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romanteacism · 5 days ago

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A Butterfly and A Dragon’s Flight Chapter One

Chapter Summary: New friends, foes, and feelings Word Count: 8,413 Warnings: Protective Aemond, Unwanted Advances From Aegon, Bullying

Life is an odd thing, isn’t it? No matter how hard you try to pave the path you wish for, no matter the best-laid plans, there will always be something beyond your control. Neither your stubbornness nor your will can undo what is set as destiny, and you can either accept what is meant to be or deny it with all your might until the fateful day comes when all your resistance will turn moot.

Elinora’s life had been made for her. From the moment of her birth, she was simply waiting for instructions on how to proceed. Her actions were always premeditated; her will was basically non-existent. It sounds tragic, yes, but she never had complaints. How could she? It was all she knew. A puppet cannot complain about their puppeteer.

You really shouldn’t be that concerned about her. Those strings were the only thing that had kept her upright— if it weren't for them, she wouldn’t be her.

As the only daughter of House Tyrell, a multitude of things are expected of Elinora. She may not be royalty, but with her father being the lord of one of the great houses, she was close enough. Many eyes were upon her, the prayed-for daughter of her lord father— the miracle babe, for her mother was well in her years, and all doubted her ability to conceive once more. On the day of Elinora’s birth, a feast that could battle the royals was made in her honor. As they celebrated, she cried in her father’s arms as they paved her life and sealed her fate, bounding Elinora to a son of House Velaryon, a promise for which she will never understand the reason.

Elinora grew up well-loved by her family, however restricted she was. They locked her in the high walls of Highgarden, forbidding her to see a prolonged view of the outside world. Forever sheltered and secured in her father’s house. With such restrictions, it was expected that she would grow up naive and clueless about how life truly works; perhaps she was, but she had gone to great lengths to at least know something about how the world works, preparing the best she could for the day when she would eventually be let out of her cage.

That day came sooner than she expected. The day just after her sixteenth birthday, it was revealed to her that her family was expected at court. Elinora tried her best to reign in her excitement, to keep her decorum and not dance around her chambers in glee, for she would finally see a glimpse of the world beyond the stained glass windows of their home.

“Contain yourself, sister,” Elinora’s brother smiled as she practically bounced on her seat in the wheelhouse. They finally left the city gates of Highgarden; she had never gone beyond them before. “I’ve never been this far away from home,” Elinora said in great excitement as she peeked through the holes of the wheelhouse, finally seeing life beyond the walls that had kept her enclosed. Her brother, Edward, breathed out a laugh in amusement, a sliver of guilt in him at how sheltered they had kept her, but as they often said, it was all for the best.

“Why are we called to court?” She questioned as she placed a pillow on her lap. “I’m not entirely certain as well,” Her brother lied, protecting her from the actual matter of urgency. They had done well to censor all violence from Elinora, and the looming threat of an upcoming war was another matter they had shielded her from. “Is Ser Gwayne to come as well?” Elinora could not help but question about the knight. They had seen him only a fortnight ago, Ser Gwayne usually venturing to Highgarden for leisure to ride his noble steed, and at those occurrences, Elinora would be waiting by the window for him— running down the stairs of her home to greet the knight from Old Town. However shielded she was from the world, her family indulged her with a fair few trusted people around her, one of them being Ser Gwayne, one of the most chivalrous and noble knights in the Reach.

Edward smiled sadly, “I’m afraid not; I’ve spoken to Prince Daeron only two days before, and they had no plans to venture to the capitol.” Elinora nodded slowly; a tad saddened as she expected to see familiar faces as they came to King’s Landing, but the prospect of seeing something new overpowered whatever disappointment she felt.

After five days of travel through the King’s Road, House Tyrell arrived at the Red Keep, the Hand of the King and his daughter, the Queen, welcoming them. “Lord and Lady Tyrell, welcome to King’s Landing,” The Lord Hand greeted with a nod of his head. Elinora readily curtsied before the two, along with her brother, who bowed before their host.

Elinora could not help but stare at the queen, especially at her hair. Ser Gwayne had always told her that her hair reminded him of his sister’s, only that hers was a tad darker, and the curls were looser. “Lady Elinora, it would seem my brother was not at all lying when he sang praises of your beauty,” A blush was quick to creep up the girl’s cheek; unable to reply, she could only curtsy once more— entirely flattered by their words. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said quietly, turning to her brother, who only rolled his eyes in tease.

As they escorted Elinora to her chambers, she felt a sense of independence as her brother did not trail her to the East wing of the keep, nor were her chambers set near her parent’s, unlike in High Garden. She was completely out of their watch for the time. It was new, and it was thrilling. As she set her gaze on her assigned chambers, Elinora found it quite modest and simple… perhaps a bit bare, but she did not wish to dwell on such matters because, for the first time in her life, she was without immediate supervision. The lack of fine furniture was a small price to pay for independence.

Elinora stepped forward towards the balcony of her chambers, looking upon the view of the city, which was entirely different from Highgarden. Absent were the overwhelming green and empty lands; instead, what was before her was the faded reds of clay roofs and the differing heights of houses and buildings. Everything was different! And for now, she quite liked that.

“How are your chambers?” Her father asked as they had an intimate family dinner in their chambers. “It quite… quaint,” She answered, not wanting to be seen as ungrateful as she was presented with a practically bare chamber; it shouldn’t really matter; it was only meant for sleeping; she has the Red Keep to explore! Her brother, however, scoffed. “I had always thought the Red Keep would be this extravagant place, but why are the guest rooms dressed so drab? For gods’ sake, they cannot even provide fur! Do they expect wool to keep us warm at night?” Edward complained, but Elinora bit back her tongue as she was taught that a proper young lady should never utter such criticism, especially when it comes to their hosts.

“Well, it’s a good thing we came prepared. I’ll have your squires and maids make up your rooms more comfortably.” Their mother decided. Elinora pursed her lips as she waited for the end of her mother and father’s conversation to speak, and when there was a pause, she hesitated to utter her question. “Father… how long are we to stay here?” She questioned quietly. “No more than two moons, I would think,” He replied as he took a chalice into his hands. Elinora nodded, another question leaving her lips. “But why are we here?”

Looks between her brother and their parents were exchanged, still not wanting to reveal the true reason for their coming to the capitol. Because to reveal it would mean they would break the bubble of protection and innocence that had kept Elinora in. “Just… business, my darling, the matter of trade.” Elinora’s brow was slightly furrowed, confused as to why it was they who managed the mere business of trade when another trusted subject of theirs could see the matter. Instead of questioning it, she merely nodded. Ladies should never ask questions upon questions, she reminded herself.

When the next day came, Elinora walked along the garden arm in arm with her brother. They were the the newest additions to the court, capturing the curious gazes of the seasoned members.

“Who are they?” Elinora heard a lady dressed in a dark blue gown question her friends as Elinora and Edward passed them. “Son and daughter of Lord and Lady Tyrell,” she heard the faint whisper of another highborn. As the two Tyrells passed, the fluttering hair filled with flowers and the comely face of a girl caught the attention of a silver prince.

Even through his drunken state, Prince Aegon was sober enough to realize that a new pretty prey had come to the dragon’s den. “Who is that?” He questioned with great intrigue, his head turning in another direction just to catch another glimpse of the girl who practically floated about the gardens, butterflies trailing her as the flowers in her hair attracted the pretty insects. “I… I am not quite certain, my prince,” one of his lickspittles that he made knight replied, curious as well about who the girl was. Prince Aegon hummed as his eyes lost view of the girl who turned about a corner and was removed from the prying, curious gazes.

“Why must I go back to my chambers?” Elinora questioned as she paused in the halls, reluctant as her brother began to escort her to the east wing of the Red Keep. “Because I must attend a meeting with Mother and Father, and no one could watch over you,” Elinora felt a pout come to her lips, but she quickly prevented it, knowing it would lead to her being chastised. She wanted to protest, but she knew better than to do so; as always, she only complied and did what she was told.

“What time can I go out then?” She asked, looking at the sun that was barely at its peak, mourning the fine day that would be wasted as she made to stay in her chambers. “When we return from our meeting— come now, you’ll make me late.”

Elinora stood by the balcony of her chambers, looking upon the world she foolishly thought she would come to know. She sighed heavily and was ready to return inside and sleep the day away, for she could never do what she truly wanted to.

Just as she was about to enter her chambers, a great roar caught her attention. Frightened and curious, she peered down below to see what beast had the capacity to roar with such great volume. But the gust of strong wind that had managed to remove some of the flowers in her hair made her head snap upwards just to see the belly of a great beast flying above her.

Elinora was mystified. She had completely forgotten about the dragons that House Targaryen possessed, even though a dragon resided somewhere near Highgarden. As the beast eclipsed the sun, Elinora knew right away who the dragon was; it was Vhagar. “Gods…” She breathed out, unnerved at the sheer size of the dragon that flew above. Elinora squinted her eyes as the dragon managed to disappear within the clouds. She waited a few moments to catch another glimpse of it, but as the clouds began to dissolve and the sun began to shine upon her eyes, Elinora pouted freely and sighed in disappointment as she lost sight of the great beast.

The girl began to settle herself into her bed once more and sleep the day away, but the sound of frantic footsteps in the halls made her do otherwise. Elinora battled with herself for a moment. She was strictly told that she may not leave her chambers until her brother retrieved her, but curiosity and boredom were gnawing at her. Surely, they would not know if she stepped foot into the halls, yes? Elinora chewed on her lower lip, her fingers itching to take hold of the door’s handle. She took a deep breath, took a risk, slowly opened the door, and peeked out into the halls.

She caught the sight of green skirts pacing around. She raised her gaze and saw silver hair. She needed no introduction; by the color of the dress alone, she knew it was Princess Helaena. Elinora hesitated for a moment about whether she should open her door wider, but as she caught sight of the frantic face of the princess, she knew she could not leave her in the halls alone.

“Hello,” Elinora said quietly in order not to startle the princess, but however dulcet her tone was, Princess Helaena still flinched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Elinora said in fear, clutching the frame of her door, reluctant to step out. Princess Helaena only looked upon the girl, swallowing thickly and giving a hesitant nod. When Elinora heard no reply from the princess, she dared to speak once more. “Is anything the matter?”

Helaena hesitated at first; the girl before her was unfamiliar, and she did not do well with strangers— or anyone, really. “Oh, forgive me, Princess. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Elinora Tyrell. My family and I only arrived yesterday.” The girl curtsied lowly.

“I lost my spider.” Princess Helaena revealed, and Elinora slowly stood straight. “It slipped out of my chambers,” The princess added, her violet eyes glancing towards the door next to Elinora’s chambers. “What did it look like, princess? Perhaps I can help you to find it.” Elinora offered, disregarding her fear of disobedience as she finally stepped foot out of her chambers.

Princess Helaena looked before the girl in surprise, doubting her offer, but as Elinora began to pace around the halls, her eyes searching for a spider, Princess Helaena realized she was sincere. “It has a pattern… its body is yellow and black,” Princess Helaena responded. “Oh… is it a garden spider, princess?” Elinora questioned, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ears as she knelt on the ground and looked under a stone bench located near a wall.

“Y-yes… I— how do you know that?” Princess Helaena questioned, astonished as Elinora already knew what kind of spider she was referring to. “I often spend my time in the gardens of our home, and I would encounter all kinds of bugs and insects during my hours spent there,” Elinora explained with a small smile. “They’re fascinating creatures, spiders, but many misunderstand and are frightened of them just because of their appearance,” Elinora mumbled as she caught sight of greenery by the end of the hall.

Princess Helaena felt a twitch come to her lips as she heard Elinora’s words. “You’re quite right,” she said quietly, following in Elinora’s footsteps. Elinora’s brows furrowed in focus as she spotted the spider perched on the leaf of a potted plant, laying out her palm and gently blowing onto the leaf to urge the spider to move into her hand. “Do you have a box for it, princess?” She questioned. Princess Helaena was too amazed as she finally met someone who was not disturbed by her crawling critters. “Oh, yes, of course— right through here.”

As Elinora entered the princess’ chambers, she refrained to let her eyes curiously go about the room. Princess Helaena led her to a table under a shelf with multiple dividers displaying her collection of insects and bugs. “I had more before, but some died, and some I needed to set free because it frightened my children.” Princess Helaena said sadly as she closed the lid of her garden spider’s box. “Do you have children of your own, Lady Elinora?” The princess questioned. “I am not yet married, your highness.”

“Oh, I apologize for assuming,” Princess Helaena said with an embarrassed blush creeping up her cheeks. “No need to apologize, princess,” Elinora said sincerely. A silence befell the two girls, both timid and shy to speak first. A princess picked at the skin of her fingertips, and a girl fiddled with the ends of her hair. “I— would you like to join me for tea in the gardens?” The princess asked nervously, not accustomed to inviting others in her custom. But as a smile crept up to Elinora’s lips and she nodded her head almost a bit too eagerly, the nerves in Princess Helaena settled, and she walked side by side to the gardens with her new acquaintance.

“Brother, there you are!” Aegon greeted as he spotted his younger brother in the halls, newly arrived from his morning dragon ride. “What do you want, Aegon,” Aemond asked, already exasperated. “I always take you for someone who is well versed about the going ons in court, as well as the courtiers…” Aemond raised a brow at his brother, who circled around him, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, all I’m trying to say is, could you tell me who she is,” Aemond frowned as he turned to where his brother pointed, seeing his sister in the gardens seated across from a girl who he, too, did not know.

He observed as two girls quietly laughed between themselves. The unknown girl wore a pale turquoise dress with delicate flower embroidery. Her hair was the color of fallen leaves when the weather was starting to grow cold, and her loose curls reached her waist. Her face was soft, her lips were plump, her nose in a snub, and her eyes… her eyes were the color of jade; eyes that contained lightness and naivety.

