit you also take a little extra time to jerk off and take a cold shower before putting on comfier clothes and heading back.

You thought that would be enough to suppress your arousal for a bit, but you realize you might be wrong when you come back to Vil’s dorm to find him still sleeping but sprawled out on his bed and completely naked, duvet kicked off his body so that most of it hangs off the edge of his bed. Just a bit of it still covers the bottom half of his leg. You can see one part of his face twisted in discomfort, but the other part is concealed by the damp washcloth you left on his nightstand, likely a weak effort to get some relief as he became unbearably hot.

You’re not sure how long the washcloth has been on his face but not long after you return it ends up falling onto his shoulder, a result of him restlessly turning in his sleep, a whimper interrupting his soft wheezing. Just as you expected, you find that he’s burning up and you soak two other washcloths to replace the old one, veiling one over his forehead and one on his chest. You knew there would be a chance your efforts would be pointless with his fitful sleep, and those thoughts are confirmed as his tossing and turning makes them fall off his body, his sporadic coughing soon waking him up anyway.

“Ugh… throat hurts” he mumbles with a hoarse voice, slowly leaning towards his nightstand. Propped up on one elbow, he takes the glass of water and guzzles it down, letting out a faint whine when the glass is empty.

“Here I’ll get you some more” You take the glass from Vil, who meets your gaze with raised eyebrows, only just now noticing your presence. You hesitate in handing the filled glass back to him worried he’ll drink this one just as fast as the first.

“Take your time with this one,” you say lowering yourself so you’re at eye level with him. “If you drink it too fast, it’s not going to sit well with your stomach” You wait until he nods his head before you hand it over. He seems to attempt to take a smaller sip, but the next one is longer, and the one after that is practically a gulp.

“Small sips, love” You put your hand over his trying to gently stop him from tilting up the glass again. He sighs, eyes flitting to your face and lips forming a small pout. With his eyes fixed on yours, it appears that he’s waiting for your permission to take another sip, which you allow after a minute has passed. You continue to do that until he empties the glass, making him take a longer pause before he drinks anymore.

“Mmm,” he moans in discomfort as he fully sits up, moving his hand to hold his hair off his neck. “So hot.”

You easily find a hair tie, taking his hair in your hand so you can put it up in a ponytail. You purse your lips looking at your sloppy job with its bumps and loose strands. If Vil wasn’t so sick he would have already slipped the hair tie off to do it again himself, but it’d suffice right now.

You give him a moment before you prompt him to update you on the symptoms he’s feeling. It’s pretty much the same things he told you before minus the chills with the medicine having no obvious impact yet. He attempts to tell you how his stomach feels when his own hiccup interrupts him, and he puts a hand to his chest wincing.

“Excuse me,” he says after exhaling a big breath. His frown deepens as he rubs his chest, and another small hiccup makes that hand move to cover his mouth. Guessing what might happen next you pick up the waste bin on the floor beside you, but you hear Vil groan before you’re able to place it in front of him.

He lurches forward, this time instead of an exhale coming after the queasy hiccup a thin yet forceful stream of vomit comes out of his mouth. Since you were in the process of moving the waste bin closer to him, he gets most of it in there, but you feel a bit splatter onto your hand and the side of the bin first. One of his hands covers the messy surface of yours as he instinctively grabs hold of the bin you’re holding steady for him, and he heaves a couple more times, most likely expelling the rest of his stomach’s contents.

“Fuck” he groans screwing his eyes shut tighter. He sits there a moment more panting. You see his tongue swipe over his teeth, which elicits an expression of revulsion.

“Ugh,” he awkwardly holds his mouth open as if he could stop his tongue from touching any other part of his mouth. You decide you can risk moving the waste bin now, which Vil easily lets go of, and using the hand without puke on it, you grab the glass of water and offer it to Vil.

“Here, rinse out your mouth,” you instruct, but there’s no movement in his face to show that he hears you. Blinking slowly and still panting, his eyes eventually shift to look at the water you’re holding out to him. You can see his lip curl up in disgust before it’s covered by his hand, and he slowly shakes his head.

“You can just spit it back out” you add but he continues to shake his head eyeing the glass of water like it’s something vile.

“I told you were drinking the water too fast” You’re talking more to yourself than him, no sharpness to your words. With an exaggerated exhale of breath, you think about something else you could do to help Vil cope with the acidic taste in his mouth. While you’re racking your brain for ideas, Vil lays down, a drawn-out whining sound becoming muffled by the pillow he hugs close to him.

His shift in position gives you a glimpse of the washcloths you had laid on his body earlier and you realize that maybe if you put it over your finger, you could clean Vil’s teeth that way. If you made sure it was heavily soaked in water that would probably help with the taste too. Thinking it was worth a try you take the washcloth to the bathroom where you wash your hands and do just that, returning to kneel at the side of bed where Vil’s face is. He lays horizontally on the bed, pillow still loosely hugged against his chest, his cheek now resting on top of it.

“Vil” you call out to him gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“I feel gross” he mumbles not opening his eyes, clearly repulsed by himself.

“I want to help you clean your mouth, but you have to open it for me, love” With the washcloth over your index finger you use your other hand to cradle the back of his head, prodding his lips with your covered finger, but he remains unresponsive. You lean in closer pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

“C’mon love, let me help you feel better” you murmur against his hairline. Hearing those words, you feel him open his mouth just enough to slide your finger between his lips. You start with the front teeth, making small circular motions with your finger to clean them. You notice almost immediately that Vil begins sucking on your finger; however, he doesn’t seem to be aware of it at first, but then it becomes a bit more intense and deliberate, the washcloth being pulled slightly between his teeth.

You hear the smallest sigh of relief when Vil pauses his actions, and he whimpers when you remove your finger from his mouth. He must enjoy the small amount of cool water he can get from the washcloth. Adjusting it on your finger so that it’s a fresh, unused part of the washcloth, you prod his lips again and Vil readily accepts your finger back into his mouth.

“Shit” you curse under your breath realizing how turned on you are right now from the sensation of Vil sucking on your finger and the delight of exploring the surface of his teeth. Your circular motions become slower, taking your time as you feel every dip between his teeth and the tip of his canines.

“Mmm” he moans after sucking on your finger once more, and you let out a moan of your own subtly grinding yourself against the side of his bed. You move to his bottom molars, wishing your cock was buried inside him as you feel the deep grooves on them. As soon as your fingers touch the inside of his back molar, Vil gags a bit. Surprised, you pull your finger back but not completely out of his mouth. He recovers quickly, his tongue moving against your covered finger as he mumbles three unexpected words.

“Keep going… please”

Biting your lip, you continue to rub the washcloth against the inside of his teeth, your movements more tentative when approaching the opposite bottom molar. He whimpers around your finger as it slides slowly across the last of his bottom teeth but doesn’t gag this time as you rub the damp washcloth against it.

You keep the same pace as you clean the inside of the top row of his teeth, but you find that his gag reflex is more sensitive there. He starts to gag before you even get to the tooth deepest in his mouth. You can’t deny that there’s a part of you that gets excited when he gags on your finger, your cock fully erect by now surely. When your finger touches his back molar, he begins to gag again but unlike the other times you don’t pull your finger back, and the second time he gags, hot bile follows. It's hot as it splatters onto your hand even though it lands on the washcloth instead of directly touching your skin.

He gags one more time, additional clear vomit spilling out onto the pillow beneath him and sliding down your forearm. He groans as you pull your finger out. Flipping the washcloth inside out, you gently wipe his face before cleaning what you can off his pillow and your arm.

He maintains a neutral expression, the disgust you’d expect as a response nowhere in his features. His eyes are slits, nearly closed as he watches your actions, and he says nothing as you adjust his limp body to take the pillow from him, replacing it with a clean one. You remove the pillowcase before the bile can seep any further into the surface of the pillow. Even though he didn’t get anything on his bed this time, you can still appreciate the waterproof mattress cover that would protect his mattress if he did.

Vil seemed so out of it as you were cleaning him up that you didn’t expect to hear him say anything, but with his eyes flitting to your groin, he pointed out the obvious.

“You’re hard” With his flat tone you’re not sure how to respond, but his intentions become clearer as he lifts his arm, movements weak as he brushes his fingertips against your bulge.

“You said I look terrible” he echoes your earlier words with a slight pout, one corner of his mouth appearing like it’s close to quirking up to form a smirk on his face.

“I never said it didn’t turn me on,” you say with a breathy chuckle as you rake your fingers gently through his hair still pulled into a loose ponytail that looks even messier now than it did before. “And how can I not get hard when you were sucking on my finger so eagerly”

You let your fingertips trace his jawline, thumb swiping over his bottom lip that’s slick with saliva despite cleaning it only moments prior.

“I’m always eager to have you inside of me” he murmurs. You know his heavy-lidded gaze is just the result of weak and tired eyes but they never looked more seductive. “Even now”

“As much as I’d love for you to take all of me…” Having you throw up on my cock. Feel your hot insides clenching around me. Things you can’t say while you’re trying to talk Vil down.

“It’d be better if you sleep right now, lovely” A small sigh leaves Vil’s lips.

“Lay with me at least…” he offers a compromise. “please” he adds lifting his hand again except this time it goes to softly grip your wrist. The way he says it with his sniffly hoarse voice is too endearing.

“Of course,” you give in easily. You help him adjust his body so he’s back to laying vertically in the bed before you slip in beside him, the warmth under the duvet radiating off his skin immediately enveloping you. Wrapping your arm around his bare torso you can tell that his whole body is still clammy, and you can’t help but kiss his forehead affectionately as he goes to bury his face into your chest. The soft wheezing that is Vil’s breathing becomes a higher-pitched whistling sound as he falls asleep but it doesn’t stop you from eventually succumbing to sleep yourself.

You’re not sure how long you were sleeping, but when you wake up you can still see a glimpse of daylight through the window. Vil’s face is still buried in your chest, his hand gripping your shirt, and as you gently rub his bare back you’re relieved to find that his fever has begun to fade, his skin no longer sweltering or as slippery with sweat. You have no inclination to leave his side so you lay comfortably beside him, eventually finding yourself with your lips pressed to the top of Vil’s head, humming softly. That’s what you’re doing when Vil wakes up, and you can hear his sniffling and feel him rub his face against your shirt before he lets out a quiet groan, pulling himself away from you to look at your face.

“Hi lovely” you greet him with a warm smile, which he meets with narrowed eyes that take time to examine your face.

“You shouldn’t be here” his voice is raspy and his breathing still congested.

“You might not remember it, but you asked me to lay with you” you tease. You can already see emotion returning to his face, one eyebrow quirking up in disbelief.

��You’re not supposed to be here at all” he emphasizes. “I can’t imagine it’s too hard to follow instructions” he’s referring to his letter, which he had already commented on when you first arrived. You suppose his thoughts are clearer now. A good sign at least.

“What’s hard is knowing you’re in your dorm miserable when all I’m doing is letting my mind wander in class” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment on your attention span during lectures.

“Trust me, there’s nowhere I’d rather be even if I do end up getting sick” You kiss his forehead as he scoffs, but you catch a glimpse of his soft smile before he goes to lean into your chest again.

“Oh god,” he tenses in your arms. The whisper of your previous worries becomes prominent again, strangling the words that leave your mouth asking Vil what’s wrong.

“Absolutely disgusting” he hisses, which causes you to try to follow his gaze to see what he’s referring to. It’s not as easy with him so close to you, but looking down you see that his hand that once gripped your shirt is now merely pinching it, the fabric stretched out so the slimy wet stain on it is easier to see. A stain you surmise was caused by Vil rubbing his face against your shirt earlier, evidence of his still present runny nose.

“What, that?” you can’t help but laugh at him. “It’s no big deal. I don’t mind being your tissue” You’re hoping your words spare Vil of his embarrassment, but he still pulls his body a bit further away from you, hands coming to cover his face.