“Do you know her?” Aegon asked, growing greatly impatient as the mystery surrounding the girl who had butterflies flying over her head was consuming him. “I— I do not know her.” Prince Aemond finally answered, disappointing his brother.

Elinora felt a stare burning through her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She tried her best to listen to what the princess was speaking of, but as she lifted her gaze, she locked eyes with a lilac one that stared at her from above the gardens. Elinora needed no introduction to know who was the man who held her gaze so intently and coldly. She was uncertain what to do, so she offered him a small, kind smile, just as she was told to do whenever she was to lock eyes with anyone. However, the smile on her lips quickly disappeared as Prince Aemond only blinked at her and looked away, his movements cold and dismissive.

“Do they always follow you around?” The princess questioned, which brought the girl out of her reprieve. Elinora blinked a few times, “Pardon, princess?” She asked, not certain what the princess was referring to. “The butterflies,” Princess Helaena smiled as she reached out her finger for one of the pretty insects to land upon it. That brought back the smile on Elinora’s lips. “Quite often, princess… they seem to be attracted to the flowers in my hair.” She smiled fondly. Butterflies had always followed her ever since she was young. At first, she was petrified of them, unaccustomed to the feeling of their tiny legs landing on her skin. But as time passed, she learned to appreciate her little companions.

“Sister?” The familiar voice of her brother drained the color on the girl’s face as she was caught disobeying clear orders from her family. “B-brother, I—“ She greeted with panic in her eyes. “Oh, Princess,” Edward suddenly realized that he and his sister were in the presence of royalty. “Princess Helaena, this is my older brother, Edward,” Elinora smiled through her nerves and introduced her brother.

��A pleasure, princess,” Edwar bowed, and Elinora twiddled with the ends of her hair as there was a stern tone in her brother’s voice that only she could detect. “But if you would excuse us, our parents are searching for my sister,” Edward smiled charmingly and assisted his sister in the direction of their parents' chambers. “Good day, princess,” Elinora smiled and curtsied, and before Princess Helaena could bid farewell, Elinora was already ushered inside the castle walls.

“Did we or did we not give clear orders that you must stay inside your chambers with the door bared until your brother came to retrieve you?” Her mother questioned as Elinora sat on a settee, chastised for her actions. “You have, mother,” She said lowly, eyes staring at the rug beneath her feet. “Why then did you disobey us?” She questioned harshly, and Elinora fiddled further with the ends of her hair.

“I— it was just that I heard shuffling outside my chambers, and I peeked out only to see Princess Helaena distressed because she had lost something of hers, so I offered her help to find it— and when we found what she lost, she invited me for tea; I couldn't decline because she might grow offended,” Elinora reasoned, eyes pleading at her mother and father for them to no longer grow cross at her.

Her family exchanged looks, quietly deciding how to proceed. “There are multitudes of dangers here, Elinora… we are not insisting you stay in your chambers just because we wish it; it is for your protection,” Her father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I thought it would be safer here…” She whispered but quickly regretted it as her mother raised a brow at her for speaking out of turn.

“This is the last time you do something such as this, understood?” She was asked sternly, and she mechanically nodded, knowing that no other response from her would be taken kindly. “Now, if Princess Helaena invites you to tea once more or any other outing, you must always tell us first. Agreed?” Her father questioned, his tone more mellow than her mother’s, and she nodded once more. “Good. Now, let your brother escort you to your chambers. Your maids shall come in a while to ready for the banquet.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Edward sighed heavily as his sister was rendered sullen. “We just wish to keep you safe,” He added and took hold of his sister’s hands. “But it is safe here… look at the other ladies of the court; they are not made to stay in their chambers— they go about freely; why can I not do the same?” She asked the same question she had been asking them for the past ten years but was never given a direct answer.

“Even so, you never know when danger will come. We cannot risk it— we cannot risk you.” Edward said softly, “You are my dearest sister— the prayed-for daughter of our father, the miracle child of our mother… you cannot blame us if we are too cautious when it comes to you.” Guilt was fast to grow in Elinora’s heart. This happened all the time. As she began to hold animosity toward the suffocating treatment bestowed upon her, just a small reminder of their love for her made her forget that she was caged.

“I’m sorry, brother. I was just… excited,” She said, and Edward nodded in understanding, quietly ushering his sister into her chambers without another word said about her transgression that morning.

Elinora felt her mother place her hand on her arm, her little signal to indicate that Elinora was slouching and she must straighten her posture. The girl mechanically did it, readjusting the small, fictitious smile on her lips as well. On her other side was where she sat, Lord Edward sitting across from Princess Helaena; however, the seat next to the princess was empty. Elinora stared blankly upon the feast, starved, but they were still waiting on the arrival of the king.

The girl had the urge to speak, to join in on a conversation that was exchanged by those who attended the small banquet, but since none spoke to her and she was trained to not speak unless spoken to, she said naught a word and her opinions and thoughts were often left unsaid and unheard by anyone; just as always.

When the grating sound of a chair being scraped across the stone floors echoed in the room, Elinora raised her gaze only for her eyes to be captured by lilac. Elinora blinked but did not have the strength to look away as the cold gaze of Prince Aemond pierced through her. She remembered how she offered him a smile in the gardens, and he simply dismissed it, a small blow to her pride. She wanted to look away and give him the same dismissal he had bestowed upon her, but her manners could not let her do so. Instead, she gave him another small, friendly smile, hoping he would acknowledge it. He did not. Instead, the prince simply broke their gazes and shifted his gaze to the others present at the long table.

Elinora fiddled with her hair once more, not accustomed to being so blatantly ignored. In other instances, her smile would always be returned with either a smile as well or a nod of acknowledgment; Prince Aemond offered her nothing.

“Lady Elinora, I hear you are acquainted with our youngest brother.” At the mention of her name, Elinora looked up and was faced with another set of violet eyes that held a look of something unbeknownst to her. “We are, my prince. We would often encounter Prince Daeron during banquets in the Reach— and he often joins your uncle, Ser Gwayne, for a ride on the hill next to Highgarden,” Elinora replied with a small smile.

“So you know him quite well?” Prince Aegon questioned further, leaning closer to the table to be somewhat nearer to the girl, who had been his main point of interest since the morning. Elinora did not know what to reply; her lips parted as she thought of an appropriate response. “Well, you know him better than we do, at least,” Prince Aegon added with a laugh, and Elinora could only smile and took hold of her chalice to drink the wine that they provided to clear the block in her throat.

Aemond turned to his brother, a furrow forming on his brows as Aegon shamelessly eyed the girl before them with lust and intrigue in his eyes. Ever since he had laid his eye on the girl in the gardens with butterflies flying over her head. Aemond was intrigued as to how quickly she was earning their sister Helaena’s trust. Helaena rarely, or if ever, had let anyone join her in her midday tea. So, who was this girl who was starting to nestle her way in? Aemond had doubts in him when regards to her— he found her smiles fictitious, forced… deceiving. He was already certain she was infiltrating them; that could not be.

Elinora always gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. She always tends to give others a second chance, so for her, first impressions never truly mattered. This is why, even after Prince Aemond’s boorish regard for her, she never took it to heart, only thinking he was having a difficult day, which caused his blatant disregard. Even the tightest and toughest of seeds could open and bloom into flowers, right? So when Prince Aemond passed the girl who sat with his sister, Elinora once again offered him a friendly smile that she gave to everyone she passed; it was ignored again.

“How long are you and your family to stay here, Lady Elinora?” Princess Helaena asked as she refilled the girl’s cup. Elinora removed her gaze from the departing figure of the prince, who never gave her a sparing glance. “Please, call me Elinora, princess,” She smiled and stirred the tea in her cup. Helaena smiled and gave a small nod, “Then I would insist you to call me just Helaena,” It was an odd occurrence. She had never met a lady or perhaps anyone who did not agitate her— that did not make her nervous or anxious. There was something in Elinora’s constitution that was unlike anything that she had encountered in anyone in court before.

“My father said we are to say two moons princess, though I am not certain if it is accustomed to any changes,” Elinora responded and took a sip of her tea, raising her hand to gently nudge away one of the butterflies that flocked around her once more. Princess Helaena nodded, her mind partially distracted by the fluttering creatures that found Elinora once more.

When noon came, Elinora was left alone once again. The princess had matters to tend to, leaving Elinora alone in the gardens with her only constant companions, the butterflies. She sat on a bench, flowers surrounding her as she read a book. When she was a child, she never liked reading. It was difficult for her to imagine the imagery they possessed. People always say how vivid it was for them when they read books, but for Elinora, it was simply words on a page, unmoving and static. But as she was often restricted to the walls of her home, there was not much to do but read. With that reasoning, she learned to enjoy the written word.

However, now, she was in a new territory. A new place to explore and discover. With that thought, a smile rose to Elinora’s lips. She placed an iris between the bounded paper to mark her page and quickly stood to venture around the Red Keep. She swore to her parents that she would not venture beyond the gardens, but luckily, the gardens of the Red Keep were quite vast. Even though she was still restricted, she felt an odd sense of freedom.

Elinora walked the cobblestoned path and observed the passersby, always presenting them with a kind smile when they met her gaze. Others were taken aback, but most of them returned her smile. Elinora went along the path and past a group of ladies who looked about her age. She gave them a smile, and she felt elated as all of them returned it. However, as she passed them and when they thought she was an earshot away, she heard their sinister and mocking laughs.

“What a freak! Who even is she?” She overheard one of the ladies as her friend. “Did you see how the bugs were swarming her?” Another scoffed. “Now I understand why she was with Princess Helaena— freaks do tend to flock together, don’t they?” That managed to completly wipe away the constant smile on Elinora’s lips.

She was not the only one to hear such snide remarks. Prince Aemond was passing along the gardens as well when he heard such words spewed. As he passed the group of ladies he had gotten used to ignoring, he stared them down with his cold gaze, which effectively cut off their malicious merriment. Aemond walked onwards, catching sight of the girl who left a scent trail of iris and bergamot as well as butterflies. Prince Aemond shook his head to be rid of his thoughts and urge to follow the girl who had warmed her way to his sister’s side; instead, he only turned in another direction and placed greater distance between him and what he saw as an interloper.

“I see Princess Helaena and Lady Elinora are growing acquainted; I am glad.” Ser Criston Cole suddenly said as he padded himself for his and Aemond’s training. Aemond frowned as he twisted his sword. “And why is that?” His tone was cold and harsh. Cole shrugged, “Your sister finally has a friend. Is that not something to be glad about? Even your mother is worried about Helaena’s lonesomeness.” The knight answered as he moved to his attack stance. Aemond rolled his eyes, “You clearly do not feel the same. Why?” Cole questioned. “She an intruder,” Aemond answered, and Cole breathed out a laugh.

“An intruder? She and her family were invited here,” He said, amused at the prince, who was clearly irritated. “Do you not find it odd how quickly she made her way to my sister’s side? She is using her!” He revealed his great concern and genuinely thought Cole would agree with his weak theory. The knight simply let out another laugh. “You do not even know who she is!”

“And you do?” Aemond gritted, and Cole shrugged, “Certainly more than you,” He smirked. “Lady Elinora is not conniving or cunning as you would think. She’s pure— perhaps even naive,” Aemond scoffed and rolled his eyes once more. “I tell the truth. Her family has quite literally encaged her in their home— censored everything cruel and violent from the girl. She had never even ventured outside the wall of the Reach until they went here. For gods’ sake, I hear she’s only restricted in the gardens here as well! She is no threat, Aemond.” The prince did not believe such folly; he instead vowed to himself to reveal to all the true and deceiving nature of the girl that had bothered his thoughts since she had arrived.

Prince Aemond was convinced that no one could be as pure as they say Lady Elinora was, not in this state of this world. All were corrupt and cruel, and he was certain Lady Elinora was as well, and her kind smiles were just a facade to hide the maliciousness in her.

“You’re glum,” Edward observed as he accompanied his sister back to her chambers. He had noticed at dinner that she was too quiet and barely touched her plate, a melancholy in her eyes that was rarely there. Elinora raised her gaze and quickly readjusted her expression to deny her brother’s true statement, but a look on her older brother’s face made her sigh as she knew she could not lie to him. “Am I a… freak?” She lowly and questioned in shame. The snide remarks of the ladies of the court loomed over her thoughts.

Edward frowned at his sister’s question and saw the tell-tale sign in her that if he did not thread carefully, Elinora would burst into tears. “What?” He asked delicately. “Earlier in the gardens, I heard a group of ladies call me a freak because of the butterflies that followed me… but I cannot control it! Am I a freak, brother?” She asked in fear. Edward blinked and pursed his lips. This is what they feared: Elinora being overexposed to the world's cruelties.

“You’re not a freak, sister… those ladies— they were just jesting!” Edward lied, but that didn’t lessen the offense Elinora felt. “It’s not a very nice jest…” She mumbled and twiddled with her hair. “I agree, but you must not take it to heart— that is just the way they are in court… none of their words are true.” Edward sighed, and Elinora chewed on the insides of her cheeks. “Very well…” She sighed and kissed her brother’s cheek before retiring to her chambers.

Prince Aemond sat in the library as usual in the afternoon. He quietly and peacefully read his book and added to his scholarly knowledge. He always liked the library; it was rare for anyone to visit there— it was his sanctuary in the walls of the Red Keep. However, the still silence he relished upon was disturbed by the faint sound of humming. Aemond frowned severely, looking at his surroundings to discover who dared disrupt his peace.

As the humming did not cease, the prince stood from his place and sought out the source. In any other case, the humming would not truly aggravate him, but he had a sense that the humming came from the lips of an intruder. Prince Aemond found her by the back, her fingers trailing the dusted spines of books as she leisurely walked between the towering shelves. Aemond frowned and trailed closer, waiting for her to realize that she was not alone, but he was already an arm’s length away from her, and she still did not realize it.