“So mortifying” you hear him murmur to himself. His next words are louder and meant for you to hear.

“You should never see me like this. No one should. And you certainly shouldn’t have my mess on you” Despite his raspy and strained voice you can still pick up on the contempt underlying his words.

“Vil..” you rub soothing circles into his hips. “I would be offended if you didn’t let me see you like this. You’re always beautiful to me, and seeing you all sick and messy is hot. I couldn’t even take care of you without getting hard”

You coax him to lower his hands, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. There’s a look of confusion on his face when you pull back, his lilac eyes shifting as if they’re sorting his thoughts. And then he gasps as something clicks.

“Ohhhh… my god” he repeats his words from earlier but now he sounds even more horrified. He brings a hand to his mouth in shock.

“Please tell me I didn’t actually throw up on your hand” Oh, he just remembered that.

“It was technically on a washcloth-“

“No-” his voice is shrill which makes him have to clear his throat before continuing. “If I didn’t feel so exhausted I would push you out the door myself” he shakes his head in disbelief, his cheeks returning to the shade they were earlier when his fever was at its worst.

“Unacceptable,” he says to himself frowning deeply. He groans again at a loss for words, leaning towards you as if he’s going to bury his face into your chest in humiliation, but his face never makes contact.

“And great seven, please take off that shirt” he pushes back against your shoulders reestablishing the distance between you.

“Okay, okay” It’s impossible to hide that you find this situation humorous, still laughing against Vil’s skin after you’ve removed your shirt and pulled him against you again.

“You can relax, love. You’re the only one unsettled by this” You try to melt his burning shame by moving your lips from his shoulder and up his neck, your kisses wet and languid, drawing a moan out of him.

“Ah-“ he gasps as he feels your teeth graze his skin. “I remembered something else” he pants. You hum into his skin prompting him to continue.

“Is there a chance you still want me to take all of you” he can’t help but whimper when he says it, and the sound jolts through your body, stirring your cock once again.

“Is that what you want?” You’re sure to ask him this question while your eyes are locked with his, making you a target of his lustful heavy-lidded gaze again. He nods his head, sniffly voicing the word always.

“You might think you feel better than you actually are, so I can’t be too rough with you.” He whines at that.

“But I do want to fill you up with my cock and feel the way your hot insides squeeze around me. It’d feel so good to have you warming my cock. Do you think that’s something you could do for me?” Vil can’t seem to find the words to respond but he nods his head for you.

“Fuck okay let me get the lube” It’s conveniently located in the drawer of his nightstand, requiring little patience from either of you as you undress and get situated behind Vil, coating your fingers with lube to prepare him.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much” you remind him before coating his rim with the lube from your fingers, reapplying more to them afterward. “If you don’t think you can talk, smack the headboard with your hand twice. Can you do that?” he answers your question by doing as you ask, his palm slapping the tufted surface of his headboard two times.

“Perfect... You’re perfect” You purr rubbing your digits against his entrance before sliding the tip of one in. You can’t help but moan along with Vil as you stretch him out, already excited about the way your cock will feel sliding into his hot and sticky insides. The way you thrust your fingers into him is neither fast nor forceful, you being serious about not wanting to be rough with him. Even then Vil still whines, slightly pushing his hips backward encouraging you to give him more.

You give him plenty when you finally push your tip into him, Vil sniffling, whimpering, and gripping his sheets as you fill him slowly bit by bit, taking pauses to help his uneasy body adjust to you.

Not that you would mind seeing him puke up hot bile again, but you didn't want to push his body too far. When you’re fully inside of him he can’t keep still at first, hips making small movements as he grinds against you, but when he can see you’re serious about not thoroughly fucking him right now, he relaxes against you occasionally letting out faint whines when he clenches around your length.

“Ugh, I don’t have another choice” his nasally mumbling to himself catches your attention, and you watch as he uses his hand to wipe his nose before rubbing the slimy mucus he collects on the surface of his sheet. He gasps as you manage to pull his hips further back into you, your cock moving slightly inside him, your actions lust-driven due to the fact he chose to degrade himself rather than have you pull out so he could get a tissue.

You’re impressed that both of you can stay in that same position for so long, which was especially difficult whenever Vil coughed or sneezed, your dick being tightly clamped by his walls. Though you’re sure Vil dozed off a couple of times.

The amount of light filtering into the room is the only way you have to estimate the time, and after there is no more lingering light you feel yourself becoming a bit restless, all too aware of your full bladder.

“Love?” you gently massage his chest with your hand unsure if he’s awake or not. When he hums in response you tell him you’re going to have to pull out to go to the bathroom.

“No” he immediately says with a raspy voice. “It feels so good to have you inside me”

“I know, lovely, but I really can’t hold it much longer” He sniffles and clears his throat before speaking again.

“Then don’t. You can just go right now” Your eyes widen at his offer. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve filled him with your piss, but with him already feeling gross you’re surprised he’ll let you cover him in additional mess.

“You’re sure?” you clarify, arousal stirring rapidly in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes, love. I want you to.” His tone almost sounds like he’s begging you to.

“Okay then” you kiss his shoulder before wrapping your arm around him tighter, hugging him against your chest as you let yourself relax. You feel him twitch around you right before your stream starts.

“Oh fuck...” you groan as the hot liquid envelops your cock, filling Vil’s hole and leaking out of his entrance. You’re sure to add to Vil’s pleasure too, taking his small dick in your hand that’s already slick from precum. He gasps as you swipe your thumb across the tip, his nails digging into your arm that’s wrapped around him.

He’s panting as he comes and his walls squeeze you so tightly at the same time you can’t help but come with him.

“See how hot you are when you’re messy” you start talking as you’re both coming down from your climaxes, peppering him with gentle kisses between your words. “Caring about your health is the only thing keeping me from fucking that filthy hole of yours and treating you like a fleshlight I can make as messy as I’d like” Despite your dirty words, your tone is light and you’re almost cooing not wanting to risk either of you getting too worked up again.

“Next time?” Vil grips your wrist as he waits for your reply to his breathless question.

“Next time. But this time, we’re at the part where I help you get cleaned up” you hiss as you slowly pull your cock out, a mix of liquids dripping onto the sheet.

When you get around to the other side of the bed to support Vil as he stands up, you can see his pretty cock still twitching. You have to let yourself ignore it, however, as you take your time getting Vil to the bathroom pausing after he stands up to make sure he’s not feeling lightheaded. Wobbly on his feet, you support him with one hand cupping his elbow and wrap your other arm around his back, gripping his waist in case you need to steady him.

He gives you an appreciative smile when you give him similar support in the bathroom, his shoulder leaning against the shower wall, one hand braced against the adjacent wall, and the other on your shoulder. He sighs in relief as the cool water washes over him, his limbs pliant in your hands as you bathe him. When you kneel to wash the lower half of his body, he keeps himself balanced by putting his hand on the top of your head rather than your shoulder, and you still keep a steady hand on his hip.

He mewls, leaning into your touch when you clean his sensitive areas, and you press a kiss to his upper thigh in response. As you’re making your way down, washing one of his legs, you softly gasp as a hot liquid unexpectedly flows over your hand, very different from the cool water that has been raining down on you. Glancing up you see the yellow-tinted liquid running down Vil’s thighs as he relieves himself and his grip on your head tightens as he lets out a sound of pleasure.

“You’re going to tell me I don’t need to apologize” Vil’s tired and hoarse voice speaks out before you get the chance to, but you’re delighted to hear it. You look up meeting his fond smile with one of your own.

“Once again you have proved you’re better at learning than I’ll ever be” Light laughter leaves your lips before you press a kiss on his hip.

You finish bathing both Vil and yourself soon after that, continuing to carefully support him as you dry him off, dress him, and lead him to sit on the toilet. After giving him some more water and medicine you quickly strip the sheets off Vil’s bed and remake it with fresh ones. Just as you expected, Vil’s eyelids are drooping heavily when you return to him, so it’s a good thing you’re immediately taking him back to bed. You find yourself in a position, not unlike the one you were in before when you fell asleep with him the first time.

You have to bite your lip to hold back your laughter as Vil, half-asleep, rubs his wet nose against your chest again. Hopefully, in the morning he’ll accept his mess more readily, but for now, you'll continue to embrace it and you pull him further into you, once again falling asleep to the faint whistling sound of his congested breathing.

#twisted wonderland #vil shoenheit #vil shoenheit x reader #dom reader #top reader #sub vil #cw emeto #cw piss #cw sickness #cw snz #cw odontophilia

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ninadove · 2 months ago

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Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 24th

I hadn't the heart to write last night; that terrible record of Jonathan's upset me so. Poor dear! How he must have suffered, whether it be true or only imagination. I wonder if there is any truth in it at all. Did he get his brain fever, and then write all those terrible things, or had he some cause for it all? I suppose I shall never know, for I dare not open the subject to him.... And yet that man we saw yesterday! He seemed quite certain of him.... Poor fellow! I suppose it was the funeral upset him and sent his mind back on some train of thought.... He believes it all himself. I remember how on our wedding-day he said: "Unless some solemn duty come upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, mad or sane." There seems to be through it all some thread of continuity.... That fearful Count was coming to London.... If it should be, and he came to London, with his teeming millions.... There may be a solemn duty; and if it come we must not shrink from it.... I shall be prepared. I shall get my typewriter this very hour and begin transcribing. Then we shall be ready for other eyes if required. And if it be wanted; then, perhaps, if I am ready, poor Jonathan may not be upset, for I can speak for him and never let him be troubled or worried with it at all. If ever Jonathan quite gets over the nervousness he may want to tell me of it all, and I can ask him questions and find out things, and see how I may comfort him.

Can we talk about how cool Mina is for a second? Her first reaction upon finding out is disbelief, of course, but she turns around so quickly so she can A. support Jonathan and B. potentially save the world. She knows her skills are valuable and she immediately puts them to good use. It’s not hard to see why Jonathan fell in love with her!

It also means that everything we’ve been reading so far is courtesy of her work, by the way. Which immediately prompts two thoughts:

She apparently wasn’t jealous at all upon reading the Three Weed-Smoking Girlfriends bit Jonathan was so worried about, otherwise she would have edited it out;

She had to transcribe Lucy’s journal and her own letters… She had to add the “unopened by her” mention herself…

Everybody say thank you Mina!

And now for the bit where I genuinely shed a tear:

I pray you to pardon my writing, in that I am so far friend as that I sent to you sad news of Miss Lucy Westenra's death. By the kindness of Lord Godalming, I am empowered to read her letters and papers, for I am deeply concerned about certain matters vitally important. In them I find some letters from you, which show how great friends you were and how you love her. Oh, Madam Mina, by that love, I implore you, help me. It is for others' good that I ask—to redress great wrong, and to lift much and terrible troubles—that may be more great than you can know. May it be that I see you? You can trust me. I am friend of Dr. John Seward and of Lord Godalming (that was Arthur of Miss Lucy). I must keep it private for the present from all. I should come to Exeter to see you at once if you tell me I am privilege to come, and where and when. I implore your pardon, madam. I have read your letters to poor Lucy, and know how good you are and how your husband suffer; so I pray you, if it may be, enlighten him not, lest it may harm. Again your pardon, and forgive me.

I’ve said it before, but there are some similarities in the way Dracula and Van Helsing talk. Well, there are some in the way they write too!

You may remember this little bit from May 3rd:

"My Friend.--Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well to-night. At three to-morrow the diligence will start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.

Your friend,

DRACULA.

The letter opened and closed on a fake declaration of friendship, foreshadowing Jonathan’s imprisonment.

Van Helsing does something very similar here, but A. with desperate apologies and B. recognising his status as someone who is very much not Mina’s friend (yet?). So what does it mean?