There was a dead end. Before the two of them, there was another shelf, and the only way out was to return from where one had come. Aemond believed that was where his presence would finally be known, but the girl simply stopped in her tracks and angled her head to observe the high shelf. The prince was not entirely certain what he was doing. He had a very strict schedule that he imposed on himself. He only had a few moments in the day to read at his leisure, and he wasted that time trailing Lady Elinora.

All of a sudden, the prince watched as the girl stood on the tip of her toes and reached her arm up as high as she could to reach the fifth shelf of the bookcase. Elinora breathed in deeply and reached her arm higher as the book she wanted was out of reach. She then had the idea to jump and reach for it, carelessly bouncing and clutching a lower shelf to give herself leverage.

“What are you doing?” A cold and velvet voice asked. Elinora let out a startled squeal and quickly turned, only to be faced with Prince Aemond. She breathed heavily, her cheeks scarlet in fright and embarrassment and her jade eyes wide in fear. “M—my prince, I—“ Elinora breathed out as she battled through her shock and curtsied. “What are you doing?” The prince questioned once more, uncaring that he had frightened the girl.

“I was trying to reach a book,” She explained, her hands cold, reflecting the prince’s attitude towards her. Prince Aemond hummed, “Use a ladder; this is a silent room— you are disturbing the others who are trying to read.” The prince commented, Elinora’s cheeks further turning red in embarrassment. “I… I did not know where the ladder was,” She reasoned; if it were any other case, she would just agree and apologize, but she could not help but defend herself from the prince. She chewed on her cheeks as she watched his lone lilac eye roll at her in ridicule, and a quiet scoff left his thin, pink lips.

They stood there for a moment, neither speaking nor moving until the prince finally decided to return to his spot, but as he moved, Elinora spoke once more. “Might you help me, my prince… you could perhaps reach the book?” She asked delicately at the prince whose back was turned to her. But as he turned, there was an irritated look in his eye, which made her quickly regret her request. “Never mind— I apologize for interrupting you,” She quickly said and curtsied once more, bowing her head.

The prince gritted his jaw, his feet carrying him closer to the girl and his arm reaching upward to the fifth shelf. He took hold of a book and begrudgingly handed it to the girl who peered up at him. “I… It’s actually the one by the right,” She said sheepishly, offering an apologetic smile.

Aemond felt his eye twitch and felt further irritation as he saw her smile once more. He sighed, returned the book, and took the one she was pertaining to. Elinora took it from the prince’s hold, their fingers brushing. One’s hand was cold and calloused, the other warm and gentle. “Thank you,” Elinora smiled gratefully, and the prince only stared upon her with his hard and piercing gaze. The girl did not expect him to give her a verbal response, but perhaps a grunt of acknowledgment, but the prince stayed silent. Only turned and left the library, disregarding the book he was reading before Elinora came.

What gull she has! Instructing the prince to retrieve her book as if he were some squire! Aemond stomped through the hall of his home, his skin ablaze with irritation. Aemond looked toward his fingers that touched hers, disgust in his eye. As he reached his chambers, he sought out his water basin to wash away any reminder of the girl on his skin. But before his hand could touch the water, the prince halted, realizing how ridiculous he was being.

The prince groaned and pushed away the basin in frustration, letting it fall and break on the floor, the fragments of porcelain scattering along his feet. How could this girl get under his skin so quickly? This was the first actual encounter they had besides her giving the prince her smile as he passed by. Why, then, did she unnerve him so? Aemond doubted all; he was never one to trust anyone. It was expected of him to be wary of all who come to court, but never once had he reacted such as this.

Was kindness truly so foreign to him? Had he never truly seen it for him to doubt and distrust those who have even just an ounce of it? The prince shook his head, running his hand through his face as he slumped on his chair, rethinking and trying to find an answer as to why the girl truly bothered him. He found none.

Elinora sat in the gardens with the book acquired by the prince. Her legs swayed as she sat on the bench, and the butterflies flew over her head. “All alone, Lady Elinora?” As she heard her name called, she looked up to see another prince in her presence. “Good day, Prince Aegon,” She greeted and stood, curtsying before the eldest prince of the realm. “Where are your companions? A lady such as yourself should not be here all alone,” The prince smirked as he stepped closer to the girl, but Elinora slyly moved away.

She gave an awkward smile, but the prince was none the wiser, only taking it as an encouragement to step closer to the girl. “I am still yet to make acquaintances in this court, my prince.” She said, glanced behind her, and stepped away further. “Well… I could be your friend,” The prince maliciously smiled, further advancing on the girl who was intent on moving away from him. “That is very kind of you, my prince,” Elinora felt the back of her knees hit the bench she once sat upon; there was no room for her to slyly step away from the prince.

Aegon smirked at that. He used it to his advantage and almost flushed his frame against the girl’s, but Elinora was taken aback and landed atop the bench. “My prince… I— uh,” the girl looked around her surroundings for anyone to intervene as Prince Aegon’s proximity to hers was certainly growing inappropriate.

“Aegon!” A loud voice then boomed and saved Elinora from further distress. The girl looked up, lips parted as she was shocked by the seething sound and thunderous voice. She locked eyes with someone who stood above the gardens. A lilac eye that seethed viciously. Elinora was shocked; she had heard Prince Aemond’s voice only earlier, and it was so… calm. It was cold and calculated, but it was serene and quiet.

Elinora blinked as the younger prince turned to his brother, speaking to him in a language she could not understand. She glanced toward Prince Aegon, irritation evident on his face as he begrudgingly stepped back from Elinora’s personal space. He did not give a reply to his younger brother.

Prince Aegon’s gaze flickered back to the girl, reaching for her hand. “Until then… friend,” he muttered and placed an uncomfortable, wet kiss upon her knuckles that made the girl inwardly cringe. Elinora could not even smile anymore. She held her breath and waited for Prince Aegon to leave so she could wipe away his kiss on her skin.

She returned her gaze upward to where she last saw Prince Aemond, and to her surprise, he was still there, making certain that his brother had truly left. When their eyes met again, the smile returned to Elinora’s lips to show her thanks to the prince who had saved her from such a compromising situation. Just as always, the prince gave no acknowledgment and simply walked off.

“That was kind of you,” Aemond stopped in his tracks as he heard the voice of their family’s most trusted knight behind him. He faced Ser Criston, who glanced towards the girl who was once again reading peacefully in the gardens, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I was not being kind— as you’ve said, Helaena finally found herself a friend. It would be cruel to let our brother make her his new conquest and bereft Helaena of her companion… I was not being kind.” Aemond gritted, overly defensive.

Ser Criston Cole hummed and nodded but did not believe the prince’s words. “Very well then, there is no kindness in you. Now, come, the hand had tasked me to take you to him.”

A few days passed, and Elinora had not encountered Prince Aegon once again, much to her relief. But she did have numerous encounters with Prince Aemond, often passing by the halls or catching him in the gardens. He did not say a single word; he was just there, but Elinora always acknowledged his presence.

The Prince had no reason to be in the places where Lady Elinora was, but what motivated him to trail around the girl was the sole purpose of scaring away his brother. Again, he did not do it out of kindness or any regard towards the girl but rather to save his sister from embarrassment or anguish, as Aegon had decided to make Helaena’s new friend his prey.

Aemond stood in the gardens, pretending to observe shrubbery before him even if he had no care. When a butterfly flew past him, that was how he knew that Lady Elinora was near. He would never admit it, but he grew rather curious about the girl. Two questions pestered him: why do butterflies always surround her, and why does she always smile at him?

Before, if anyone would smile at Aemond, it was either because of cruelty as they were playing a jest on him or through pity as they felt sorry for his lost eye. But with Lady Elinora, it was neither. She simply smiled at him because she wanted to— but why?! Aemond huffed as a butterfly flew closer to his face, raising his arm to effectively swat away the flying insect. It fell to the ground.

“Oh,” he then heard the voice of the girl he was just thinking about. The prince turned, and he expected her to curtsy before him as she always did, but she unexpectedly went to his side and crouched to take the fallen butterfly into her hands. Aemond met her jade eyes, disbelief in her orbs at what he had done.

“My prince… I know they might irritate you, but you did not need to harm them,” She muttered as she inspected closer that flailing butterfly in her hands. Aemond rolled his eye, irritation quickly growing in him. He wanted to scoff at her in ridicule, but he refrained. “It’s just a butterfly,” Aemond said but was taken aback by the small scowl that was on the girl’s face. He had never seen her scowl before; he had gotten used to only receiving her smiles. Elinora could find no appropriate reply to the prince’s words; all she could do was walk away.

Aemond raised a brow as the girl turned her back to him, his feet carrying him to follow her wherever she may go. He followed her to the table where she and Helaena had their tea earlier that day, a squire at the ready. “Could you please get me a jar for this butterfly? And… and could you poke holes at the lid?” She requested, and the squire was quick to nod and carry out her request.

Aemond watched as she placed a sugar cube on a teacup and poured a small amount of water to make a concentrate. The prince once again rolled his eye as he realized what she was to do. She dipped her finger in the sweet water and delicately brought it towards the butterfly, who weakly clung to her sugar-coated digit. “Just let it be; it would have died by the end of the week anyway.” The prince sighed and stepped closer to the girl, her frown never leaving her face.

Elinora took in a deep breath. “That is precisely the point, my prince. They’ve only have a week to live, and you further took that short time away from them,” She said quietly, partly in disbelief of herself as she uttered the words. She had gotten used to always staying silent and letting such comments go about— never defending herself or the things she loved. Aemond was surprised once more; he half expected her to be passive. To let his comment be and not give him a reply.

The squire returned with haste with the jar Elinora had requested. The girl thanked him as he handed her the jar. Prince Aemond sighed in aggravation again as Elinora moved to pick the heads of cornflowers to make a bed made out of their petals in the jar. “You need not follow me, my prince… especially if you are only here to pass judgment on my actions,” She whispered the second part. Elinora rarely felt irritation— and anger even more rare, but as of now, she could feel it simmering inside her.

“I only pass judgment because what you are doing is quite… ridiculous.” Elinora froze; her eye twitched as she felt the simmering anger in her come to a full boil that was to spill over. She bit back her tongue, gently placed the butterfly in the jar, and closed it. Her back was turned to the prince, and she took a deep, calming breath before facing him. When she did, there was a cruel, teasing smirk on his lips. The first time she actually saw him without his usual scowl. “Good day, Prince Aemond.” She gritted and quickly walked away, leaving the prince to smirk to himself as he found great amusement at the girl who initially thought was only capable of smiling, scowling at him, and stomping away.

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writingoddess1125 · 1 year ago

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Luffy Finally realizes he Loves you!

Pure teeth rotting fluff

Buy me a Ko-Fi

• Was sitting with his crew and talking all about thinks in their past that they enjoyed and brings you up.

• "Oh yeah! Then my best friend (Y/N)! They are back at the village I grew up in and they always supported me! Even gave me the food and boat I uses to leave to start this amazing adventure!"

• He talks about your cooking, how you'd always pack him a lunch. How you smile so much and make sure he was okay, especially when him and his grandfather argued.

• Sanji and the rest of the crew raise an eyebrow at hearing Luffy babble on and on about you

• "Wow, They sound amazing. Gotta meet then one day" Sanji jokes, taking another drag of his cigarette. "They sound like a real beauty"

• Luffy couldn't help but get a very odd feeling st hearing Sanji call then a beauty. Like he got punched but on the inside this time-

• "Yeah, They are pretty I guess. But I like how nice they are, They and Shanks showed me what good people are truly like!"

• Nami giggled at this. She knew attraction like the back of her hand and the way Luffy described you, this was the closest she had ever heard of him even understanding attraction to anyone.

"Luffy, It sounds like you're in love with them?" Nami teased.

• "What! No no they are just.. Wonderful-" He pauses, Thinking over Nami's words. He had always cared about you- a lot! And always having a picture of you being by his side when he became pirate king anyway. You were just always ment to be there, and if it hadn't been for you taking care of your mother he was sure you would have come Sailing with him.

• Usopp laughing also at this as he could practically see the gears starting to turn in his head. "This is golden!" He hollered. Earning Nami smacking the back of his head. "....Am I in love with (Y/N)?..." Luffy pondered- Zoro who had been 'sleeping' against the wall but heard the whole conversation opened a single eye

• "From the sounds of it.. Yes-" Zoro deadpanned, Deciding to return to his nap. Luffy face turning a red color before he gave a loud laugh. Practically bouncing in his seat "If that's the case! Set sail for Foodha Village! I gotta go get (Y/N)!"

• You would be working at your mother's little supply shop, Assisting in restocking some important supplies when you hear a ruckus outside as everyone starts shouting in glee. Stepping out you see a massive ship either a rams head on the front-

• Marveking at it for only a moment before hearing a loud voice that was all to familiar "(YYYY/NNNNN)!!!!"

• Looking to see Luffy, brightly smiling on the ship with a small crew next to him. You couldn't help but smile widely at seeing your childhood friend and crush. Waving at him proudly

• "(Y/N)!! I gotta tell you something!!" Luffy yelled, Not even waiting for the ship to fully dock before he stretched his way to the docks and ran towards you. Much to your horror as he could have fallen into the water

• "L-Luffy you should have waited to do-" However where cut off as Luffy lofted you up with ease and laughed proudly

• "IM IN LOVE WITH YOU (Y/N)!! BECOME A PART OF MY CREW!!"

#x reader #monkey d. luffy #one piece luffy #straw hat luffy #luffy x reader #luffy x you #monkey d. luffy x reader #one piece imagine #one peice x reader #one piece live action

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satansdarlin · 26 days ago

Text

Blue stained glass

While I work on the fourth chapter of a full deck of cards I also decided to write for another one of my boys! Welcoming Kurt Wagner to the stage! Apologies for any bad German, I'm still learning it and often forget that it is a gendered language so please forgive me.