It means he is breaking down

We saw him run himself ragged to save Lucy and fail. We’ve seen him fall from witty and pretentious banter (with Seward) to hysterical sobbing and laughing (also with Seward) in the span of a few weeks. We’ve seen him hide the truth while also giving out clues, we’ve seen him break down because he knows, and doesn’t want to burden anyone else with this knowledge, but realistically can’t bear the weight on his own.

So when he reads Mina’s letters — the ones Lucy never got to open — he has no choice but to reach out. Mina is not a doctor like Seward, she’s not a Strong Young Blood Donor like the suitors, she’s just a young woman who is also struggling and also loved Lucy, and this fifty-something genius finds a sense of kinship in her, and immediately decides she is the only person who can help him.

But that means she must know, and therefore be trapped in the same Hell he is. Hence the structure of the letter. I LOVE THIS BOOK

< Prev 🦇 Next >

#This book as so many smart and resilent characters and you know I love smart and resilient characters!#dracula #dracula daily #nina reads dracula #mina harker #abraham van helsing #count dracula #jonathan harker #jonmina

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rhiannon-taken-by-the-sky · 8 months ago

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I’m rewatching the Batch’s intro arc in The Clone Wars and noticed this poster in the background of the Marauder:

(pardon the quality, it’s a picture of a screen)

And after some translating of the clearest words, I’m led to believe that Tech subscribes to a history magazine or academic journal of some kind (because of course he would, why else would the boys have a blown up shot of a history magazine cover taped onto the walls of their Tech’s ship?).

The title reads “ [untranslated word possibly ending in -ARY] HISTORY MONTHLY” with the subtitle at the bottom of the page reading “GEONOSIS THE LAST BATTLE”

I couldn’t get a good look at the whole poster in one shot and I had to zoom in during different parts of the scene I was referencing (the one in episode four when Echo is with Anakin, Rex, and the Batch trying to sneak past the Separatist ships at Anaxis) but this was what I was able to make out so far -

So, based on my translation, the wording, and the general layout of the poster, I think it’s fair to assume that it’s some kind of periodical cover. There are three different colored subsections with descriptions at the top above the title that are reminiscent of magazine cover blurbs that further lead me to believe that this isn’t just an average poster but possibly something custom based off of pre-existing material. Maybe Tech contributed an article or had some kind of interview published about him or the Batch in general?

I think something about all of them would be the least likely since they’re supposed to be underground/lesser known commandos and the cover looks like it’s professionally done and more widespread, but let me know what y’all think! I can personally see this being the cover of a magazine or journal that published Tech’s first paper. He’s not only intelligent enough for that to be a possibility for him but he’s also very confident in himself and would likely want to remind himself of that accomplishment and use it to prove a point when he’s arguing with his brothers.

If anyone is able to get their hands on a clearer shot of the poster (it’s in earlier episodes of their Clone Wars arc but I’m too excited to share this right away to look for it again in other scenes), please share with the class so I can translate the rest of it!

Edit (4/17): The magazine’s title is “Military History Monthly” ✨

#the bad batch #bad batch #tbb #the clone wars #clone force 99 #clone trooper tech #tbb tech #tech bad batch #the bad batch theories #bad batch tech #the bad batch tech

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 5 months ago

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reading roundup: june 2024

before I get started on June, I have to issue a correction from May: I forgot to include a book!

last year I backed Iron Circus Comics' erotic anthology My Monster Girlfriend, edited by Andrea Purcell and Amanda Lafrenais, and it finally arrived just ahead of pride. My Monster Girlfriend contains 15 stories by all by different artists, and features protagonists who get it on with everything from the classic ghosts, werewolves, and vampires to a reality-warping angel (?) who contains infinite dimensions, a sleep paralysis demon, and an all-consuming flesh monster hivemind.

while I would have liked to see a little more variety in the freakishness of the actual sex, the anthology is a lot of fun and shows off a great diversity of art styles and scenarios in which one might get down to clown with a monster girlfriend. my personal favorites were Feather by Kanesha C. Bryant, in which an intrepid pervert boldly attempts to locate their girlfriend's genitalia; MonsterHER Under the Bed by Bont and Wes Brooke, which puts a cute, sexy little spin on the monster under the bed; Forest Wedding by Otava Heikkilä, which reads like an old timey fable except it ends in a giant forest woman getting crazy fisted by her new trans husband; and Girl Fiend by InnKeeperWorm, which is infinitely jackoffable even though, frankly, the hellhound should have stayed in her more monstrous canine form to fuck.

okay, now onto the June reading! I found myself reaching the end of the month surprised that I had added so few books to my 2024 spreadsheet, and then I realized: it's fucking PRIDE MONTH and I'm a career queer. I spent most of June either busting ass working various events or in a coma recovering from said events; no wonder I didn't read as much as I thought I would. I also gave up on one novel after sinking close to 200 pages in it, which means the list is even shorter, but trust me: the DNF was the right decision.

so, who made the cut for pride?

The Monsters We Defy (Leslye Penelope, 2022) - this book was a romp! it's fun! it's a hoot, dare I say! this is a historical urban fantasy that takes place in the Black society of 1920s Washington, DC. protagonist Clara and her band of ragtag magical misfits have a heist to pull off against one of the most powerful Black women in DC, with their own curses and powers at stake. it's a fun story with a neat magic system and lots of words that are capitalized so you know they're Magical and Important, and it's a read that goes down real easy. strong recommendation if you find yourself in a slump!

Just for the Cameras (Viano Oniomoh, 2023) - my first foray into independently published romance! and it was... fine. the plot's a little patchy, sure, but it's definitely not the worst romance I've ever read, and at least a throuple made for a nice change of pace. AND nobody's seething with jealousy or insecurity about multiple partners? you love to see it. this book was apparently originally intended to be a novelette and it definitely could have stayed that way, but if bisexual Black hotties sucking and fucking is what you seek then you're going to have a great time. TW: 2/3 main characters are British.

Strange Bedfellows: Adventures in the Science, History, and Surprising Secrets of STDs (Ina Park, 2021) - to the surprise of absolutely no one who knows me, this is one of my very favorite nonfiction reads of the year so far. I cannot emphasize this enough: if you like the way that I talk about STIs and sex ed on this blog then I think you'll really like this book, because having read this book I desperately want to be her friend. she brings so much passion and energy to her work that it bursts right off the page and is - pardon this awful pun - absolutely infectious.

Survivor (Octavia E. Butler, 1978) - for those you not in the know, this book is kind of a get. it's the only book of Butler's that was never reprinted, so now you can only read it if you get ahold of a super expensive original edition OR if you, hypothetically, find a PDF online and print off the entire thing on your work printer. and I'm so glad I did the latter, because holy shit this book whips ass. the book was apparently disavowed for its lack of connection to the rest of the Patternist series, which is true but oh my god, the story is SOOOO cool anyway. we've got a human woman named Alanna who grew up feral on Earth only to be adopted by a Christian cult who are GOING INTO SPACE to preserve the human race, but it turns out there are already intelligent people on the new planet and they have Feelings about what the future of these human missionaries is going to be. it's on Alanna to navigate the clashing cultures and tension between the humans and two warring groups of aliens, and it is fucking URGENT. I don't say this lightly but I think this has ascended to be in my top three Butler novels.

No Name in the Street (James Baldwin, 1972) - ooooooh my god you guys!! oh my god!!! I've never read any of Baldwin's long form nonfiction, but within pages I knew that this was going to pretty permanently change my brain. this memoir-ish book delves into, among other things, Baldwin's witnessing of the American civil rights movement, including the deaths of Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Medgar Evers. woven around that is the alienating experience of being a Black man with exactly enough cultural cache and social clout to sometimes isolate him from the people he grew up with but not nearly enough to buy acceptance or safety in a white society, emphasized by Baldwin's unfinished struggle to free a friend from prison after a wrongful murder charge. and somehow that's barely doing the book justice! it's so vast and incisive and weary and impassioned and it did, truly, have me jotting down the names of everything Baldwin ever wrote to make sure I can read it all. as much as I bemoan my habit of impulse reserving books from the library, I really am indebted to the Stacks podcast for getting this on my radar.

#bookblr #reading updates

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yunarim · 1 year ago

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「 ₊ ❤️‍🩹 dorm leaders with natasha-like reader 」

── ⋯ where's a doctor when you need one? ✧ rus ver (original) : here! ✧ characters : dorm leaders ✧ tags : female reader (she/her pronouns), fluff, slight mentions of injuries, reader kinda works part-time at NRC as a nurse, reader wields a gun but no violence mentioned (she just uses it canonically but i left only the part that she only has it in her property) ✧ note : might edit this later since i'm not quite satisfied with my own translation from rus but that's it for now

「 Riddle Rosehearts 」 ⏤ ⊹ Probably encountering such a friendly person for the first ever time during his whole lifespan.

⏤ ⊹ Perplexed by your behavior enough to actually spend some time to try figuring out what is it that motivates you to act so selflessly. There is no way you ask him whether he feels okay everyday just out of your free will? Right?..

⏤ ⊹ It's amazing how patient you are being with Ace and Deuce, given they can be pretty much to handle.

⏤ ⊹ Realizes you are a ray of light in a dark realm. Honestly, is it even legal for you to be in the NRC among them, such ... malicious creatures?

⏤ ⊹ Once you told him that there are many people in the NRC who need your support. He did not even believe you at first, dismissively suggesting that you are deliberately shielding yourself in front of others in order to earn public recognition.

⏤ ⊹ Being the only girl and not having magical abilities in the college dedicated for gifted magicians... He wondered how you felt the moment you got here.

⏤ ⊹ His opinion changed dramatically the moment Ace and Deuce casually mentioned that after going to the mines to restore that ridiculously expensive chandelier, the one who cured their injures was none other than you.

⏤ ⊹ Actually was strictly against of you doing anything medicine-related due to the fact he doesn’t even know you have a diploma, so that making you certified specialist.

⏤ ⊹ You: I had my own clinic in my world.

⏤ ⊹ Riddle: I beg your pardon?

⏤ ⊹ Apparently, that one nurse NRC had is fired by now PLEASE–

⏤ ⊹ Riddle wants to look up to you in order to be just as collected and patient as you are.

⏤ ⊹ During all the time you spend at NRC he never ceases to be amazed at how unwaveringly confident you are when some unexpectedly difficult situations occur, but at the same time you never lose your humanity and concern for others.

⏤ ⊹ Ready to take care of you when you forget to do it yourself – you are also a living human being who needs rest and care.

⏤ ⊹ He is not very good at expressing his emotions, so you don’t expect obvious actions and words from him, but get ready for the fact that he will often drop by (apparently) your infirmary with a pinkish hue on his cheeks, saying "Good afternoon ... Y-You're not breaking any rules, are you? Fine then... I tried to make tea according to your recipe, can you check if it's okay...?"

⏤ ⊹ You are always present as a nurse during when unbirthday parties are being hold in case someone gets sunstroke or gets hurt on rose thorns.

⏤ ⊹ If suddenly you know how to use this huge gun... how do you even lift it, it looks like it weighs three times more than you yourself?!

⏤ ⊹ Is this what they call alternative medicine?..

⏤ ⊹ Overall he sees you as an extremely caring mother figure ahem ergh uh older sister.

「 Leona Kingscholar 」

⏤ ⊹ The fact that you are a woman automatically sets you apart from these uncouth students.

⏤ ⊹ Before you have time to say anything, let alone even do anything, he sees the accumulated life experience in your eyes. Those eyes can’t lie.

⏤ ⊹ Actually, no one expects it but he treats you with an enormous amount of respect from the very beginning. It took Ruggie a few days to get used to the fact that Leona doesn't behave as he pleases when he sees you.

⏤ ⊹ And when you stumbled upon him and said that deep sound sleep is good for his health he even thought that maybe you were some sort of an angel.

⏤ ⊹ Sadly, happiness didn’t last long.

⏤ ⊹ You noticed that he sleeps way too much, and that time you started lamenting that excessive sleep can harm his brain activity and blah-blah-blah...