MDNI

Rating: E

Word count: 8.3k

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x shy!artist!fem!reader

Warnings: reader being kinda stalkerish but not with bad intentions, implied that some of the students have harmless crushes on Kurt, Kurt being a flirt, smut! Because I missed writing it, Oral (fem receiving), PiV, mentions of Kurt's faith, you wife that man up!, pregnancy. Not beta read!

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

Golden light trickled in through the curtains as the sun set behind the school. The smell of dragon's blood incense wafted around the room in delicate wisps of smoke. The only sounds were the slight breeze outside and the dragging of bristles across canvas. You sat on the wooden stool, a slight hunch in your back you'd need to correct later with stretches. Your gaze followed along as you drew blue across the canvas. Blue had become a vital part of all your recent works, and you knew exactly why. Whenever you thought of art, flashes of blue fur, a spaded tail, the smell of sulfur, a silver cross, and a mischievous laugh filled your mind. You wouldn't call it obsession or infatuation. He was your muse. Not that he knew. How could you tell your teammate that he gave you such powerful inspiration? So the portfolio filled to the brim with artworks of just him remained hidden away under your bed.

Kurt Wagner. Everyone loved him. He was a friend worth keeping, made everything fun, always had the best ideas to keep the students entertained, and loved to chatter. Even Logan enjoyed his company from time to time. Kurt just had a way with people, with mutants. A few months back, you had a solo mission with him. It was awkward at first—the shy, quiet artist of the school and the impish chatterbox didn't know how to approach one another. In the end, the mission had concluded in giggles and soft-spoken words. Kurt was wonderful. That's why you couldn't understand why he kept insisting on spending time with you of all people. You were reserved, shy, introverted—the exact opposite of Kurt.

You had put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on your door before starting, hoping it would deter visitors. It did. Well, anyone who saw the sign didn't bother you; the same could not be said for the blue fuzzy imp. He didn't see it, to be fair. He had just gotten home from taking some students to the mall for shopping and wanted to show you the paints he had found, so he teleported. The smell of sulfur and the familiar BAMF sound filled your room, making your eyes widen comedically as you stared at the canvas. A painting of Kurt praying in a church with blue stained glass—one he was most certainly not supposed to see.

"Mein Freund, you would not believe the gift I have found for you— ah," his pleasant accent-tinted voice stalled as he gazed at your shape and then the painting before you. His eyes widened and filled with glee. "Oh mein Gott! Is that me? It's... it's—" he struggled to find the English word for a moment before settling on, "herrlich."

You stammered shyly as he walked up behind you, gazing at the painting with a smile that made your insides flutter like a thousand baby butterflies had hatched. "I... erm... yes, it's you, but it's not finished," you spoke hesitantly.

"Not finished?" Kurt moved closer, his tail swaying gently behind him in that way it did when he was truly excited about something. "But it's already so beautiful! The way you captured the light through the windows..." He leaned in, careful not to disturb your workspace, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I had no idea you were watching me pray."

Your cheeks burned hot. "I... I wasn't. Not really. I just... sometimes I sketch you when you're around the mansion, and I remembered how peaceful you looked that one time I passed by the chapel..." You trailed off, realizing you might be revealing too much.

Kurt's expression softened, and a knowing look crossed his features. "Then perhaps..." he said, reaching down to carefully take the brush from your trembling fingers, "you wouldn't mind showing me the other drawings?" His golden eyes flickered toward your bed, where your portfolio lay hidden.

Your heart nearly stopped. "You knew?"

A gentle laugh escaped him, musical and warm. "Mein Schatz, I may be a fool sometimes, but I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching." He paused, his tail curling slightly in what you had learned was nervousness. "The same way I look at you when you're lost in your art."

The confession hung in the air between you, as tangible as the wisps of incense smoke still dancing through the golden evening light. You sat frozen, brush dripping blue paint onto the dropcloth below, as Kurt Wagner—your muse, your teammate, your secret inspiration—waited for your response with bated breath.

"You... look at me?" You whispered in shock and a tinge of disbelief. He looked at you like you looked at him? That sounded impossible, yet the way his tail curled in nervousness and his foot tapped against the ground told a different story.

Kurt's hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture you'd seen countless times when he was trying to find the right words. "Ja, I do. More than I probably should." His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "When you're in the garden sketching, or during the art class with the students when you create those beautiful displays... The way your face lights up when you finally perfect a piece you've been working on..." He trailed off, a deeper blue tinting his cheeks.

Your heart thundered in your chest as he took a small step closer, his tail now swaying in a gentle, hypnotic pattern. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, but..." He gestured to himself with a self-deprecating smile. "Well, I wasn't sure someone who creates such beauty would want..."

"Kurt," you interrupted, finding courage you didn't know you had. Standing from your stool, you reached for his hand, feeling the unique texture of his fur against your palm. "You are beauty. Why do you think I can't stop painting you?"

His golden eyes widened, and that brilliant smile you'd captured in countless sketches spread across his face. "Then perhaps," he said, bringing your joined hands up between you, "we've both been a bit foolish, ja?"

A small laugh escaped you, breaking the tension. "More than a bit." Your eyes drifted to the painting on the easel, then back to him. "Would you... would you like to see the others? The real ones, not just the ones I do for art class?"

Kurt's tail perked up, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I would love nothing more, mein Schatz. But first..." He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small paper bag. "I really did bring you something from the art store."

Inside was a set of iridescent blue paints that shifted colors in the dying sunlight, almost the exact shade of Kurt's fur when he moved. Your breath caught at the thoughtfulness of the gift, and when you looked up at him, his expression was so tender it made your heart ache.

"I saw them and thought of you," he admitted quietly. "Though I suppose I'm always thinking of you these days."

The confession hung in the air like a prayer, and you found yourself moving closer, drawn into his orbit like you'd always been, only now there was no need to hide it. The golden light that had started this evening's painting session now painted Kurt in warm hues, making him look almost ethereal—your own personal angel, right here in your art-cluttered room.

"Kurt," you whispered, not quite sure what you wanted to say, but knowing you needed to say something. The way he looked at you now, like you were one of his precious religious paintings come to life, made you understand why he'd always insisted on spending time with you. He'd been drawn to you just as you'd been to him, both of you dancing around each other in an elaborate routine of stolen glances and hidden feelings.

His tail curled gently around your wrist, as if he couldn't bear to not touch you in some way, and you realized that maybe this was what inspiration truly felt like—not just the desire to capture beauty, but to be part of it. With trembling hands, you knelt beside your bed, aware of Kurt's presence behind you as you reached underneath to pull out the large black portfolio case. Your heart hammered against your ribs—no one had ever seen these pieces before. They were raw, honest, intimate in a way your public artwork never was.

"I, um," you started, clutching the portfolio to your chest as you stood, "some of these are just quick sketches, and others aren't very good—"

"Liebling," Kurt interrupted gently, his tail swaying with barely contained excitement, "everything you create is wunderbar. May I?" He gestured to your bed, and you nodded, watching as he settled cross-legged on the corner, patting the space beside him.

You sat down carefully, the portfolio balanced on your lap. Kurt's warmth beside you was both comforting and nerve-wracking. Taking a deep breath, you unzipped the case and pulled out the first few pieces.

"Oh!" Kurt's delighted gasp made you jump slightly. His tail curled in pleasure as he leaned forward to study a charcoal drawing of himself perched on the mansion's balcony railing, looking out over the grounds. "I remember this day. It was right after that terrible thunderstorm, ja? When the sun finally came out?"

You nodded, surprised he'd remembered such a small moment. "The light was hitting your fur just right, and I couldn't help but..." you trailed off, embarrassed at admitting how much you'd observed him.

But Kurt was already reaching for the next piece, his golden eyes bright with wonder. "And this one!" It was a series of quick gesture sketches of him during a training session, his body in various poses of acrobatic grace. "You've captured the movement so perfectly. I had no idea you were watching so closely."

Your cheeks burned. "I hope that doesn't sound creepy."

His laugh was warm and genuine. "Nein, not at all. Though it does explain why you always volunteered to help supervise training." His tail brushed against your back playfully, making you squeak in surprise.

As you went through more pieces, your initial nervousness began to fade, replaced by a warm glow at Kurt's genuine enthusiasm for each drawing. He had a comment for every piece—remembering the moments you'd captured, praising your technique, asking questions about your process. His tail never stopped moving, expressing his excitement in a way his controlled expressions couldn't quite hide.

"This one," he breathed, carefully lifting a watercolor painting, "this is..." It was one of your favorites—Kurt in the library late at night, reading by lamplight, his tail curled around a cup of tea. You'd painted it from memory after watching him there one evening, trying to capture the peaceful contentment he radiated in those quiet moments.

"The way you see me," he said softly, tracing the air above the painting as if afraid to touch it, "it's so..."

"Real," you finished quietly. "That's just... how you look to me."

Kurt turned to face you then, and the expression on his face made your breath catch. "All this time," he murmured, "I thought I was alone in feeling this way. In seeing such beauty in someone else."

You ducked your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, but his tail gently curved under your chin, lifting it back up. "No hiding," he said softly. "Not anymore, ja?"

The portfolio slid forgotten to the floor as Kurt's hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed this. In the fading golden light of your room, surrounded by scattered artwork that told the story of your hidden feelings, Kurt Wagner looked at you like you were the masterpiece—not the artist. Time seemed to slow as Kurt's hand remained gentle against your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. Your heart was doing acrobatics that could rival his best performances, and you wondered if he could feel how warm your face had become.

"Mein Schatz," he whispered, leaning closer, "may I...?"

You could only manage a tiny nod, and then his lips were on yours, soft and sweet. The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, and you could feel his smile against your mouth. His tail curled around your waist, drawing you closer as your hands tentatively came up to rest against his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt and the steady beating of his heart beneath.

When you finally parted, you immediately buried your burning face in his shoulder, earning a warm chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Hiding again so soon?" he teased, his accent thicker with emotion.

"Mmph," was all you could manage, which only made him laugh more.

"And here I thought artists were supposed to appreciate beautiful moments," he continued playfully, his tail squeezing your waist. "Perhaps I should pose for another painting? 'The First Kiss' would make a lovely addition to your collection, ja?"

You groaned and swatted his chest weakly. "Kurt!"

"Or maybe a series?" He was clearly enjoying himself now, his voice full of mischief. "We could call it 'The Evolution of Romance' or 'Love in Blue'—"

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face still flaming. "You're terrible."

His grin was radiant. "Terrible, but yours?" The hope in his voice made your heart flutter.

"Yeah," you whispered, managing a shy smile. "Mine."

"Wunderbar!" He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. "Though I must ask—do you have any paintings of our future together hidden away as well? Should I be prepared for more surprises?"

"Kurt Wagner!" You tried to sound scandalized, but you couldn't help laughing, especially when he waggled his eyebrows at you.

"What? It's a reasonable question! After all, you've been secretly documenting me for months. For all I know, you've already planned our wedding colors—blue and more blue, I assume?"

You grabbed a nearby pillow and tried to smack him with it, but he teleported across the room with a BAMF, leaving a cloud of sulfur and the echo of his laughter. He reappeared perched on your easel, careful not to disturb your painting, his tail swishing playfully.

"You know," he said, his golden eyes twinkling, "I think I prefer being your muse when I know about it. The poses can be much more interesting this way."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, falling back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. But you couldn't hide your smile, especially when you felt the familiar displacement of air and suddenly had a warm, fuzzy mutant curled around you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple.

"Don't worry, Liebling," he murmured against your skin, his tail finding your hand and twining with your fingers. "I promise to be the best muse you could ask for. Though..." He paused dramatically, "I do have one condition."

You peeked through your fingers at him. "What's that?"

His smile softened into something so tender it made your chest ache. "That next time you paint me praying in the chapel, you'll be there with me. Some masterpieces are better created together, don't you think?"

This time, when you pulled him down for another kiss, you didn't hide your face afterward. After all, how could you when he was looking at you like that—like you were both the artist and the masterpiece, the muse and the creator, the beginning and end of something beautiful?

Though you did blush furiously when he later insisted on signing all your portraits of him with "Kurt Wagner, Professional Muse and Master of Stealing Artists' Hearts.”

The chatter of students filled the air and the sweet smell of honeysuckle surrounded you and your students. Truth be told, you hadn't even offered to do this job; teaching the art class wasn't something that had ever been on your mind, but Charles had asked you to do so, saying it would be good for the students to have an outlet for their emotions. Though teaching a bunch of mutant teenagers wasn't particularly easy, especially when half of them wanted to be in the danger room training to be X-Men—you probably got more questions about that than actual art.

"Your piece should be about expression. There is no right or wrong, only your feelings about your art," you spoke gently as you walked by the students settled in the grass of the gardens behind the school. A hand rose up and you looked over and nodded at the boy, Damian you believed his name was.

"Excuse me, but how exactly is painting helping us prepare for anything?" You sighed at the boy's question as he got some chastising nudges from some of your more kind students. You got that question about every class.

Before you could answer, a familiar BAMF sound and the scent of sulfur announced Kurt's arrival. He appeared perched on the garden wall, his tail swaying as he grinned at the class. Several students brightened immediately—Kurt had always been a favorite among them.

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, mein junger Freund," Kurt said, gracefully flipping down to land beside you. His shoulder brushed yours in a subtle show of support that made your heart flutter, even after months of being together. "Art teaches us more than you might think. Strategy, patience, observation..." He winked at you before continuing, "How do you think I learned to move so efficiently in battle? By understanding space, movement, and perception—all things your talented teacher here helped me improve."

A few students giggled, well aware of your relationship with the blue mutant. It had become something of a school legend how you'd been caught with a portfolio full of Kurt drawings. Some of the older students even insisted they'd known all along, claiming they'd seen the way you both looked at each other during training sessions.