⏤ ⊹ However, you still found yourself carrying an orthopedic pillow every time you go to the botanical garden in order to collect some herbs, so you leave the pillow near the bench Leona usually sleeps on.

⏤ ⊹ In case you stumble upon a sleeping Leona while walking through the garden, you try to adjust his sleeping position so that his neck won’t hurt when he wakes up, and during these moments he simply tries to hug you or pull you onto his lap.

⏤ ⊹ You see him as a big capricious kitten mainly but you still have a lot of work to do, so you carefully put him back and whisper something gentle with your soothing voice.

⏤ ⊹ Mentally chuckles smugly every time you make a very subtle remark about the political system in Afterglow Savannah (the only fact he trusts you enough to explain something about throne succession in his family is quite amazing itself).

⏤ ⊹ You won't notice it outwardly, but he is extremely grateful to you for the way you spend time with Cheka and tell him interesting stories about your world.

⏤ ⊹ He is sincerely proud of you. You are a wise, caring and patient woman. He doesn't even want to joke around with you as he usually does with everyone around him. You are too amazing.

⏤ ⊹ In case you use a gun... Seriously, do you have an endless facts list to surprise him with?

⏤ ⊹ Doesn't show it, but is concerned if it's hard for you to hold this colossus gun in your hands.

「 Azul Ashengrotto 」

⏤ ⊹ Truthfully speaking, he asked Jade and Floyd a couple of times if they can distract you so that you wouldn't sneak into his office and start lamenting how hard he works and how he needs to take a break.

⏤ ⊹ He was surprised that you were extremely attentive when he tried to make a shady deal with you, according to which you could potentially become a nurse in Mostro Lounge.

⏤ ⊹ Your attentiveness actually comes from the need to measure dosages extremely accurately, that he could understand, but he wasn’t prepared for the fact you would read the shady part written in a tiny font at the bottom of the document with the same meticulousness.

⏤ ⊹ After your refusal to work for him, the part about how your conversation turned into a discussion of the cost of renting the premises and how much Crowley screwed everything up remains unsolved...

⏤ ⊹ Why Azul ended up being the one fixing all the mess Crowley caused in the first place? How insanely hard it was to start running a business with instant losses, and not to mention!–

⏤ ⊹ What do you mean you made sea buckthorn tea.

⏤ ⊹ Actually Azul can’t even realize what does he feel every time he accepts your care. He believes he is unworthy of your kindness, but as a result he clings to it like a lifeline.

⏤ ⊹ He doesn't remember when was the last time in his life he felt so... valid? Has he ever been appreciated the way he is now?

⏤ ⊹ At first he assumed that your kindness extends to everyone indiscriminately, but got incredibly surprised when he realized that perhaps you pay a little more attention to him than to the others?..

⏤ ⊹ And you are definitely not stupid to waste your nerves on just, uh, anyone.

⏤ ⊹ Jade and Floyd are constantly mess with him that upon NRC graduation Azul should definitely lure you to work with them.

⏤ ⊹ In case you know how to wield that giant cannon... Uhm so care to get married after graduation?

⏤ ⊹ You're so cool, it's just unbelievable, please make him a soothing tea before his heart breaks his ribs and jumps out of his chest, alright?

「 Kalim Al-Asim 」

⏤ ⊹ Finally someone who matches his energy!

⏤ ⊹Kalim is the embodiment of sunshine, while you behave more in a patient way.

⏤ ⊹ But overall you two are NRC’s brightest sun rays.

⏤ ⊹ Kalim is constantly dropping by the infirmary to bring you something to eat (Jamil actually played crucial role in cooking all those things Kalim brought but still consider Kalim wasn’t doing nothing!! He spent sleepless nights trying to master making your favorite dish, so he could get you something to eat anytime you would want to!).

⏤ ⊹ You!! You are so tender with kids around you!! You are so amazing!!

⏤ ⊹ A couple of times he saw you outside the NRC telling different stories about your world to the kids in the park.

⏤ ⊹ Next moment you were already creating your own fairytales, completely dissolved in that natural coziness.

⏤ ⊹ He gets amazed every time he spots you sorting herbs in the infirmary. How could you remember so many different names and medicine properties?..

⏤ ⊹ Consider yourself famous in his family, given how often he tells little facts about you during phone calls. Be also prepared for the fact that if you happen to go visiting his family you’ll be accepted as an Al-Asim new family member.

⏤ ⊹ The result: you help Kalim's parents with chores in the kitchen and with cleaning, not afraid of doing extra work at all.

⏤ ⊹ Sometimes you forget that Kalim is actually not a child anymore, and Jamil reminds you that you shouldn't spoil him too much, but you can't help but running your fingers through his tousled hair during rare breaks you have a meal or just go for a walk to sort your thoughts.

⏤ ⊹ Once he saw how tired you seemed after having a long work day and ran up to you, asking if everything was okay.

⏤ ⊹ You just smiled softly, saying that you were fine, it’s just after another overblot happens the wounds are always much more serious than minor abrasions and cuts.

⏤ ⊹ Kalim gently hugged you, declaring that this hug would serve as an energy boost for today.

⏤ ⊹ From that day on, Kalim asks Jamil to wake him up much earlier than he usually does in order to run into your office and give you a reassuring hug (he returns to bed for another twenty minutes sleeping right after, but let’s omit this okay-)

⏤ ⊹ Surprisingly, you feel better indeed, but you always make sure to not leave such a nice gesture go unnoticed, giving Jamil your hand-made fruit marshmallow so he would give it to Kalim.

⏤ ⊹ Kalim: happy.

⏤ ⊹ Everyone: happy.

「 Vil Schoenheit 」

⏤ ⊹ If you work part-time at the NRC infirmary, then he’s ready to go to Crowley to figure it out so that you get an immediate salary increase.

⏤ ⊹ He knows how important medical knowledge is, and yours is on another level.

⏤ ⊹ Would you like to join his agency? Or maybe even start developing your own brand of cosmetics, given how well-read you are and how well-versed you are in herbs.

⏤ ⊹ He wasn’t insisting when you refused but surprisingly for himself got a little upset.

⏤ ⊹ However this illusory feeling quickly left him as soon as you suggested making a few adjustments to his own cosmetics, and advised a mixture of herbs that could strengthen the effect obtained from Vil's cosmetics.

⏤ ⊹ If you have joint potionology classes he always tries to cooperate with you.

⏤ ⊹Highly respects such an incredible woman like you. Please consider it requires A LOT to earn the praise from the Vil Schoenheit himself, so you’re quite privileged.

⏤ ⊹ Always ready to din common sense in your enviers’s heads. How can anyone possibly believe that you are working for some imaginary benefit?

⏤ ⊹ A woman with such caring touches and boundless attention to her patients simply can’t be a fake, aiming for ephemeral titles or unwanted recognition.

⏤ ⊹ There are no ulterior motives in the way you sincerely offer Vil a few remedies to increase stress resistance and stimulate concentration during work.

⏤ ⊹ To some extent, he doesn’t fully understand why are you being so nice and selfless, but he never argues with you. He's not an idiot to even say anything against you (why would he though? You’re stunning).

⏤ ⊹ Often comes to you for your advice since he genuinely values everything you say.

⏤ ⊹ His words won’t help or encourage your if you suddenly find yourself in a difficult situation or just get tired at the end of the working day. However, he is the person who will convince you that you just need a proper rest. Vil definitely makes you tea, helps you do all night skin routine and makes sure that you fall asleep peacefully.

⏤ ⊹ Your cannon looks absolutely intimidating, maybe it's even better that you haven't had a chance to use it anywhere except for crushing especially hard and large-sized reagents in the process of making potions.

「 Idia Shroud 」

⏤ ⊹ Girl, what anime did you isekai from?

⏤ ⊹ To be honest Idia was simply scared when he saw you.

⏤ ⊹ He has never come across such piercingly sincere and caring person alive. Idia doesn't understand why you care about him so much in the first place.

⏤ ⊹ It's not like he grew up surrounded by love and care to realize how to accept such a sudden kindness.

⏤ ⊹ How did you even manage to stumble upon him when he literally does not go beyond his room?

⏤ ⊹ Ah, that's right... As soon as he thoughtlessly tried to pat Lucius, you noticed him on your way to the infirmary.

⏤ ⊹ He thought you were taunting him when he found a pack of kitten stickers on his bag, along with a small note that said “If you have time, stop by the infirmary, I would like to give you tea leaves that I dried myself. I heard your brother makes great tea.”

⏤ ⊹ NO WAY HE WOULD EVER–

⏤ ⊹ That day Ortho accompanied Idia straight to the infirmary, where he left his brother, humming some catchy pop song, and call it a day. The tips of his hair blazed with a delicate pink, and only the mischievous sparks flying off smoldered with ardent scarlet.

⏤ ⊹ For the first time he saw someone so mesmerized by his hair. Sure thing he stood out noticeably among people with this amusing feature of his, but he observed such a childishly genuine interest without a bit of malicious intent perhaps for the first time in his life.

⏤ ⊹ After a few more ‘trips’ to your infirmary, he came to conclusion that you are incredibly enduring. People usually either ignore him or make fun of him.

⏤ ⊹ You though, you never rush him, never force reactions out of him.

⏤ ⊹ Fortunately for him, the fact that you never force him to do anything against his will helps him demonstrate his gratitude slowly, but quite effectively.

⏤ ⊹ If you have any problems with the equipment, consider that they are no more, because Idia is always ready to fix anything or improve your equipment out of his own curiosity he got while working with you.

⏤ ⊹ At first when you tried to fix his completely shattered sleep schedule he resisted capriciously as if being an annoyed child.

⏤ ⊹ But you are not a simple woman to just leave it like that.

⏤ ⊹ No kitten stickers until he sleeps at least seven hours.

⏤ ⊹ It doesn't matter at all that Idia is rich enough to buy at least a whole factory for the production of those stickers–

⏤ ⊹ Now your so-called quarrels have become a kind of a local joke between you two.

⏤ ⊹ At first he got scared when he saw your cannon, but now he just wants to upgrade it, even though you insist that you won't shoot it without a need (and believe me YOU won’t ever use it on people bc why would you even do that okay?).

「 Malleus Draconia 」

⏤ ⊹ First, the very fact that you are not afraid of him is truly amazing.

⏤ ⊹ Second, just how discerning you are, given you straight up went asking him whether his horns hurt when he sleeps?

⏤ ⊹ You are extremely interested in how his body works from a medical point of view, since its physiological characteristics are very different from your understanding of how the human body works. However, Malleus is not a human at all, so your curiosity is understandable.

⏤ ⊹ People are usually horrified by him, or prefer to dissolve in contempt radiating from them. Malleus just chuckles, but he gets puzzled when he's talking to you.

⏤ ⊹ He doesn't quite understand how to respond to such a delicate display of genuine concern, but you're not rushing him anywhere, just asking him to take care of himself a little more.

⏤ ⊹ Once you asked him what could save him if the wounds would be extremely severe.

⏤ ⊹ Maybe he was too serious for answering ‘Your voice would be the best remedy for me’.

⏤ ⊹ He had to consult with Lilia what to do when something aching unbearably right there in his chest, and yet you smile softly at his answer and say that his reply is quite reasonable due to the fact that he is not a human being.

⏤ ⊹ Excellent, now you think that ordinary medicines will not help him (which is also true, but still), because he does not belong to the human race.

⏤ ⊹ However, he is in no hurry. If you’re being patient, then he’s enormously enduring. Why hurry when you have all the time in the whole dimension?..

⏤ ⊹ Will you be happy if he helps you heal all the people in the universe?

⏤ ⊹ Yes, that's right, it's impossible... And yet you selflessly devote yourself to your work, endowing everyone with a gentle smile.

⏤ ⊹ You two often talk about the differences between your worlds while your patients are sleeping.

⏤ ⊹ He learns how you make tea just by looking at your elegant light movements. Malleus is generally very observant, so his eyes are always focused on you. If he continues glancing at you like that, maybe the other students you look after will start spreading rumors that there is something going on between you two.

⏤ ⊹ Malleus is actually absolutely mesmerized by your voice and during those rare days when you have the opportunity to have your time alone with him somewhere outside the infirmary, he asks you to sing anything you would like to.

⏤ ⊹ A lullaby from your world is perhaps the best thing he has ever heard in his entire lifespan.

⏤ ⊹ What an incredible woman you are.

⏤ ⊹ You even know how to wield a cannon. In fact, he wouldn't want to test your abilities and is even glad that you don't use it at all.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #riddle x reader #leona x reader #azul x reader #kalim x reader #vil x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader #honkai star rail

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shivsdownstairsneighbour · 6 months ago

Text

Chérie - End of the Line

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x Fem. Reader

Description: A puzzling email and a new shoot gets you closer to Stewy once more. Maybe it's time to see how far things can go only for a night.

Rating: Teen/Mature

Word Count: 4k. Part one of the fic, though each can also be stand alones.

AN: Dearest reader, this author has to complete her yearly research report so, of course, it was compulsory to succumb to fic brainrot before typing the report. The dress comes from the Schiaparelli 2020 couture runway. While it lacks a specific name, if you search for the runway lookbook, you'll spot it from the embroidery details (all magnificent and superb). I wanted the closest thing to a SATC naked dress moment while keeping the going to a gala vibes.

Your phone ringing and vibrating right beside you at your desk did wonders in waking you up after a long night editing and postproduction of campaign materials for NYC fashion week. The glam is for the runway, the sleepless night is for the creatives behind the whole operation.

"Good morning?" You responded, not entirely sure if it was morning or afternoon.

"Greetings Miss, we're calling from Mr. Hosseini's office to confirm your presence this afternoon for the media materials." The ever so polite voice of Mrs. Margaret’s, Stewy's assistant, was surely a new way of waking up.

"Uh, yes, I've already confirmed a week ago and sent the tech brief of what I need in the room." You answered, standing up to get the coffee machine running before jumping to the shower.

"Of course, and you'll find it all according to your specifications. We're only missing your measurements, for which you haven't responded to the request sent via email three days ago."

"I beg your pardon, my measurements?" You froze in front of the cabinets, afraid to drop the mug out of shock.

"Yes, madame. Please send them via email at your earliest convenience."

"What does that have to do with me popping in for some pics?” Your voice tone conveyed beyond disbelief and your hand held even stronger to the mug.

"It's a personal request, I have no additional information about the matter. Please do send them and hope you have a pleasant day."

You were left beyond baffled. You actually thought it was a joke to have someone ask for your measurements and, since it came from an email address you didn't recognize, you figured it must be a prank. Why on earth would your measurements matter for a two-hour shoot? The request for measurements was baffling, making you feel the urge to text him to figure who came up with such a ridiculous request. However, truth to be told, beyond a text here and there or the occasional coincidences at a public event, Stewy and you wouldn't talk much, if ever. There was very little beyond a quick flirt and a drink. Plus, this was work, and when your professional name was called for, you liked to keep things strictly business.

Before you could do anything to contact him about that matter, the brand representative from last night's runway called to ask for the contact sheets and the final 6 pic run to use for press statements. You mindlessly typed your measurements though made a mental note to demand some answers from Stewy. The three coffees you had downed by them were starting to make their magic on you and, by the time you were done with your things, you looked a little haggard from the late nights, but with a bit of effort, you looked pulled together and ready to tackle the shoot.

Since they promised to stick to your tech brief as requested, you travelled light with only your camera bag and two lenses for what you envisioned a relatively easy shoot. Considering the hotel already had great lighting in the room, it was only a matter of setting the camera adequately to get the best out of the space. In hindsight, that could also use your own pent-up questions to raise some reactions from him that would make for a good picture. Mrs. Margaret was waiting for you at the hotel entrance and guided you immediately to the room. She didn't mention anything beyond the schedule and handed you the comms pack that would come out of them. The idea was to make it a sort of approachable, yet exclusive profile meant to be part of a joint social media-press strategy derived from the increased interest in his profile, both personal and business.

"Well someone looks as if they didn't have their beauty sleep. Or any sleep at all." He says as soon as he spots you walking into the room. He was wearing a bathrobe and sitting on the recliner by the bed.

"It's the post fashion week eye bags. Tres chic." You glared at him, not impressed by the lack of a greeting. What happened to normal courtesy like a good afternoon?

"Your working station must be somewhere over there. Make yourself at home." He pointed towards the mahogany desk that had the equipment placed and the already mounted studio flash beside it.

"Sure, because home is definitely overlooking the park." You responded, clearly caught by the wonderful views the room offered.

"Snarky. That's new." He turned towards the walk-in wardrobe, and you let a long sight before getting to the setup. It wouldn’t be long but the lack of sleep might start creeping in if you let it.

You set up the camera and start plugging in everything to the set up before starting the shoot. You have a shooting remote active for moments where you with the camera would be too intrusive or if you wanted to have a more upfront conversation without the camera meddling between him and you. They've just started with skincare and the press girl is pulling some questions while you shoot, and the social media guy is getting some backstage content. Curiosity is getting the best of you but you don't know when to ask about the whole measurements thing, especially when surrounded by so many people, some being fellow colleagues from adjacent fields, like Sylvie, the stylist.

By the time they're done with skincare and hair, the press people take a break before he's fully dressed, and you're left with the hairdresser, the make-up artist and the stylist. You might be buzzed by the rush of getting someone not only camera ready, as red carpet ready was a must, to feel the wear and tear from the week. However, you're also sleep deprived and terribly irrational, so you just blurt it out when the hairdresser asks you to take a seat at her station while he comes out of the wardrobe having had the final fitting of his trousers hems.

"Why does your team need my measurements?" Not only did everyone turn to him, but you could feel it, more than ever, his eyes burning through you.

"Everyone, out. Take five, get a coffee, smoke, whatever you need." Everyone left the room, no questions asked, leaving you two standing in the middle of it. "You're impossible to surprise, aren't you?"

"No, I like surprises, but asking through your assistant something of the sort isn't pleasant."

"Well, here's the surprise." He took your hand and guided you to the rack, where four black dust bags were hanging, each with a color-coded ribbon.

"The red one's my choice, I've seen you around and think it'll suit you. The blue is PR, would be lovely to see you on that one for the sake of this operation. The green's the stylist choice, and the pink is a wild card from her too. We could've gotten you more choices if you would've been punctual with your measurements." He said, with such naturality, you felt as the last person in the room to be on the deal.

"I think you've skipped over at least 10 steps previous to this conversation."

"You're my date and I can't have you walking around the red carpet or the gala looking like that." He said while pointing out to your smart trousers and shirt outfit. It was meant to be functional, not glam worthy.

"You know it would've been way easier to just ask upfront?"

"But where's the surprise in it?" He responded, with an almost mocking smirk on his face you wished to at least challenge a little.

"Your date? To the couturier's gala?" Both disbelief and a raised brow conveying the ridiculousness of his move.

"I know you're not booked or on assignment tonight."

"Great choice of words. This is making me feel like an expensive stand-in." His naturality on the subject was making you go from anger to uneasiness. A heads-up would’ve been a way better option.

"Booked or not, choose one, let them pamper you and have a night off."

"I still have to deliver these for your team."

"They're not due tomorrow, are they?" That bit was true, having until next Sunday magazines and society sections to publish them. Feeling accomplished, he turned to face you without dropping the hand he held.

You didn't realize, or rather chose to willingly ignore, the fact that he knew you held the remote in your hand. You were probably still within the camera's field of view, and in a swift move he took it from you and snapped a pic from the moment. The studio flash snapped you out of the moment and, just as quickly as everyone had been dismissed, the crew returned to the room. Stewy could've easily saved at least half an hour from prep time if he would've been clear from the start with his intentions. Nevertheless, you trusted everyone knew how to pull off a look while in a time constraint. You also had to admit it felt good to be receiving the VIP level of pampering that you've documented dozens of times but never had the pleasure of enjoying.

While all dresses were beyond beautiful, it was the pink wildcard that worked best, having it be a must wear if ever given the chance. The stylist helped you get into it, and you looked dazzling. It was day and night from how you left home, and you were really feeling it while wearing it. You didn't notice Stewy had been already fully prepared and looking from the sitting area how you were getting styled and fitted. He looked so smug having a glass of whiskey, as if taking you out fully glammed up was his accomplishment. In truth, you were never certain if you would've responded positively to an actual invitation for an event of the sort. Maybe the smug victory said more about you than him. But you wouldn't be opposed to a second outing if the night fared well.

Once you were ready, you asked for a couple of portraits of him sitting on the sofa and looking relaxed. He was pulling off each shot with enough success to not have to be any more demanding than necessary for good material. Maybe he'd gotten better at it due to increased attention. Or, rather more credibly, he was giving you content after asking you out in the weirdest way possible. Once the shots were done, it was time to leave and you started to feel the weight of the evening on your shoulders. It would be impossible to deny that the atmosphere was awkward in the elevator. Maybe you should've been the one to have a sip or two of that whiskey. What would you even talk about?

"If you ever wish to surprise me again, you do know you have my number." You said, almost as a whisper, wishing to fill up the silence between you two.

"Once again, where's the surprise in it? And I've seen how controlling you are. You would've said no to at least two racks of those dresses. And me." You could be wrong, but was he admitting to being scared of your rejection? That would be impossible.

"Now how would you know about that?"

"You moved the flower vase at least seven times since you started setting the camera." The nonchalance of the phrase revealed a little more than what he strictly said. He was apparently catching your every move in the room.

"That's not being controlling."

"Perfectionist then."

"I'm a professional, Mr. Hosseini." He looked at you with the same eyes as he did during the last picture from the first session. You knew he didn’t like that kind of solemnity in casual settings.

"I'm also a professional. And this will be good business for both of us." The elevator’s opening door not only wrapped the conversation, but also made it official that, whatever you had agreed to, was now set in stone.

You started to wonder if being snarky was a result of being sleep deprived, being nervous, or just in the presence of him after pulling the stunt. You have had good conversations in the very few opportunities you'd meet. Never deep, though always entertaining and fun. The car ride didn't ease the pressure, as being now in front of the camera became a reality. You understood perfectly what was going on from a technical perspective, and being in front of other colleagues was a massive change. You were increasingly too aware of your angles, of how to make the dress stand out, and how you'd be expected to stand by Stewy's side. He, on the other hand, was chill and chatting along with someone on the phone, and one of his hands found its way to the leg embroidery, carefully touching each bead. You would be lying if you'd deny it made you feel a mix of comfort and arousal.

The car stopped and you had to get out. You knew that the rule would be for him to help you out, and, as if coordinated from dozens of times of making it together, once your door opened, his hand was offered. The flashing lights dazed you up for a couple of seconds, making you trust his hand in guiding you towards the carpet and the entryway. It was his confident pressure on it that made you go from apprehension to trust and, as time passed, to enjoying the walk.

The first couple of pictures were admittedly awkward, with the two of you only holding hands and standing a little too rigid for anyone's taste and with enough space for the entire Holy Family to fit between both of you. You wanted to show the dress without straying too far from him, being that you had not much of a public profile to use as leverage to stand alone. By the middle of it, you decided to just lean into all the shenanigans of the moment, accepting his hand on the small of your back, crossing yours behind him too and fully leaning towards him on some shots. You'll figure out tomorrow how good they came out looking but, for now, it was about just letting go.

The gala was beautiful, beyond anything you'd experienced. Without the pressure of documenting it on assignment, you could appreciate all that came with it. The food was great, the acts just as beautiful, and you got to interact with people who you see seldom in person, as they're part of the designers’ in-house staff. Stewy never strayed too far from you and turned out to be an engaging presence no matter the group in front of him.