"Besides," Kurt continued, picking up one of the spare brushes from your supply kit and twirling it like one of his swords, "did you know that Leonardo da Vinci used his artistic skills to design defense systems? Or that camouflage patterns were created by artists? Even the maps we use for missions were drawn by artists."

Damian sat up straighter, suddenly looking more interested. "Really?"

You smiled, grateful for Kurt's intervention. "Really. And speaking of missions..." You shared a knowing look with Kurt before addressing the class. "Who wants to hear about the time my sketching skills helped us locate a hidden Sentinel facility?"

"Oh, tell them about the warehouse in Berlin!" Kurt added enthusiastically, his tail curling around your waist as he settled beside you. "When you noticed the architectural inconsistencies in my reconnaissance sketches?"

The students were all paying attention now, art supplies temporarily forgotten as they leaned in to hear the story. Even Damian had put down his phone, his previous skepticism replaced with curiosity.

"Well," you began, feeling Kurt's tail squeeze encouragingly, "it started when we noticed some unusual energy signatures in an old industrial district..."

As you recounted the mission, Kurt occasionally chimed in with his own colorful commentary, making the students laugh with his dramatic reenactments. You couldn't help but smile, watching him demonstrate his acrobatic moves while describing how your artistic knowledge had helped spot the hidden entrance.

"And that," Kurt concluded, landing gracefully beside you again, "is why we should never underestimate the power of art. Or artists." He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, making several students coo and others playfully groan at the display of affection.

"Mr. Wagner," one of the girls called out, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you going to model for our class like you do for the teacher?"

Your face immediately heated up as Kurt laughed delightedly. "Sadly, I'm needed in the danger room. Though..." He grinned at you, that familiar impish look in his golden eyes, "I do have a private session scheduled later."

"Kurt!" you hissed, mortified as the students erupted in giggles.

He merely winked, pressed another quick kiss to your cheek, and teleported away with a theatrical bow, leaving you to face your amused students with burning cheeks.

"Now then," you said, trying to regain some semblance of professional dignity despite your flushed face, "back to your projects. And no, Jenny, you cannot paint Mr. Wagner for your assignment—pick a different subject."

The disappointment on several faces told you that more than one student had been planning exactly that. You couldn't really blame them though. After all, you had an entire portfolio that proved just how inspiring a subject Kurt Wagner could be. After the lingering giggles from Kurt's dramatic exit finally subsided, you circled back through your students, the grass crunching softly beneath your feet. The afternoon sun warmed your shoulders as you paused to observe their work, offering gentle guidance where needed.

"Sarah," you said, stopping beside a girl whose hands were literally glowing as she painted, her mutation allowing her to create luminescent colors, "that's beautiful. The way you're using your powers to add depth to the sunset—very creative." Her beaming smile made your heart warm; it was moments like these that reminded you why Charles had been right about teaching.

Moving on, you found Marcus struggling with his brushstrokes, his extra set of arms getting in the way of each other. "Try coordinating them like we practiced," you suggested softly. "Remember, each hand can work on a different section. Think of it like... like when Kurt coordinates his tail with his movements during training."

The mention of Kurt made a few nearby students glance up with knowing smirks, but you ignored them, focusing on how Marcus's face lit up with understanding. Within minutes, all four of his hands were working in harmony, creating an intricate pattern that would have taken others four times as long to complete.

"Teacher?" A quiet voice drew your attention to Amy, a shy freshman whose scales tended to change color with her emotions—currently a nervous purple. "I... I don't know if this is good enough." She gestured to her canvas where she'd painted a self-portrait, her scales rendered in beautiful iridescent shades.

You knelt beside her, careful not to disturb her workspace. "What makes you think it's not good enough?"

"It's just..." she glanced around at her classmates' work, her scales shifting to a deeper purple. "Everyone else is painting normal things. Beautiful things. I painted... me."

"Amy," you said gently, thinking of all the times you'd doubted your own artwork, of all the paintings of Kurt you'd hidden away because you thought they were too revealing, too personal. "Do you remember what Kurt said in his last ethics class about beauty?"

Her scales flickered with hints of pink—she had a bit of a crush on Kurt, like half the school. "That it comes in all forms?"

"Exactly. And look—" you pointed to how the light caught her painting's scales, creating rainbow patterns across the canvas. "You've captured something uniquely beautiful. Something only you could create, because only you know exactly how those scales feel, how they shift and change. That's not just good art, that's powerful art."

The purple of her scales gradually shifted to a warm golden hue as she smiled, looking at her painting with new eyes. Around you, other students had paused to listen, and you saw several of them return to their work with renewed purpose.

"Damian," you called out, noticing he'd actually started painting instead of just complaining, "excellent use of perspective on that building. Been practicing your architectural sketches?"

He tried to look nonchalant, but you caught his pleased grin. "Yeah, well... after what you said about the Berlin mission... I figured it might be useful. You know, for future X-Men stuff."

"Hey, teacher?" Jenny piped up, paint smudged adorably across her cheek. "Since we can't paint Mr. Wagner, could you tell us more about how art helped on missions while we work? Please?"

A chorus of agreements rose from the class, and you couldn't help but smile. "Alright, but keep painting. There was this one time in Moscow when my knowledge of color theory helped us identify a shapeshifter..."

As you shared the story, moving between easels and offering guidance, you noticed how the students' work seemed to come alive. Even the most reluctant artists were engaged now, their creativity flowing as they listened to tales of how art and heroism could intertwine.

The smell of honeysuckle grew stronger as the afternoon wore on, mixing with paint and teenage enthusiasm. A flash of blue in your peripheral vision caught your attention—Kurt, watching proudly from a nearby window between his training sessions. He blew you a kiss before disappearing again, leaving you with paint-stained fingers and a garden full of budding artists who were finally beginning to understand that there was more than one way to be extraordinary.

"Teacher?" Amy called out, her scales now a confident shade of blue that reminded you of someone special. "I think I'd like to do another self-portrait. Maybe... maybe one of me in an X-Men uniform this time?"

You smiled, thinking of your own portfolio of Kurt, of how art had led you to love, and how that love had led you here, helping these young mutants find their own way to express their unique beauty. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Amy. Just remember—"

"We know, we know," the class chorused together, matching your grin, "there is no right or wrong, only our feelings about our art!”

Evening had settled over the mansion, the last rays of sunlight painting your studio in familiar golden hues. The day's classes were done, art supplies cleaned and stored away, and you'd finally managed to stop blushing from Kurt's teasing comments during your lesson. You were just setting up your easel when the familiar BAMF announced his arrival.

"Ah, mein Schatz," Kurt's voice was warm as he appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tail curling affectionately around your ankle. "Ready for our 'private session'?" You could hear the playful smirk in his voice.

"You," you turned in his arms to poke his chest accusingly, "are terrible. Do you know how many knowing looks I got from the students after you left?"

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I couldn't help myself. You're adorable when you blush. Speaking of which..." His tail reached over to your desk, picking up your sketchbook and flipping it open to reveal today's quick sketches of him during his brief visit to your class. "Someone was inspired during their teaching duties, ja?"

"Kurt!" You tried to snatch the sketchbook, but he teleported across the room, perching on the window seat as he continued flipping through pages.

"Oh, this one is new!" He held up a sketch of himself demonstrating acrobatic moves to your students. "You captured my best side."

"All your sides are your best side," you mumbled before you could stop yourself, then immediately covered your face with your hands as he teleported back to you, gathering you close.

"Is that so?" he murmured against your ear. "Then perhaps we should make sure you have proper reference material for all of them?" His tail gently pulled your hands away from your face, forcing you to meet his tender gaze. "Now then, how would you like me to pose, Liebling?"

You gestured weakly to the arrangement you'd set up—a comfortable chair positioned near the window, where the last of the sunset would cast those perfect shadows you loved to capture. "Just... sitting would be nice. Natural. Like when you're reading in the library."

Kurt's expression softened as he settled into the chair, understanding your desire to capture one of your favorite quiet moments. He pulled out a small book of poetry—Rilke, you noticed—and arranged himself comfortably, his tail draped over the armrest.

"Like this?" he asked, and you nodded, already reaching for your charcoal. This was familiar territory now, though no less special than those first secret sketches. If anything, it was more intimate—knowing he was here specifically for you, watching you create, sharing these peaceful moments together.

As you began to sketch, Kurt started reading aloud softly in German, his accent wrapping around the words like silk. You'd grown to love these evenings, the gentle cadence of his voice mixing with the scratch of charcoal on paper, the way his tail would occasionally twitch in response to a particular phrase or stanza.

"You know," he said during a pause between poems, his golden eyes meeting yours over the top of his book, "I used to wonder why you chose me as your subject so often. Now I think I understand."

You paused in your sketching, curious. "Oh?"

"Ja. It's the same reason I can't stop watching you when you create." He marked his place in the book and leaned forward slightly. "There's something magical about seeing someone doing what they love, being exactly who they are meant to be. You see me that way when I move, when I pray, when I simply exist. And I see you that way when you're lost in your art."

The charcoal trembled slightly in your fingers as he continued, "It's like seeing someone's soul, isn't it? Their truest self?"

You nodded, unable to find words for how perfectly he'd captured it. Kurt rose from the chair in one fluid movement, crossing to where you stood. His hand covered yours on the charcoal, bringing it to rest against the easel.

"Perhaps," he whispered, turning you to face him, his tail wrapping around your waist, "we could find other ways to capture this moment?"

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of poetry and promises. The charcoal slipped forgotten from your fingers as you wound your arms around his neck, letting yourself get lost in the overwhelming rightness of being held by him.

When you finally parted, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Though I do hope you'll finish the sketch later. I have a reputation as Professional Muse to maintain, after all."

You laughed, the sound mixing with his own quiet chuckle in the golden evening light of your studio, where art and love had become beautifully, perfectly intertwined.

"So how do you wish to capture this moment, hm?" You hummed up at him with a new sense of courage.

Kurt's yellow eyes sparkle with mischief and desire as he gazes down at you, his tail gently squeezing your waist. The sunset light casts a warm glow on your skin, highlighting the delicate curve of your neck and the soft fullness of your lips. He leans in, his breath ghosting over your skin as he speaks.

"There are so many ways, mein Schatz..." he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "We could start with a kiss..."

And he does, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a passion and tenderness that sets your heart racing. One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, while the other slides down your back, pressing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed and your eyes dark with desire. Kurt's tail tightens around you, keeping you anchored against him as he trails his lips along your jaw, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

"Or perhaps," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine, "you'd like to capture the way my hands feel on your skin?"

Without waiting for an answer, he begins to unbutton your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he reveals more and more of your body to his hungry gaze. Each touch sends sparks of electricity through you, igniting a fire that only seems to grow with each passing second.

As your shirt falls to the floor, Kurt takes a step back, his eyes roving hungrily over your newly exposed skin. His gaze is almost reverent, as if he's drinking in every inch of you like a man dying of thirst.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his voice filled with awe and desire. "You're absolutely perfect, Meine Liebe."

His hands come up to cup your breasts, thick fingers brushing over your hardening nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he begins to circle and tease, building the pleasure slowly but surely. Kurt's hands continue their sensual exploration of your body, tracing every curve and dip with a reverence that makes your skin tingle. He leans down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin.

"I want to worship every inch of you," he murmurs against your throat, his voice rough with desire. "To show you how much you mean to me."

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it and sliding the straps down your shoulders. The garment falls away, baring your breasts to his eager gaze. Kurt pauses for a moment, simply drinking in the sight of you, before cupping the weight of your breasts in his palms.

"Perfektion," he breathes, thumbing your nipples until they pebble beneath his touch. He lowers his head, taking one nipple into his mouth and suckling gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

You gasp at the sensation, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. Kurt continues his ministrations, alternating between your breasts, licking and sucking and nipping until you're writhing against him, desperate for more.

His hands drift lower, skimming over your stomach and hips before dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. He strokes you through the damp fabric of your underwear, his touch light and teasing.

"So wet already," he marvels, his voice thick with arousal. "You're so responsive, mein Schatz. So perfect."

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion. You kick them off impatiently, standing before him in nothing but your socks and shoes.

Kurt takes a step back, his eyes raking over your naked form with undisguised hunger. He licks his lips, his tail swishing behind him in anticipation.

"Lie down on the couch," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I want to taste you." You obey without hesitation, settling into the plush cushions immediately.

Kurt follows you to the couch, his eyes never leaving your body as he crawls over you, settling between your spread thighs. He runs his hands up your legs, his touch light and teasing, until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, spreading your folds with his fingers and exposing your glistening flesh to his hungry gaze. "I can't wait to taste you."

He leans down, dragging his tongue along your slit in one long, slow lick. The sensation is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. You gasp, your hips lifting off the couch as you seek more of his touch.

Kurt chuckles, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. He looks up at you through his lashes, his yellow eyes gleaming with mischief and desire.

"Patience, mein Schatz," he teases, blowing a cool stream of air over your wet heat. "We have all the time in the world."

And then he's diving back in, his tongue delving deep into your core, lapping at your essence like a man starved. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over the sensitive bud again and again until you're writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he feasts on your flesh, his groans of pleasure muffled against your skin. The room fills with the obscene sounds of his licking and sucking, punctuated by your own breathy moans and gasps.

Kurt brings a hand up to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub as he continues to tongue-fuck your dripping cunt. The dual stimulation is too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

"That's it, Kleine," he encourages, his voice rough with arousal. "Let go. Come for me."

His words are all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cry out, your hands fisting in Kurt's hair as waves of pleasure crash over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity.

Kurt works you through it, his tongue and fingers never faltering as he prolongs your climax, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until you're boneless and spent, collapsing back against the couch in a sweaty, satisfied heap.