It became a little clearer than before why the unexpected request with cryptic message and request could've worked best with you. You would've easily said no to a situation that put you right on the center of attention. And, when the first meeting took place, it was you who suggested Rhomboid while being in your court and under your direction. So, it must've been adequate to put you in his court for the next move. However, there were many other ways to ask you out without sounding like a creep or an ass.

"I told you you'd like it. And I'm never going to complain of how much eye fucking I've gotten from you in that little number." He said to you as you two walked together to the bar for a refill.

"Even if it was a wild card?" You looked at him bewildered, clearly caught off guard by the last remark.

"Mostly because it was the wild card. It's like getting a preview of you." His free hand made its way to the embroidered ribs, holding you tight by his side.

"You're so flirty and reveling the moment, aren't you?" You blurted you mindlessly, probably as an effect of the couple of drinks you've enjoyed so far.

"And so are you." His hand departed your ribs and made its way to the small of your back before landing on your butt. Before you could rationalize it, he pulled his move. "There's a suite with my name and your camera waiting, and I'd hate to leave all that hanging any longer."

"We're not playing with my camera. That's work equipment."

"That remote button is very tempting, and you should see what I did there." He concluded with a smirk and a soft squeeze coming from the hand on your butt.

"You took some pics of me?" His smirk quickly changed to a laugh, probably due to your own reaction to whatever he had proposed.

"Only fair if you got mine in there."

He looked towards the hall's entrance and you two started to make your way out by finishing your drinks and bidding goodbyes to any acquaintances you encountered on your path. Since there would be no cameras outside as the gala was approaching the end, it felt natural to hold his hand, share some laughter, and head towards the car without feeling observed by any prying eyes. While the proposal was intriguing as is, it was more intriguing why he didn't pull any move during the car ride beyond touching and playing with the embroidered ribs and femurs.

It was in the room that everything started to become clear. Standing near the station, he asked you to turn on the setting you had been working with. You only needed the camera and the computer, so nothing else was turned on from the afternoon shoot. After some scrolling, the screen showed the shots of you getting the dress on and looking at the mirror. You were awed by the naturality with which you seemed to have navigated an unusual circumstance as that.

"I believe the photographer did a great job setting it up. Do you know her by any chance?" Standing side by side, his hand returned to its now usual spot on the back, and it was certainly more appealing to see him without the suit jacket.

"These are quite good."

"You didn't take it personally that I didn't choose yours?"

"I didn't even know this one was a possibility. You looked almost naked, walking around the gala as if you run the place." While your eyes were still focused on the screen, his eyes were looking intently at you, a sight that had been your companion for most of the evening.

"And you got unprecedented eye fucking opportunities." You turned to face him, locking sight and reaching your hand towards the one he wasn’t using to support himself on the table.

"A rightful compliment to my invitation." He stood straight and took the remote from beside the mouse.

"You know that that’s not a toy."

"Before we begin, let me tell you how much I want to ruin this lip color." He said, giving you a kiss while holding you tight to him with one hand and the remote with the other. It wasn’t a deep kiss but you sensed it'll go beyond that if given enough time.

"Would you stand here miss?" He said pretending to not have heard you and guiding you back to where you were getting ready before.

"Now, I want to see the whole of you. Gloves, please?" He whispered on your ear before moving to kiss your neck.

"Not a chance if I don't get to do some perusing before." You manage to say before he stood half a step back to look at you as if you’d defied him.

Without removing the gloves, you took your time untying the bowtie, and opening the first three buttons of the shirt. He held you steadfastly to him and, as he asked you to do more, you never changed the pace with which you were going, carefully unbuttoning each one knowing the tease you were being by going so slowly.

After his shirt was undone, he let go of you and turned you around to plant some kisses along your neck and shoulders before his hand reached your side and undid the zipper. It was slow, calculated, and definitely doing more than a thing or two to your brain. As the dress fell to the floor due to the weight of the embroidery, his free hand explored your back, and you turned around, stepping out of the dress to undo the belt buckle and the trousers. He was still dressed, and it was unfair of him for you to be standing on your underwear while he had trousers and an undershirt on.

The continued teasing touches left you two standing fully naked, craving each other desperately, and leaving the gloves as the final barrier between teasing and fucking. He slowly helped you take one glove off, never letting go from the remote, before helping you to the other. Once both of you were standing fully naked, his hand found his way once more to the small of your back and with strength and self-assuredness, started kissing you with more passion than ever. You were certainly no fool either, letting him go for it and voicing it to his ear how good he was doing as he kissed your breasts and tended to you.

From that point on, the night became a blur. He immediately left the remote after the first kiss and guided you to the bed where things got going. You could feel his fingers and lips exploring you just as you were getting acquainted with his body. You liked the feeling of his hairy chest on you and, as you asked for more, he certainly wasn't going to leave you hanging. Excited beyond measure, you kept it going until you couldn't do any longer without feeling him inside. You took him in and reveled in the sensation of feeling full, using your legs to hold him tightly in you. Neither of you was fully sure of how many orgasms came from the nightly adventure, but as you two lied side by side, you took the pleasure of feeling exhausted for more than one reason aside from sleep deprivation. After a quick shower, the week of poor sleep caught with you, and you dozed off almost immediately after getting into the covers. You could feel Stewy's hand running along your side, similar to how he touched the rib embroidery on the dress. You're not sure if he placed one last peck on your back or not because you were already gone.

The next morning, you woke up early to see, in private, whatever Stewy managed to capture from the night. One picture immediately caught your eye where he was pressing your back against him and laying a kiss on your neck. Both seem to have forgotten the camera was there, looking absolutely locked into the moment. Another picture, him looking mesmerized as you undo his belt, getting extra light touches from the way the glove embroidery reflected light as you moved. Certainly, these pictures and the others you were selecting would enter your private collection. A thing to be only enjoyed by you.

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, and you turned to see him awake and only wearing his boxers. He crouched to your eye level and pointed to the screen saying, "I'll want these prints first thing" before a quick peck on the cheek.

"Should I trust you to keep them private?"

"No one should ever see you like that, except me." His smugness oozed off from him and the look he gave you emphasized the nature of his request and his word. As he said to some other person at the gala, his word was his bond, and he might see to it with the seriousness with which he pulled business deals.

In the meantime, he got a notepad from the desk drawer and wrote his address.

"I want them delivered here with a special request for you to be the courier."

"Should I wear the gloves too?" You mentioned keeping a playful tone to what seemed to be a confirmation of an upcoming date.

"As much as they're yours now, I want to see them again doing precisely that." He responded by pointing at the picture where you removed his belt.

A knock on the door pulled you two out of it and breakfast was served. Who knew if and when you'd do this gala date all over again. But for now, you had a package to deliver and some joint morning aftercare to ease you back to your routine.

#succession #succession fanfic #stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x reader #succposting #stewy hosseini imagine

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roxyteal · 29 days ago

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(Jesus Christ it happened again. Mobile decided to not only publish the draft but also not save any of my edits. Pardon me if you see any appear) (Oct 30: Put context about his sobriety in the beginning, as opposed to in the middle out of nowhere.)

Today I am compelled to talk about Joe 5. It may include things I already mentioned in a different post, but those were in the tags so if any of this seems like not new info, sorry about that.

ANYWAY

Joe 5. Also this gets long so bear with me.

Joe 5 (but you can use either Joe or 5) came from a complete set copy of "Joe`s basics joke game". He was relatively fine as a person, with highs and lows. He's a bit of a snark but it's usually lighthearted. He even realized he had a problem and got clean, though... Alcohol still kinda haunts him as a result.

At some point, he and his entourage found the Webspace. On that day, they were among two others - a copy of Denied's Basics (the 10th apparently), and the 82nd Dave, who was a rogue for some reason.

Things were alright until it was mentioned that there was a pre-existing Joe and company around, and whether or not they'd like to merge with him, and so on. 5 thought that was weird as Hell and said no. But his companions said yes.

This resulted in 5 distancing from them since they're "not my friends anymore", and "I don't even know them anymore". And from then on, he resented the idea of merging, and that damned "Joe 1" for being so Goddamn happy. What's he all smiley about, he thought. The fucker.

But at least he still had his school. His empty, ghost town of a school. He quickly realized he couldn't live alone in that so he started staying in a tiny apartment, which quickly became a mess because of his plummeting self-worth. If only he'd just gone with everyone else, this could've been avoided, he also thought. It's his punishment for going against the grain. Being different. Maybe even "defective". Well shit, let's be defective. Why not.

He would have his code and model changed so that his hair would grow naturally. Somewhere in his reasons for this was needing to feel responsible for something, so he wouldn't completely fall apart. And maybe having it would make him feel better, whether about himself, in general, or both. He recalled that he considered asking his player about it in the past, but never got the nerve. Better late than never, he tried to rationalize. That's what people say to forgive themselves, right?

But the shoulder-length he requested (and wavy to boot, he didn't realize he had that...) spiraled out of control and now reaches his waist. Of course he couldn't keep up the end of the deal he put upon himself. It really needs the trim, but he couldn't be assed to try, and it disgusts him. The only good thing was how it never tangled. Game magic shit or whatever. But regardless of that, he looked like a cryptid, and he felt like one too.

At this point, his only comforts was TV, eating, and sleeping. He didn't need to do the last two obviously, but it gave him something to do, a distraction. When he ate, he could focus on the taste and nothing else. When he slept, he would stop being able to drown in his thoughts, welcomed instead into nothingness. When he watched TV, it numbed him enough to stop caring.

But even in his lowest moments, he refused to give in to his old addiction of... That. Diving back into it would truly mean the end had come. He'd rather be tortured to the brink before he had a sip again. Even now. Especially now.

He rarely ever left the apartment, kept the lights off, curtains to the balcony closed, and didn't allow visitors. He rarely ever left his bed, in fact. Sometimes he'd lie there and daydream about leaving. To where? Who knows. But this place was so painful to live in because everyone else has it great and he's got nothing so it's like... Just leave. But where?

He'd ponder it. Maybe just go out that tunnel and see where the Internet busses take him. Leave it up to fate. Maybe he'll find a nice little NeoCities domain. That whole area's so fuckin' large, there had to be a place where even 5, a worthless piece of shit, could fit right in! Yeah...

But he never gets out of bed. Out of the apartment. To the entrance tunnel. To the bus stop. To NeoCities. He just lies there, thinking about it. And nothing happens.

One day, he realized he was running out of food. The only reason he'd ever leave his trash heap of an apartment. By this point it was a matter of looking presentable enough to go out into that bright, colorful, vapid world crafted by that... Uh, mask man, and his spooky associates. Or keep staring at the dump that is 5's living space and contemplate if he could live without the sensation of eating. He still had his two other trusty vices, is it okay to lose one?

But, fuck. He loved the instant noodles. The frozen meals. The rice cups he could drizzle a little soy onto. And all the other kinds of convenient, packaged stuff. Goddammit.

So, he stepped around the trash, and next he knew, he was out the door. Fine. Fine. Fine! He'll get so much, he'll never have to come out again!

But as soon as he was outside the building, hair almost encasing his torso like a shroud, something shifted. Today's the day he's going to leave. Yeah. He'll get this done, pack up, make a pitstop to Vincent's or whatever pretentious name that supernatural son of a bitch had, flip off the gaudy building, then head straight for the tunnel. If he had time, he might even egg that fucking place!

This is it! God, it'd been so long since he was excited. Genuinely excited. He wanted to hold onto this forever.

Mood improved, he carried on with his mission. He ignored the other shoppers, checking off everything he picked up from his list. It was one of his first lessons here, because how could anyone remember everything they needed? He sure couldn't.

Things were going fine, until... He bumps into someone. Baldina. And she single-handedly became the craziest thing to happen to him.

He barely recalled the conversation, but it led to her hiring him as an assistant at her school, despite his clear lack of qualifications. It seemed that like Mr. Strobe-bow-skis, she too had plenty of people under her thumb, in numerous positions. A whole network of them.

One of which, 5 got to meet while struggling pitifully with the coffee machine, just seconds away from having a breakdown right then and there. This guy called himself, er, "I'm never"? But one word. Okay sure whatever. And in spite of 5's threatening tones and verbiage, Imnever was patient enough to show him how to use the brewer. Even informed him of how Baldina takes her coffee.

So what's Imnever's story? Oh, he teaches art here. He's more of an animator by trade, but this suited him just fine. Huh. Well, still more impressive than anything 5's ever accomplished.

The three of them became friends. He wasn't sure how that was possible, but finally he had a reason to go outside more often, instead of stewing in his own suffering for weeks at a time. In fact, slowly that poor excuse of an apartment turned into something a little more decent. It wasn't super tidy, but if Imnever, Baldina, or both wanted to visit, finally 5 could and would allow it.

It got to a point where, one morning, they surprised him with a present. A motorcycle. Apparently the two had taken his daydreaming musings seriously, about how cool it would be to have one. Also, 5 had forgotten what day it was - his birthday.

He cried. He couldn't possibly accept this. He didn't know how to ride it. He'd ruin it or hurt someone. All the classic, self-depreciating excuses he was told he was using.

But, as Imnever said, what you don't know, you fear. Once you do, you don't. Frankly that sounded confusing, and yet, these types of phrases helped him get this far, so... Just accept the damn thing.

The helmet was really cool, but he had so much hair that it wouldn't be able to fit. At long last, he got the trim he had desperately needed; up to just below the shoulders. But Baldina did it for him. Almost ironic, but at this point, who cares?

He forgot how light his head felt after the excess was cut down. It was a nice feeling.

Once he actually tried to overcome that fear of failure and took the chance to learn something, he was surprisingly quick on the uptake. And before long, he was zooming down streets in that badass chopper of his.

Maybe the Webspace isn't actually so horrible. But, thinking that, he reminisced about that day, where he was so sure he was gonna leave this domain behind and start over somewhere else. He slowed to a stop in front of Infinite School or something like that. Hm...

And he gave that treacherous high-rise building the bird, laughing manically as he drove onward. Of course he was going to stick around nowadays, but it still felt right to do. And boy was it worth it.

Life here had finally looked up for 5. Until, well... The demon showed up. But that's a whole other fuckin' story.

#baldis basics #BBAU #WTTW #musings #joe 5 #denied mentioned #dave 82 mentioned #viktor mentioned #baldina #imnever #is this a fanfic? hm... more like a summary #so about dave 82. i think he probably asked viktor + baldina + denied the “cats or dogs” question #later than what the in-character posts seemed. a while later #and joe 5 having long hair... i was inspired. also god i cannot hear his voice in anything other than brandon rogers. help #“so why imnever” idk

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shaunashipman · 3 months ago

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Pardon if you've already discussed this specifically! This has just weighing on my mind again because I keep seeing unjustified points in posts of fans (stans) trying to provide evidence to validate their hate 👀

I get canon vs. fanon. I know we (all) see something happen once or repeatedly and think it has more significance than what it probably does, and it's fun to fantasize. I also understand in fandoms, generally as a whole, we'll (all) be like "ehh yeah let's pretend that didn't just happen!" Like when a character dies or when trying to bleach our brains from seeing something inappropriate. You know, coping with a loss or trying to make the show watchable/toleratable still. Right? My confusion these last 5 months or so is people wanting to use "it's implied" because of personal feelings and not factual reasonings based on the episodes or "I didn't see it so it didn't happen!" to disregard one side but then will use those same points to prove they're right because they're upset about what's canon. Does that make sense? I know they don't care about the hypocrisy, but they can't be serious... personal feelings still don't make it canon 🤨

Strongest example(s) being "whether Tommy apologized" split between "it's repeatedly implied as they all hung out outside of work and had continuous contact throughout the years and they more than likely wouldn't befriend him if he didn't or still acted the same given their standards" against "we never saw him say 'sorry' so he wasn't actually forgiven since... WE didn't see it" leading us to "the 118/fam don't like Tommy because of their facial expressions and how they responded to him." As they said before, if it wasn't aired, it's not canon... unless it fits their agenda. They seem to mix and match and decide what's appropriate for canon to fit their needs. I see them choosing which particular bts, unused promo, or deleted scenes as they please because it's "good" for their ship/character, but turning around and saying the opposite, if it wasn't aired during an episode it didn't happen, if it challenges their desires...

Why is it that they'll use the HenRen/Tommy deleted scene as an "interpretation" of HK questioning or as they say "not approving" of Tommy as something canon because it "proves" whatever they're making up about anti TK/BT, but won't accept and even denied the implication Tommy's "maybe apology" because it wasn't seen? And at the same time, they also want to say Eddie only strictly "emotionally cheated because they didn't air the kiss," but Ramon canonically said "He (Christopher) said he came home and caught you kissing his dead mother" and Eddie said "it's a little true" not in regards to the kissing but to it being "Shannon" but still they'll swear up and down Kim and Eddie NEVER canonically kissed because it wasn't seen?? Like neither was the "shovel talk" so 🤦🏾‍♀️

Dumbfounded... 😅

So let me get this straight. HenRen/Tommy scene wasn't aired, but it's still canon... Kim/Eddie kiss edit version wasn't aired but verbally confirmed during airing also not canon... and Tommy's apology that was not scripted but implied, most definitely, not canon... ???

I know there's no logic, but I can't wrap my head around it no matter how hard I try to comprehend it 😂 I honestly try to not to think negativity about shippers and stans but wow I'm confused lol

so, I'm actually writing a meta right now that touches on a lot of what you're saying, so I'm gonna leave that for now, but I will talk about the deleted kiss

I've said before, I don't consider deleted scenes canon, I call them "schrodinger's canon". we can certainly treat them as canon for fandom stuff and also spec, but if the show contradicts them, it's not a ret-con. so to me, the henren tommy scene is not actually canon. it seems like it was probably just cut for time, so I have no problem with people treating it like canon, so long as they understand that it can be discarded very easily.

so in that vein, the eddiekim kiss isn't canon to me. it was cut, and probably not for time, but because they felt it didn't fit. I don't see ramon's line as contradicting that in any way. the doylist explanation is probably that they intended to have them kiss, as it was filmed, but then decided against it after having already filmed the finale

the watsonian explanation is, chris could very well be embellishing, OR it's that he's a traumatized teenager who walked in on his dad embracing a women who looks like his dead mother. in between seeing that and calling his grandparents, it's very possible his brain distorted it and he really does think they were kissing.

but emotional cheating is still cheating. I wouldn't even put a qualifier on it, it's just cheating. idc that you never kissed, the other woman was clearly under the impression you were in a relationship, however chaste of one, it's cheating. you think if kim hadn't shown up at the firehouse and buck went to talk to eddie, that it wouldn't have ended with them fucking? eddie was fantasizing about sex within a day, they would have fucked and he would have called her shannon, and it would have been gloriously messy, and much better than what we got.

also, I feel like comparing the deleted kiss to the deleted henren tommy scene is uneven. let's talk about the kiss and the potential eddie/tommy pairing. cause either deleted content matters or it doesn't. if them cutting the kiss means it didn't happen and eddie "only" emotionally cheated, then any possibility of eddie/tommy is also irrelevant. cause they got far enough to film the kiss, while eddie/tommy was only talked about, and we don't even know how briefly.

anyway, this is a little disjointed, but I'm gonna go work on that meta that'll hopefully be clearer

#cleo gets mail #anonymous #911 #911 discourse #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #bucktommy #anti buddie

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holdupjack · 1 year ago

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They’ll Be Much More Interested In My Wife

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

AU: Hollywood film stars hiding their love.

WARNING: SMUT 18+/MINORS DNI

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

Los Angeles California, 1958

Hermione had moved to the States in 1955, a month after her 18th birthday, She had hugged her mother and father goodbye to pursue a career in the biggest film industry in the world.

She was destined to become a star.

Her soul yearned for it.

The young girl was cast fairly quickly due to her beauty and the seemingly natural talent she had for capturing her emotions onto film.

Hermione did many movies within the last few years, having to mask her accent for most due to the 'all-American girl fantasy' the whole word was stuck on.

Then again, she understood the charm.

She had reluctantly gone on dates with many male stars, all of them being less than fruitful as they talked on and on about their successful movies and Oscar wins.

On one of the days on the set of a 'romantic' war film, she was the lead. Y/n Y/l/n walked in dressed as a secretary, her character's 'roommate'. Whom she was supposed to fight with, in the next scene.

This movie had more secret gay underlining than straight movie buffs would ever realize.

She hoped the future generations would see it and appreciate the risks the writers took.

Y/n is a beautiful woman, always smiling as she read her lines, or laughing at something one of the stagehands said.

Hermione couldn't keep her eyes off her as they waited for everyone to be ready for shooting, their eyes met from time to time as Hermione sat in her chair with her legs crossed, her thumb holding her chin as she blocked her growing smile with her index finger.

This wasn't their first encounter, not even their second, and you could tell from the way they greeted and looked at one another.

It wasn't a surprise that in the time they lived in, openly dating someone of the same sex was a death sentence, with your career and literally.

They had first met a few months into Hermione's first year as an Actress, circling each other like predators.

It was a secret hostility they shared, since Y/n had a few years on her in acting, even though they were the same age, and considered Hermione a threat to her career when it came to the chances of getting leads in movies.

Y/n had been a child star, and Hermione even grew up watching her in the family-friendly movies she saw with her parents.

Hermione found her pretty then, and even more gorgeous now.

She had known of her feelings towards women for many years now, she honestly knew it was the whole reason she detested men.

Yet, she had to keep up the act. No journalist or paper could know how she felt, so if that meant unfulfilling dates and sex, so be it.

They only had a month left with each other until this movie wrapped up for editing, and the male lead, Joesph Cotten was hitting on them relentlessly.

(A/N: actual actor back then btw, but I know him best from Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte...also no idea if he was a lady's man, so consider this satire)

The girls just gave fake giggles and thanked him for his kind words before they were called onto the stage. They took their places and waited for the director to call the scene to action. Y/n sat at a desk while Hermione stood behind a door that led into the area.

"Action!"

Hermione walked into the room and shut the door behind her, Y/n didn't look up as she pretended to sign papers, she then glared at her.

"What are you doing here?" She whispered in her very convincing American accent as Y/n looked up and had a confused look on her face.

"Pardon me?"

"You told me that you were going to stay home today" Hermione states as she walks toward the desk and peeked past her and into the window that had her boss (Joseph) sitting inside talking to an associate.

"I'm a secretary for an important general of the U.S. Army, I can't call off because you told me to Lily" Y/n replied as she stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet, opening it to a slew of blank papers inside.

Hermione loomed next to her and stared at her face in a soft panic, the corner of their eyes saw the camera slowly make its way to capture their emotions.

"Please Mary, go home after lunch." Hermione whispers as she stands closer to capture Y/n's gaze.

This movie wasn't focused on expressions like the others they had been in, instead of close up of their faces to make a statement, it was told through body movement.

Yet, the gazes shared between them told another story, a relationship between a spy and her 'roommate'.

The whole plot was that Hermione's character, Lily Sullivan, is tasked by the United States military to coax a confession out of Scott Willis (Joseph Cotten) as an enemy of the country. When in reality, "Lily" was the one selling secrets to other countries, she was covering her tracks by killing Scott. The man that was hot on her trail.

Yet, she only says goodbye to one person before she goes on the run.

Mary, her 'roommate' for many years.

They end up leaving together.

The studio said it was a friendship built on lies but was still strong after everything. While Hermione and Y/n knew what it really was.

The girls have on-screen chemistry better than most male and female actors, the papers had said it paid off that they were such good friends off-screen.