He presses one last kiss to your sensitive flesh before crawling up your body, settling his weight on top of you. His erection presses insistently against your thigh as he wiggles off his pants, hot and hard and ready for you.*

"I need you, meine Engel," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. "I need to be inside you."

He reaches down between your bodies, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. You can feel the heat of him, the pulsing need that throbs against your slick folds.

With one swift thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely. You cry out at the sudden stretch, your walls clenching around him like a vice.

"Fuck, you're tight," Kurt groans, his hips rocking against yours as he begins to move. "So perfect. So gut."

He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, his cock hitting depths you didn't even know you had. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you whole. Your heart flutters hearing him slur out German and English in a pleasure drunken haze. Kurt's tail wraps around your legs, holding them open wide as he pistons into you, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.

"So good," he pants, his face buried in your neck as he laves his tongue over your pulse point. "So perfekt. So mine."

His words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a possessive heat in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into your body with each thrust.

"Yours," you gasp, your nails digging into the fur of his back. "All yours, kurt"

Kurt growls, low and deep, his tail tightening around your legs as he pounds into you with abandon. The couch creaks beneath your combined weight, threatening to give way under the force of his thrusts.

"Ich liebe dich," he slurs, his words muffled against your skin. "Love you so much. Need you. Need to be inside you forever."

His confession sends you careening over the edge, your body seizing up as another orgasm rips through you. You clench around him, your walls fluttering and spasming as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

"Fuck, Prinzessin," Kurt groans, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. "Feel so good. So perfect. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up."

With a final, bruising thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your waiting womb. You can feel the heat of his seed, the way it paints your insides, marking you as his.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he pants against your neck. His tail unwinds from your legs, draping lazily over your thigh as he nuzzles into your hair.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "My perfect girl. Meine schöne Künstlerin."

You smile, your heart full to bursting with love and contentment.

Nearly a year later

The chapel was quiet save for the soft whisper of your pencil across paper. Early morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting familiar blue patterns across the wooden pews. Kurt knelt at the altar in prayer, his tail curved peacefully behind him, rosary beads wrapped gently around his three-fingered hands.

You'd grown comfortable here in these morning moments, sharing this sacred space with him. What had once felt like an intrusion now felt like belonging. Your sketchbook was filled with these quiet scenes—Kurt in prayer, Kurt reading his Bible, Kurt simply existing in this place that meant so much to him. But this morning was different. This morning, your hand trembled slightly as you drew, your mind wandering to the small box hidden in your art supplies.

It had taken weeks to create, working late into the night in your studio after Kurt had fallen asleep. A hand-carved wooden ring box, painted with delicate scenes from your relationship—the first time you'd been caught painting him, your first kiss, teaching art class together, quiet moments in the chapel. The ring inside was simple silver, engraved with tiny crosses and artist's brushes intertwined.

"You're thinking very loudly this morning, Liebling," Kurt's voice startled you from your thoughts. He hadn't moved from his position, but his tail swayed knowingly.

"Sorry," you mumbled, adding another shadow to your sketch. "Didn't mean to disturb your prayers."

"You never disturb me," he said softly, finally turning to face you with that gentle smile that still made your heart skip. "Though I am curious what has you so distracted. Usually you're much more focused when drawing in here."

You set down your sketchbook with trembling fingers. "Actually, I... I have something for you."

Kurt's eyebrows rose curiously as you reached into your art bag, pulling out the painted box. His golden eyes widened as you stood and walked to him, kneeling beside him at the altar.

"Kurt Wagner," you began, your voice shaky but determined, "you've been my muse, my inspiration, my best friend, and the love of my life. You've shown me that beauty exists in so many forms, that faith can be found in art just as much as prayer, and that love..." you had to pause, swallowing hard as his tail curled around your wrist encouragingly, "love can be both the masterpiece and the creation itself."

You opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. "Would you let me spend the rest of my life creating with you?"

Kurt's breath caught as he took in the painted scenes on the box, his fingers trailing reverently over the tiny details you'd spent so long perfecting. When he looked up, his eyes were shining with tears.

"Mein Gott," he whispered, "you've managed to surprise the teleporter." His tail tightened around your wrist as he pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours. "Did you really think there could be any answer but yes? You are the greatest masterpiece God has ever placed in my life."

Your laugh was watery as you slipped the ring onto his finger, a perfect fit just as you'd hoped. Kurt cradled your face in his hands, his touch infinitely gentle.

"Though I must say," he murmured, his accent thick with emotion, "you've rather stolen my thunder, Liebling." With his tail, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, making you gasp. "I was planning to ask you after morning mass."

Inside was a delicate gold ring with a blue sapphire that matched his fur perfectly. "Great minds think alike, ja?"

You couldn't speak through your tears as he slipped the ring onto your finger, but you didn't need to. The way you pulled him into a kiss said everything necessary, the morning light painting you both in shades of blue and gold through the stained glass windows.

"I can't wait to see how you'll paint this moment," Kurt whispered against your lips, making you laugh.

"Already planning it," you admitted. "Though I might need my muse to pose for several reference sketches."

His tail wrapped around your waist as he grinned. "I believe that can be arranged. After all..." he pressed another soft kiss to your lips, "we have the rest of our lives to perfect it."

Through the chapel windows, the morning light continued to paint you both in blues and golds, artist and muse, two hearts creating something beautiful together. And if anyone noticed that your afternoon art class was especially romantic that day, well... they were kind enough not to mention it. Though you did have to tell Jenny, once again, that no, she still couldn't paint Mr. Wagner for her assignment—even if he was now your fiancé.

You woke up to soft snores and looked over, unable to help but smile softly. Your husband's sleeping face was too cute to not smile at. After five years of being married, you'd never grow tired of waking up to this. Recently he had taken to growing out a goatee, saying it made him look more mature (you couldn't help but agree—after all, it made your mind wander a lot too). You carefully pulled out of his embrace without waking him; his tail was always a struggle to remove from its place around your leg without waking him, but you managed it. After a small silent dance of triumph, you moved out of your shared bedroom to the room across from it.

The room was halfway painted, though you had been working on it for the past six months. It had paintings of stories and family littered across it—scenes from Kurt's favorite fairy tales, the X-Men as loving aunts and uncles, even a small portrait of Professor Xavier smiling benevolently from above the planned crib space. You picked up a brush and were about to continue when you accidentally kicked a paint bucket. That's all it took, and with a sudden puff of smoke your husband had teleported in, his stance ready for action but relaxing when he saw it was just you up early.

"Mein Gott, woman, I thought you were a thief!" He exclaimed, holding his three-fingered hand over his chest before walking over with a soft tired smile and pecking your lips. "You're up early, I don't even hear the morning birds yet."

"Needed to stretch my legs," you hummed back, and he hummed softly in suspicion. His hand rested on your stomach.

"Are you sure it is not because of the Kleine?" He spoke in a teasing voice as he gently rubbed your stomach.

You leaned back against his chest, letting his warmth seep into you as you both gazed at the wall you'd been painting. His tail automatically wrapped around your waist, just above where your small baby bump was beginning to show. "Maybe," you admitted. "I just... I want it to be perfect before they arrive."

Kurt nuzzled against your neck, his goatee tickling your skin. "Liebling, with you as their mother, how could it be anything but perfect?" His hand joined yours on the brush. "Though perhaps we could add a few more acrobatic scenes? A future X-Man should know their father's best moves, ja?"

You laughed softly, mindful of the early hour. "Kurt, we don't even know if they'll be able to teleport yet."

"Ah, but they're already showing artistic talent!" He moved to stand beside you, gesturing dramatically at your stomach. "Look how perfectly they've rounded out your usually straight lines!"

"Did you just call me fat, Mr. Wagner?" you asked with mock offense.

His eyes widened comically. "Nein! Never! I merely meant to say you're more... sculptural these days?" His tail flicked nervously as he tried to backtrack, making you giggle.

"Saved it," you murmured, turning back to the wall. You'd been working on a particular scene—a small blue figure learning to teleport while protective arms waited to catch them. "Do you really think they'll like it? All of this?"

Kurt's arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he surveyed your work. "Mein Schatz, they will love it. Just as they will love you." His hand splayed protectively over your stomach. "Though perhaps we should add a small easel next to the training equipment? Best to be prepared for all possibilities."

You turned in his arms, brush still in hand, accidentally leaving a small blue streak across his chest. "Oops."

His grin turned mischievous. "Oh? Is that how we're playing this morning?" He reached for another brush. "You know, the wall isn't the only canvas in need of some color..."

"Kurt Wagner, don't you dare—" But it was too late. With a playful BAMF, he was behind you, painting a gentle heart on the back of your nightshirt.

What followed was a careful (mindful of your condition) but enthusiastic paint war, filling the nursery with quiet laughter and colorful streaks. By the time the sun began to rise, you were both covered in paint, sitting on the drop cloth and admiring your handiwork—both on the walls and each other.

"You know," Kurt mused, his tail drawing abstract patterns in a small paint puddle, "this might be your best work yet."

You looked around at the cheerful chaos you'd created together—the story-filled walls, the paint-splattered drop cloths, the mixing of your artistic vision with his playful additions. Your hand found his, fingers intertwining as they rested on your growing bump.

"No," you said softly, "I think our best work is still in progress."

His answering smile was brighter than the rising sun, and as he pulled you in for a paint-smudged kiss, you couldn't help but think that sometimes the most beautiful art came from life itself—messy, unexpected, and absolutely perfect.

Though you did make him clean up the paint footprints he'd teleported all over the mansion before the students woke up. Your gaze went over to the window which Kurt had helped you place the stain on. The blue hues glittered over the room and it filled you with a sense of love and happiness. Blue would always be apart of your life now, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#fluff #smut fanfiction #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler #xmen x reader #kurt wagner #kurt wagner smut #nightcrawler smut #xmen nightcrawler

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mixingandmelting · 25 days ago

Text

No, Between the Two Of Us - None of Us Are the Sane One

Summary: Childhood to lover trope feat. Dick Grayson where you were best friends with him since the start of his Robin days which was also when he first having a crush on you

Words: 2.7 k

A/N: First time posting in the DC fandom, so please be gentle with me! Also there will be a version for Jason and Tim. ; )

Being besties with Batman and the first Robin is an experience to say the least. Many fantasize how it might go, romanticizing the prospect and excitement the friendship may bring. For you? Zero out of ten, would not recommend. The public masses claimed them to be heroes, but only you and villains know how unhinged they were. You did not appreciate playing the middleman when the two gave each other the cold shoulder or being the center of their amusement. Especially with Robin. You swore on your nonexistent Aunt Patty’s grave that boy was chaotic evil, the agent of all chaos. You grew paranoid for months having been pranked by him every time he swung by so you wouldn’t do “something stupid”. Or so he said only to get you to scream at the top of your lungs whenever you were hanging around on your apartment’s roof, creeping silently towards you and whispering the most random fact he found. He would then cackle with glee and proceed to rub on the wound by reminding you how the first meeting between you three which led to the constant check-ups (a whole, another story you rather not remember involving a much younger you and Robin, Santa Claus, and pajamas printed all over with I <3 Batman and Robin). You tried to get back at him multiple times. You never once won.

However, there were times when he wasn’t pranking you. Moments like those, he’d simply sit and brood next to you, waiting for you to ask what’s wrong before starting his rant about Batman. With little to no knowledge said man, himself, would visit you and ask about him a few minutes after he leaves. Yes, you did question why they thought it would be a good idea for a kid younger than themselves to mediate between their fights only to give up when you found yourself going in circles as to why you still chose to be friends with them. Way too complicated and big of a headache for your small head. It didn’t seem like Robin cared either, as he would tell you everything on his mind, not a single thing held back. Hands being held or a head leaning on a shoulder was a must when he talks. When that tradition started you genuinely had no idea but you never thought about it. More like you can’t when you saw the expression he wore.

What started when both of you were merely children continued on to high school, where you discovered his identity. The way you found out was disappointingly anticlimactic. After the many years you hung out with him, of course you would recognize him right away. The same gremlin laughter, the corny jokes he shared with his fellow peers. Oh, and the fact his hairstyle stayed the same as both Robin and Dick Grayson.

Dick, on the other hand, obviously hadn’t thought through that. At all. Okay, sure, you were on the more observant side but still, you shouldn’t have been able to piece all that together within a semester. He wasn’t even at school often because of all the missions to the point the school had been frequently calling Bruce and Alfred about his many absences. There were plenty of guys who sounded, talked, and looked like him, including his height. He was careful. Shouldn’t have been a “dead give away”, whatever that meant. So when he came over to comfort you after a mission, hearing how you got stood up at the school’s dance, he wasn’t prepared for you calling him by his name. Worse, he couldn’t even play dumb or pretend to not know what you were saying. Not when you gave him the same eyes you always did that held comfort and support he always seeked, as if understanding everything he was going through.

With the cat out of the bag, he soon had you meet Batman as Bruce Wayne. He enjoyed the mini meltdown and sense of horror you were having, realizing just who exactly you’ve been chummy with all those years. Maybe he shouldn’t have gloated how you should've treated them better when you gave a mean, actually painful jab to his ribs. Still was worth it. So was the impromptu meeting with his team, Teen Titans, when you started working part-time at the pizza place they always stopped by to eat when celebrating a mission gone well. You didn’t know how silly and adorable you were acting, not as bad when meeting Bruce, but definitely shy and frazzled from being star struck. Well, for a bit that was. An hour later, you were sitting and laughing with them about a mission that involved Condiment King. The way you smiled and brightened the room had him thinking for a moment that he had a shot. After all, you practically met everyone he considered family. It had to be a sign for him to seal the deal.

It stopped and ended as a thought. When you all started talking about love, he didn’t know as much as how he didn’t know which hurt him more; you saying you weren’t going to be in a relationship ever or you, not friendzoned, but bro-zoned him. You don’t notice the way Wally stiffens or the worried glances Donna shot at him. Starfire voiced opposition to your decision to stay single. Raven, not knowing anything, gave you her support. He most definitely did not appreciate Gar feigning disappointment only to get snapped at for going over the line by Vic.