"If it bothers you that much Lily, I'll go home after lunch. May I ask why with the urgency?" Y/n asks as she shuts the filing cabinet and Hermione freezes as she pretends to think of a reason.

"I'll explain everything to you later, alright?" She replies and Y/n nods with a bit of hesitation, before ultimately verbally agreeing.

"Okay, Lily."

Y/n then walks out of frame, leaving Hermione to act as if she was thinking deeply for a few moments as the camera zooms in closer.

Her eyes just flickered up and down Y/n's body as she stood a few feet away, it took everything in Hermione to not smile and ruin this take.

Y/n didn't smile, but the glint in her eye showed her that she was enjoying their little staring contest.

"Cut! Great job everyone let's take five and do the next scene with Y/n and Joseph, then will do another take of this after!" the director yells as a bell rings for their dismissal.

A few assistants crowded around the girls as they were pulled towards their chairs for any hair or makeup fixes.

It was late into the night, and they were behind schedule due to a broken camera last week. So today everyone was forced to pull an all-nighter and come back the day after next.

Hermione loved an all-night shooting, it happened once in a blue moon, but when it did?

Y/n came home with her.

No paparazzi would be staying out late to catch them holding hands inside her car, where they could hear the giggles as she chased Y/n into her home and kept the lights off.

Where they would worship each other without fear of being caught by unwanted eyes.

Oh, Hermione loved all-nighters.

——————

When the set was closed and everyone had gone home for the...well it was 3 A.M, so morning. Hermione parked her car behind the studio and waited for Y/n to jump in, the walls were high around the Hollywood set buildings, and even bushes blocked anyone dumb enough to try and climb it for a rare photo.

Hermione loved it when the entire studio was almost vacant, besides the security that watched the gates. They never cared that Y/n had been coming with Hermione to set every morning, or that they left at night together too.

Everyone knew they lived close by, so in their heads, it was just carpooling with a good friend. Of course, the tabloids wouldn't see it that way during all-nighters like this. Where she didn't drop her off at home, or at times where they didn't even make it out of Hermione's garage.

She couldn't keep her hands off her all-American girlfriend, and Y/n couldn't stay away from the British Vixen.

Y/n emerged from the shadows beside the building and quickly slipped into the passenger side of Hermione's 1957 Chevy Bel Air.

"Hello my darling" the Brit whispers as she looks around for any prying eyes, then kisses her cheek softly.

"Hiya doll, did you have as much fun as I did on set?" Y/n asks as Hermione starts the car and drives off to the exit, her hands were aching to touch her like she wants to.

"Very much, but Joseph needs to back off" Hermione mutters as they turn into a small alleyway between two set buildings. The windows were down, the air softly blowing on their faces.

"Awe, still jealous that he grabbed my ass?" Y/n snickered as her girlfriend groaned softly as she thought back on the action from earlier today.

They both knew that if they wanted to get far in this world, they had to let a few hands touch them without objection.

The women could only hold back slaps to the face when this happened, and act as if it didn't bother them.

Of course, when Hermione watched their male lead grab her girlfriend's ass, it took everything in her not to stake her claim in front of everyone.

"I'm not jealous. I'm pissed" Hermione responded as they pulled up to the security guard, who smiled at them as he came up to the passenger side window.

"Get some rest Ms.Granger and Ms.Y/l/n," He says as they smile back at him as he walks towards the gate and opens it for them.

The car crept out into the street and then turned to the start of their way home. Y/n looked out towards the high-end clothing stores, their display windows dim, but you could see the shine the fashion produced.

"I'm still surprised you haven't gone shopping during our lunch breaks," Hermione says as she catches her stare, to which Y/n chuckled in response.

"No time, you know our 'breaks' are only fifteen minutes" Y/n sighed as she looked back at Hermione. They were stopped at a red light, the glow of all the street lights illuminated Hermione's face as they stared at one another.

"I've missed you as of late my love" Hermione whispers as she rests her hand on the space between them, her palm open and ready.

(A/N: this was in the days when there was no center console in between the front seats so you could literally lay someone down in the front and have a grand old time lol)

"We've seen each other almost every day for the last three months" Y/n replied as she slipped her fingers between her girlfriends. Hermione squeezed slightly and hummed in dissatisfaction at her lover's answer.

"I know, but if I had it my way, I'd hug and kiss you after every scene and performance you gave" Hermione whispers as she notices the streets are empty, no cars coming or going, or even a single person walking the lonely sidewalks.

"You just want to find every reason to touch me" Y/n whispers back as Hermione looks around them one last time before through the car in park and unbuckling herself, leaning over their intertwined hands.

"If God told me touching you was a sin, I’d go down to hell with a grin on my face" Hermione states as she kisses Y/n's neck, leaving a bright red lipstick stain in its wake.

A guilty moan slipped past Y/n's lips as her girlfriend happily nipped and kissed her sensitive skin like a hungry mosquito.

"Hermione" Y/n warns as she feels a hand land on her knee and slowly trail under her skirt. Her eyes fluttered closed and snapped open multiple times as she kept watch for any signs of life.

Hermione's fingers traced the lining of Y/n's undergarments, earning another moan as she leaned her head back.

Suddenly Hermione backed away and put the car back in drive, but her hand grasped Y/n's thigh and pulled her close enough to not raise any suspicion.

Y/n looked back up and realized a car was coming up behind them, thankfully the light turned green and they were on their way.

Hermione was now only less than an arm's length away, which worked in her favor as she hooked her fingers around the fabric covering Y/n from the greedy hands of her girlfriend.

"Hermione are you-"

"Shhh, just enjoy our extended ride home" she states as she pulls her garments away enough to slip her hand under it with less resistance.

Hermione kept her nails short, which was unusual for most actresses, but she cared about her Y/n more than nonsensical questions from the media about her defiance of social norms.

If only they knew.

Her fingers slowly circle Y/n's clit as she turned onto a back street neighborhood.

Y/n's legs spread slightly as Hermione trailed down her folds, teasingly slipping the tip of her finger inside her, and then removing it swiftly.

Hermione just chuckled as Y/n moaned softly, and looked at her with pleading eyes as they cruised down the quiet neighborhood.

"Be quiet my love, as much as I want the world to hear how good I make you feel, you have to be quiet" she whispers as trailed back up to her clit and gently pinched it. Y/n hissed and gave a glare to the side of her head, to which her girlfriend chuckled in response as she stared at the road.

The pads of her fingers seemed to apologize for her as she soothed the bundle of nerves with small circular motions.

Hermione slowly halted at the stop sign and let her eyes fall onto her beautiful co-star as she tried to bite her lips from moaning in pleasure.

"Lay your head on my lap" she whispers as she retracts her hand and lets Y/n lay down on her thighs.

Hermione could see her underwear had fallen below her knees, peaking out under the skirt, showing the beautiful purple she was wearing,

The Brit's hand snuck back under the fabric of her skirt in desperation, feeling her fingers begin to coat with her slick as she traced her folds again.

"Please Hermione" Y/n pleads in a hushed voice as she grasps the seat in agony. Hermione cooed in response as she turned onto a long narrow street, finally slipping two fingers into her lover's aching entrance.

A moan got caught in Y/n's throat as her head was thrown back in pleasure, a hand grasping Hermione's shirt so she wouldn't crack the leather of her car.

Hermione stalled her fingers and buried them deep inside of her favorite girl, watching from the corner of her eye as she squirmed under her touch.

"Fucking tease!" Y/n whispers as Hermione curls and separates her digits inside her. A soft chuckle left the woman's throat as she continued her sweet torture.

"But you feel so nice around me, can you blame my passion for you?" Hermione asks as her eyes darted around the road, feeling her cunt quiver around her fingers.

"Are you going to cum just from my motionless hand?" She teases as she curls them again, Y/n's mouth hangs open from the sensation.

"You know, if we had soundproof dressing rooms, I'd fuck you senseless during every break. No matter how short it was." Hermione admits as she begins thrusting her fingers at a slow and calculated pace.

"W-We'd never get anything done" Y/n replies between her groans, to which her girlfriend chuckled again.

"Oh my love, if you weren't so headstrong about acting, I would have moved us out to the middle of nowhere by now, so I can have you like this all the time" she whispers as the car rumbles over a pothole, causing the vibrations to stimulate Y/n for a moment.

"Oh god" She whispers as Hermione's pace speeds up slightly, quiet lewd sounds fill the space. If anyone got close enough to the open windows, they would certainly hear the heavenly noises.

Jazz played from the only lit house on the block, tons of people stood within its walls as the starlights drove by.

"Would you like to host parties if our kind is ever allowed to love freely?" Hermione asks as the curling of her fingers becomes more constant with each thrust.

Y/n tried to respond, but the curve of Hermione's palm began to rub against her clit in delicious circular motions.

"You'd be a cute little host, I'd smile proudly as you greeted our friends and introduced me as your lover" Hermione whispered as they turned onto a street that was a straight shot to their homes.

Y/n's hands grasped Hermione's forearm as the pit of her stomach began to tighten familiarly. It took everything in the woman not to dig her nails into her girlfriend's skin, knowing that the bruises would be hard to cover up with makeup.

"You're going to cum already? I was ready to drive around the block a few times" Hermione hums, but the smug and teasing tone didn't slip past Y/n's fading coherent thoughts.

The Brit quickened her pace, noticing cars she recognized all too well, that were parked around the corner to their homes. Also her hand was starting to cramp at this angle.

Fuck, why are they out here?

Paparazzi are waiting nearby, ready to pounce on the women unprovoked from the open windows. She should stop, and just ask Y/n to, loudly, ask her in for a quick drink in case any cameras were watching them.

But, Hermione was too enamored by the fact that only she could bring Y/n to this state. Feeling her body squeeze and tremble around her fingers was delightfully maddening.

Hermione continued down to Y/n's home, they had maybe less than a minute.

"Cum for me my love, we're almost to your house" Hermione whispered as her palm slapped against her clit in a frantic motion from her thrusting.

Y/n's mouth hung open as she uncontrollably dug her nails into her lover's skin. Oops.

Hermione watched from the corner of her eye as Y/n's legs shook and a generous amount of slick covered her fingers, dripping onto the fabric of Y/n's skirt.

"F-Fuck!" Y/n moaned quietly as her head pressed into her girlfriend's lap, and her back arched from the pleasure. Dots of white poked holes in her vision as she stared at the ceiling of the car.

"I think some of our 'friends' are waiting for us." Hermione commented as she reluctantly pulled away her hand and sucked them clean. So she wouldn't ruin her steering wheel...obviously.

Y/n didn't even give herself time to recompose, slipping her underwear back around her hips and sitting back up. Even after a quick session in the car, Y/n still looked as if she had just come out of makeup.

A bright red lipstick stain shined through the dark.

"Don't forget my signature on your neck" Hermione chuckled as Y/n quickly rubbed away the stain, not wanting to take any chances with the journalists.

Hermione had been right, when the headlights hit the tree line when she was turning into Y/n's driveway, two photographers were waiting for a chance at a picture of Y/n or herself bringing home a costar.

Technically it would be true, but they would just say that they two shared drinks after a long day on set. Oh to be so naïve.

The girls acted as if they didn't see them, instead as Y/n got out of the car, she asked her 'friend' in for a cocktail and to talk about some...unfinished business.

Hermione accepted and shut off her car, locking it behind her as she got out. They could hear the clicking of cameras as they walked to the front door. It took everything in the English woman to flip them off.

They slipped into the house with ease, Hermione watched Y/n lock the door and flip on the living area light. She signaled her to follow, and they instead went upstairs and stepped into her bedroom.

It was pitch black, but Hermione knew this room better than her own, so she easily made her way onto the bed.

Somewhere in the darkness, she could feel Y/n's eyes on her, Hermione then felt a hand start from her calf and trail up to between her thighs.

Goosebumps were left in its wake.

"Let me return the favor, won't you Granger?"

#harry potter #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #lesbian #fanfic #fluff #smut

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