He didn’t know how to act around you afterwards when he escorted you home. He knew he was making you worried, more so when he kept telling you he was fine when you asked if you had done anything to make him uncomfortable. He wanted things to stay the same. Retain the precious relationship that led to his love for you. There was no intention to make that night his last night with you. Yet, how was he supposed to act when he found out he never had a chance from the start? As crazy as it sounded, he once even thought about you being a Grayson. Of course not in high school; when the two of you got much older. It filled him with guilt when he heard from Bruce how you were asking about his well-being. It felt like a knife was being twisted in his heart when letters you wrote were slipped between his homework whenever he had gone to school to get them, belatedly realizing he never gave you his number. All he could reply back was the same, lousy excuse of being busy with missions.

You, on the other hand, waited, hoped, prayed that Dick would visit you again. You knew somehow it was your fault and you wanted to apologize, make things right. Every night you stood on the rooftop, doing homework or simply reading. The nights you don’t, you left his favorite candy with a note. Batman was the only one who visited you then, though his visits were becoming rare from the increase of crimes occurring all over the world. It was through him you learned about Dick’s decision to leave the state and go to some college in New York by the end of the school year. You ended up rejecting the invitation to go with him to the graduation ceremony, knowing there was no point in seeing Dick again.

So really, Dick should’ve seen it coming when he learned from Alfred that you were leaving on the day of. As if to one up him, you weren’t leaving New Jersey. You were leaving the states. It didn’t help that he had been forced to hand over Robin’s mantle to Jason not too long after the rejection. He had to face another heartbreak, as he mourned over the Robin who first met you, the body wonder who was your best friend, was no more. He naively thought he had time. To debut and cement his role as Nightwing, leader of Teen Titans while getting himself back together, all to come back to you. It was apparent enough to know he didn’t. Finding out on the day of, his hands fumbled with the keys to his motorcycle, rushing to get to the airport on time. Despite breaking every traffic law in Gotham (which he ended up owing Babs on not getting taken to jail or paying a big ass fine), he arrived too late. He couldn’t call out to you, his eyes taking in the glimpse of your hair through cracks of the closing gates to TSA.

Years passed and he tried to get over you. First with Starfire, then with Babs. Zatanna, Helena, Bea, Lori, Clancy, mixing one-night stands in between. But none of them ended up working for him. None of them were you. They didn't have the same humor you had. They didn’t give him the same warm hugs you gave him without him ever having to ask because you simply knew. Hell, the whole reason for things to end with each of them was because they called him out for it. His whole team did. Even his whole family including Bruce, Steph, Duke, Tim, and Damian. He’s not going to talk about what happened with Alfred, Jason, and Cass. He still gets nightmares for what they put him through.

As he continued failing on nurturing a permanent relationship, you found yourself frequently buying magazines or skimming on the webs on the latest news and gossip covering vigilantes and heroes during your study abroad. You had brought with you newspaper clippings you kept on the Robin you still missed and cherished. You could count the number of times Robin changed, recognizing none of them were Dick. Yet you never found the heart to ask Bruce what had happened, if he was okay. Nor would you have been able to when you left without ever getting some sort of contact information to stay in touch with him.

Now, he’s in his early thirties and you’re in your late twenties. So much has happened during your lives but you still think of each other. All the what-ifs playing in the back of each other's minds, regret and hope constantly raging back and forth. But not once have either you met even when you came back a few days ago.

Currently, you’re sitting on the ledge of the same roof of where everything began. Gotham glows beautifully without the stars, its artificial lights so bright it makes the city shine as much as it does in the day. Kicking your legs, you hum mindlessly enjoying the scene. That is until someone calls out your name.

Your grip slips and you scream, nearly falling to your demise. Or about to until a warm arm quickly wraps itself around your torso and pulls you over to safety. Gently the person places you on the concrete floor, a few seconds passing afterwards as your mind registers you’re still alive. Guess they weren’t expecting you to get angry, two hands quickly in the air and sputtering apologies when you stand back up and rage why no sane person would ever scare the living daylights out of a person sitting on a roof along with profanities that could shame Deathstroke and bring pride to Red Hood. You’re panting in the end and reach towards the can of soda you had placed when you were sitting. And when you take a sip, it then hits to who you had raged on.

He looks away, a hand covering his face from holding back the laughter that threatens to spill out when your face matches a tomato. You’re barely whispering when you apologize for the profanities, of course you aren’t going to apologize for everything else you both know you’re very much right on that part, horrified and embarrassed that you had done that to a very famous vigilante. Out goes his self-control when you go absolutely silent and start to fidget from the lack of response. He bursts at the face you make from mortification.

“You haven’t changed one bit.”

You freeze at those words.

“Do…I know you?”

Immediately he stops. The air turns tense, you looking at him with wariness as he slowly turns himself completely towards you. Gently, he calls out your name. When you continue to look confused, he does it again, taking a step closer and pulling off his mask.

He can see so much denial in your shaking eyes. The desire of you wanting him to say the person standing in front of you isn’t him. He’s quick to grab both wrists and root you on spot, keen and trained eyes already noticing your feet turning to make a run for it. His grip on you is firm but soft, enduring all the words you thoughtlessly, recklessly say while tugging to get him to let go.

Eventually you stop, acknowledging there isn’t going to be a chance again in the future for you to speak to him or him to you. In fact, you both most likely would evade each other for the rest of life if not for now. When he’s sure that you won’t escape, slowly, he lets go and takes a step back.

“..Why?”

There’s a tremor in your voice, the area of concrete in front of your feet becoming bi-colored. You don’t scream. You don’t raise your voice. Dick can feel himself break, his throat and chest constricting, dawning on him how not once you fault him for ruining the friendship between the two of you while listening about, for the longest time, all you desired was to apologize. When you weren’t even in the wrong. Too soon your words start to mesh and trip over each other. He takes the opportunity to open his mouth.

“I love you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes meeting a smile fill with bitterness and self-loath. Your heart initially refuses to accept everything he tells you, how long ago he started to have a crush on you to how it ended up turning into love. You can never relate how his love for you ruined him where all his relationships with others never lasted for long when it’s him. The gremlin child that held confidence to defy everything on Earth, the gremlin child you developed feelings for. Silence hangs in the air once he’s done. All of a sudden you’re livid. Offended. Dick doesn’t notice, going from rubbing the back of his neck to shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wanting to give you the space to soak everything in. When he finally can’t wait anymore, he rushes to think of something, even resorting to begging for your forgiveness. Not looking down at your hands that slowly reaches for his collar.

“Please, all I really want to say is that I'm sorry. I know I was a dick to you so I don’t even deserve to have chance to ask you to be f-”

It takes Dick a hot minute to realize what’s happening before melting in. His hands make their way towards yours, pulling them up and placing them on his cheeks. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss without crossing a nonexistent line that you probably aren’t ready for. It ends up being the right call when you end up breaking it, lack of oxygen in your lungs from having no experience.

“Next time, just ask instead of assuming things.” You growl, pinching the flesh on both sides of his face.

He doesn’t reply or lets you say another word, his soft and warm lips placed right back on yours where they belong. Where they should’ve been since back then. Too bad the second kiss doesn’t last longer than the first, all of sudden hearing wolf-whistles around the two of you. Everyone from the Bat family and the Titans reveal themselves on the roof, some clapping, most teasing on how long it took for you two to get together. You quickly duck your face into his chest while Dick chuckles and pulls you into a tight embrace.

Later on, a ring adorns his and your left hand. Never once getting taken off, no matter the reason.

#dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #reposting because tags aren't working???#so if you saw this you did not

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roseglazedlens · 1 year ago

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⦑ a kiss away ⦒✶.*

pairing(s): leon kennedy x afab!reader synopsis: you and leon were supposed to be just friends. until one night, an impromptu kiss changed the trajectory of your relationship. content: smut 18+ only mdni, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, mutual pining, oral (m receiving), p in v, degration, hair pulling READ THE PREQUEL HERE « words: 2.1k┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreicated! »

You can’t stop thinking about the kiss.

You can’t stop thinking about Leon’s calloused fingers grazing over the plump of your cheek, scorching your skin with hands so cold it reminded you of the rifles you handled during those gruelling winter missions. You can’t stop thinking about how his pupils flared, and you basked in the glazed cerulean of his irises, so clear you could see yourself through them.

Worst of it all, you can’t stop thinking about him.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Leon Kennedy is your friend, your best friend. Your first meeting was five years ago on the field, clicked instantly from sharing the same corny sense of humour, and since then, your dynamic with him has been strictly platonic. You told him about all your exes, your sex life in detail, who you dated and when you had your one night stands. Hell, you even told him about your revolting bad habits that you kept secret from your exes. There was no chance this man could fall in love with someone like you, right?

…Right?

Truth is, you valued your relationship with Leon so much that you’re unwilling to risk it. You two connected beyond the small stuff, sometimes you find your conversations take a philosophical turn. You two discussed about life, family, dreams for a better world – it’s not the kind of connection you can find again.

And now you two have shared a kiss.

You were startled by the sound of your ringtone chanting through the Bluetooth speakers of your car, piercing through your train of thought. Your brain assigned autopilot, navigating you home after a laborious mission in the middle of Texas for the past two weeks. Darting your eyes at the screen, you recognised the familiar name on your contact list.

Leon. Speak of the devil.

You clicked a button on the side of your wheel. The ringing stopped, and the line connected. Immediately, you were embraced by a glee in Leon’s voice, but only ever so subtly.

“Hey. Welcome back.”

“How’d you know I’m back?” You gripped the steering wheel, a tiny concern brewed in you, worried he would catch your unusual behaviour.

“Chris told me. He’s surprised you didn’t say anything.”

A deep sigh left your throat from your core. You couldn’t exactly tell Leon that you needed time, time to catch a breath, time to process your yearn for this man. No matter how understanding he could have been.

There was no use hiding – Chris would have told him about your whereabouts if you didn’t. Chris and Leon are close friends after all.

“Can’t get a moment of peace with you two around.”

“Next time, call me. I can pick you up.” Your pulse took a leap. In another time or situation, those words would not meant anything to you. It was just how Leon was, his instincts to help others extended into his personal life too.

“So you don’t fall asleep on the wheel, stupid. Your death will not be on my conscience.”

That earned a giggle in your books. You could tell Leon’s light teasing was an attempt to comfort you, to make you laugh, to hear the snorty chuckle between your lips.

“Don’t worry. If I pass, I’ll make sure to haunt you for the rest of your life. Regardless whose fault it is.” You quipped.

“That sounds wonderful.”

Despite his sarcasm, Leon’s voice warmed at the sound of your laugh. You couldn’t help but appreciate these moments like this with him, and you prayed what you had together would never go away.

“Anyway, get some rest. I’ll bring you some food to your place at eight.”

You appreciated how he remembered that you prefer to stay home directly after a mission. After difficult missions, the presence of people could be daunting and uneasy.

Leon’s the exception.

He always brought a peace offering – a chicken sandwich from your favourite deli, a viral dessert you saw in a store once, your usual frappuccino order with ten customisations… If you want it, he got it for you.

“See you soon.” He hung up and you drove home.

You’re thankful for internalised heating and electric blankets. They’ve became necessities for post mission self-care routine like this one. You scrubbed yourself down, cleansing the scent of blood, grease and dirt that clings deeply to your body. So when you finished, you feel rejuvenated. You napped, checked for new mail, checked for bad food in the fridge and took care of any errands you missed when you had to leave swiftly for the mission.

You waited and waited. It was almost eighty-fourty, with nothing but a brief text that penned “Running late” from Leon. You texted back, no follow-ups, no ‘seen’, no double checkmark. You wondered what was taking him so long, before the bell buzz at your door.

You opened the door, prepared to give him a lecture, just to find Leon with a familiar takeaway bag in his hands.

“No way… Is that…?”

“Yes. It’s from your favourite place.”

“Wait, the one that’s always has a long line…?”

Leon helped himself into your apartment. His hair soaked, it shimmered under the ceiling light of your apartment. He must have waited a whole hour in the rain.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you would be nice.”

You hurried to your cupboard, picked up a fresh towel and handed it to Leon for him to dry off.

“Thank you. I mean it.”

Leon nodded, a gentle grin at the corner of his lips knowing that you’re grateful of his gesture. And you genuinely did. No man, no ex, no friend you knew would do things for you to this extent. With your help, Leon removed his wet jacket and revealed his top also drenched underneath, clinging to every bump, every muscle on his torso. You swallowed deeply, slotting your eyes anywhere but his chest.

“I’ve got spare clothes in the car.”

You insisted on grabbing Leon’s clothes for him, thankful for the opportunity to take yourself away from the situation. You took the keys, and took in some fresh air. Anything to distract yourself from imagining your best friend naked on the top half. You opened the truck, retrieved his spare clothes in his gym bag and returned to your home.

When the door opened, you found Leon with his shirt already removed, revealing those sculpted muscles from the results of his vigorous training.

“Sorry. It gets uncomfortable when it’s sticky.”

You gawked, your eyes planted on the slopes of Leon’s tauted arms, pelvis line drawing a deep v into his crotch. He’s showing off. You know it. You struggled through the desire of staring knowing it will just rub his ego even further, but your eyes betrayed you. Leon observed you, a smug grin that made you hold back a punch.

“Like what you see?”

Leon strided towards you, taking his time. You had plenty of chances to walk away now, but your feet are planted to the floor, his dry clothes still in your hand. With a hand over your head, Leon closed the entrance door, and shifted close enough for you to catch his scent – the musky woodiness mixed with rain and his odour enveloped your nose – his signature cologne.

A hand reached to your waist, pulled you in his embrace.

“Do you want to see the rest?”

His breath tickled your ears as he whispered.

You forgot how attractive Leon could be. How others flock to his attention. Begged me to give them his number. With full confidence, you believed those charms didn’t work on you. Blissfully unaware that Leon chose to withdraw his charms in front of you, contrasting to the unadulterated need his body radiated right now.

Breath tightened, pulse sped, unable to keep up with your thoughts. You felt a sensation shot down your spinal cord, knees trembled slightly, a look of mischief clung to Leon’s face. Your body betrayed you, nodding incessantly.

“So honest.”

Leon feet guided you to the couch, sat you till your eyes level to the bulge in his jeans. The blond undid his first button, and your gaze followed the zipper downwards. Leon grabbed underneath his boxers, and his dick sprung free onto his abdomen. With a curled fist, Leon hovered it at the bridge of your nose and pumped it a few times in your direct line of sight.

“Wet it for me, baby.”

He teased, inching his cock closer to the pucker of your lips.

Saliva gathered at the back of your throat, your tongue desperate to feast on him. A droplet of precome leaked from his tip. You grazed your tongue on the tiny slit, circulating the drop all over your mouth until it blended in your saliva. The light hint of saltiness was there, and it was gone again.

Leon hitched a breath, his hands crawling down your head to pull your hair back loosely for easier moment. You hollowed your cheeks, and slide his girth between your lips. Light gasp turned to needy grunts, the hands groping your hair tightened, pushing you further inside.

You curled your tongue all over the head, coating it with your slick, indulging in the smell of sweat intertwined with his sex. Corner of your lips dribbled down your neck, eyes forced shut from the ache of the shape of his cock head engraved in the back of your throat. But you couldn’t get enough. You let a hand go from Leon’s thigh, and reached for your underwear instead.

“Look at you. Can’t even wait five minutes.”

Leon’s blue eyes glistened with cunningness. His hand tugged harshly at your hair, eliciting a pained groan that pulled you off his cock out with a pop. With one swift motion, Leon removed your top and pants, until you are bare in nothing but your underwear. He slid his hand underneath you, pushed your underwear aside, and felt the stickiness as a finger went inside you.

“God, you want this so much, huh?”

“S-Shut up and fuck me, Leon.”

Leon’s expression changed when you told him that. It triggered something carnal within, and shoved your back onto the couch, underwear pushed aside, cock teased your entrance. With one deep breath, Leon thrusted himself in you, ignoring your needy pleas. You shrieked in pleasure, your jaw drowned in the juncture between his neck and shoulders, nails clawing his back.

“You’re sucking me in, baby…”

Leon’s skin flushed red, his sculpted shoulders strained in delight at the impact.

Without further ado, Leon slammed into your swollen, needy cunt. Squelches and the slap of skin to skin hovered the air, and a stir developed in your body, threatened to release. Your eyes tried to brace shut, but Leon’s hand stroked your face when you did, demanding you to look at him. Until your thoughts were filled with him as you finished together. Leon followed, removed you quickly and landed the streams of come on your lower belly.

It was supposed to be a moment of euphoria, but Leon’s expression turned grim, parting from your embrace after his fingers dwelled lightly on your shoulder blades.

“You should have run when you had the chance.”

Leon sighed, regret forming at his tongue.

“You could have had a normal life, be with someone who doesn’t chase death like me. But now that I have you, it’s impossible to let you go. I can’t ignore wanting you anymore.”

You sensed years of agony and sorrow behind his cerulean eyes – you never noticed these emotions he kept so secretively in his heart. How much did he had to suffer when you told him of all your relationships in the past, and Leon supported you each and every time. No matter how terrible your exes treated you.

“That’s not the life I want.” You affirmed, two fingers brushed his lips and reached his jaw. “I don’t want an easy life, Leon. I don’t care how hard it is. I want to be by your side.”

Leon pulled you in tighter into his familiar embrace. He laid his lips against yours, and you are reminded of that intimate kiss you shared two weeks ago. The passion, minty sweetness of gum is so distinctly Leon.

It was his plea, begged you to notice how much Leon loved you. How far he will go to make you happy. It took you so long, but you could finally accept him. You returned the kiss, just as gentle, loving – a silent vow to Leon that you will make him happy as he lived.

“Come on, baby. Let’s eat. The pizza’s already cold.”

EDIT: I wrote a prequel to this! thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose.

#꒰✒️ rose fics ♡.꒱#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon kennedy smut #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #resident evil #fanfiction #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you

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little-diable · 1 year ago

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Something Special - Dean Winchester (smut)

After watching SPN with @writethelifeyouwant this weekend, I needed to write a fic about Dean's "sex has always felt really good" monologue. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader tells Dean that she doesn't get the hype around sex, Dean is set on showing her that it's something truly special

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), friends to lovers, just pure smut basically

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (about 2k words)

header and plot idea by @deathofpeaceofmind

No longer was (y/n) used to the calm beat of her heart, not urged on by the adrenaline thumping through her veins because she was chased by someone, or rather something. No longer was (y/n) used to sitting back with a smile tugging on her lips, allowed to take a few deep breaths without following either Dean or Sam to wherever they were called to. But tonight – for the first time in weeks – (y/n) found herself sitting next to Dean, head placed on his shoulder, hand holding onto a cold bottle of beer. The sounds of the movie the two were watching filled her room, but neither Dean or (y/n) found themselves concentrating on the plot, sharing jokes, thoughts, and questions as the minutes kept blurring by.

“You know,” (y/n) took another sip of her beer, eyes focused on the scene flickering on. The two main characters were about to tumble onto the mattress of their now shared bed, momentarily leaving (y/n) wondering how it must feel to be touched like this by Dean. “I never got the whole excitement about sex. I mean, yes, I guess it can feel good, but it’s nothing special.”

“What?” Dean’s raspy chuckles bubbled out of him, hand reaching for the remote to pause the movie. “Nothing special? It’s the most special thing out there, sweetheart.”

(Y/n) couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling, drowning another sip before she placed the bottle down, fully turning towards Dean. His forest green eyes studied her as if he was trying to figure out if she was possessed, no longer able to guide herself. “Then please, enlighten me. What’s so special about it?”

“Fuck, the guys you’ve been with before must have sucked in bed, huh?” No longer were Dean’s eyes filled with the almost childish glee (y/n) found herself admiring whenever he didn’t notice her staring, no, by now they were filled with something rather serious, something that forced the hairs on her arms to rise. (Y/n) shuffled around, breaking eye contact for a second before she let go of a deep sigh.

“I don’t know, I mean, I never got close to an orgasm with them.” Dean’s warm hand found her chin, forcing (y/n) to look at him. For a few moments neither one of them dared to speak up, trying to communicate without sharing any words, listening to the silent whispers of their hearts like blind wanderers forced to rely on the whispers of the breeze, guiding them along uneasy paths.

“Will you let me? You deserve to experience how good it can actually feel.” It was just a whisper, a sound so quiet (y/n) wasn’t sure if she heard him correctly, and yet her curiosity got the best of her. Slowly she nodded her head, gasping in surprise as Dean’s plush lips found hers, kissing her without another warning. She was pulled into his lap, finding comfort close to his racing heart, to his strong thighs, and the hands that wandered up her spine to explore unfamiliar territory.

Dean tugged her shirt over her head, dilated pupils flickering down to her chest, to the skin he kissed moments later. Every now and then their eyes met, just for a few seconds, and yet the seconds felt more sincere than any moments (y/n) had once shared with the men she had dated. But there had always been something special about Dean Winchester, the man that owned her heart without even knowing so.

“You see, sex has always felt really, really good. But, sometimes, it just makes you feel bad, you know?” Dean’s lips found their way back up to her throat while his hands worked on her bra, letting the fabric fall to the ground, taken from her before she could even try to cover herself up. “You’re drunk. You shack up. Then, it’s the whole morning thing. You know, “hey, that was fun.” And then, “adios,” you know? Always the “adios.” But, you know, when you get down to it, what’s the big deal, right?” The green colour of his eyes seemed to grow even greener as he sucked on her hardening nipples, set on leaving marks that would remind (y/n) of this very moment for days to come.

“Dean,” she mewled his name, begging him to move down further. Another gasp ripped through her as Dean ground her core against his bulge, letting her feel how hard he was, just for her. Her clit was pulsing, secretly wondering if she’d be able to cum just like that, just from searching his closeness with most of their clothes still on. “More, please.”

“I mean, sure, there’s the touching and the feeling all of each other. My hands everywhere, tracing every inch of her body. The two of us moving together, pressing and pulling… Grinding. Then you hit that sweet spot, and everything just builds and builds and builds. I want you to feel that, all of it.” He chuckled at the desperate gaze swimming in her pupils, letting go of a soft “So impatient”.

Dean clicked his tongue, flipping them around so that he could tower over her, hands tugging his own shirt over his head. Fuck, this wasn’t the first time (y/n) got to admire a shirtless Dean, and yet she had never dared to admire him for long, just a few seconds where he found himself distracted by something. But now Dean wasn’t distracted, no, he was awfully focused on (y/n), on the woman that would choke on his name in a few minutes. “I think I want you to cum on my tongue first, and then on my cock.”

“Oh fuck, do something, please.” His chuckles reverberated through the bedroom as he helped her out of her jeans, panties following shortly after. She was completely bare, naked for his eyes only, a sight so beautiful Dean found himself frozen. Both their hearts were racing, calling out to one another, very well knowing that this wasn’t just a quick hookup, not something they’d ever be able to forget.

(Y/n)’s eyes followed Dean’s every move, watching him kiss his way down to her heat, eyes flickering up to meet hers as he brushed his tongue along her folds, moaning at her taste. She could already tell that this wouldn’t end like it had with the guys she had been with before, Dean would be able to make her cum in no time, pushing her over the edge before her mind could catch up with her body.

Dean’s skilled fingers took care of her pulsing bundle of nerves, smirking against her skin as he dipped his tongue into her tightness. Her moans kept clawing through her, hands grasping her sheets in a desperate try to ground herself, unable to keep on breathing. Her body grew tense as she felt her orgasm creeping closer, forcing her to breathe faster, scared that she’d pass out from the tension now clinging to her.

This very sensation had something so unfamiliar to it, (y/n) couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever get to experience this again, already addicted to the feeling of Dean’s tongue taking care of her every need. Her moans urged him on to add more pressure to his movements, tongue fucking her faster, in sync with the movements of his fingers.

“Oh god, Dean, I’m so close, please don’t stop.” Her sobs left his heart roaring in pride, tugging on his muscles as he watched her come undone. (Y/n)’s eyes fluttered close, teeth buried in her lower lip as she let the sensation wash through her, allowing her vocal cords to produce the sweetest sounds Dean has ever heard before. He found himself marvelling at her, wishing that he’d be able to grasp his phone, to take a picture of the pleasure drunken expression tugging on her features.

Dean had always known that he was in love with her, and yet he had never dared to act on his feelings, preferring to secretly harbour a crush that was stronger than any emotion he was used to by now, instead of ending up with a broken heart and a broken friendship. But in this very moment, Dean found himself growing more confident, finally understanding that she was tied to him in the same way he was tied to her.

“Dean,” a deep sigh left her as he pulled away, smirking down on (y/n) before he kissed her. “Fuck me, please.”

“Such a good girl, I knew you’d love this, you deserve to be touched by someone who actually wants you to enjoy this.” Dean rose from the bed to tug his trousers down his legs, allowing (y/n) to take in the sight of his clothed cock, of the way his cock was pressed against the fabric of his dark boxers. Fuck, she had dreamt about this very moment for way too many times, wondering how he’d fuck her, how he’d push her closer and closer to the edge with his cock buried deep inside of her.

Dean rolled a condom down his cock before he aligned himself with her heat, fingers interlaced with hers before he slowly sank into her. Both needed a few moments to adjust, exhaling the tension tugging on their muscles, urged on by the emotions that made this very night more special than all others they got to live through before.

(Y/n)’s trembling hand tugged Dean down to her, sharing a passionate kiss as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He moved slowly at first, building up a rhythm that shot sparks down their spines, leaving them drowning in the heat thumping through their veins.

“Shit, you feel so good.” Dean’s praises left her heart skipping beats, racing in her chest as if she was on another hunt, guided by the adrenaline rushing through her system. But this very moment wasn’t filled with the same kind of adrenaline she was all too used to, no, it had a new touch to it, allowing her to silence her racing thoughts.

Her walls fluttered around his cock as his hand found its way back to her sensitive clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, very well knowing that they’d both cum any moment now. Heavy breaths left them, mixed with moans and groans that echoed through her bedroom, a sound that would forever cling to them, reminiscent like the emotions filling their bodies.

“There we go, can feel you clenching my cock. Let go for me, sweetheart.” Dean’s raspy words pushed her over the edge, hands finding his shoulders to claw her fingernails into his skin. He fucked her through her high, staring down on her with a proud smirk before he followed her, releasing himself into the condom.

Dean slowly pulled out of her, tossing away the condom before he searched her closeness again. For a few minutes neither of them dared to speak up, trying to catch their breaths with closed eyes and wandering fingers that stroked one another’s warm skin. With a kiss pressed to her forehead, Dean pulled (y/n) into his chest, tightening his grip on her.

“You’re right, this is truly the most special thing ever.”

#Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester imagine #Dean Winchester x reader #supernatural imagine

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imaginesandsmut · 1 year ago

Text

So Good

Paring: Ethan Landry x fem reader

Summary: You and Ethan had hated each other since you too met, but when you're at a party dancing with a frat boy, Ethan takes it upon himself to show who you really belong to.

Warnings: Alcohol, smutty smut smut, and some fluff at the end.

Writers note: This was requested by @kianachampion and was definitely a great idea. Don't be shy to send fic ideas my way, ya'll. But anyways, enjoy xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You laughed whilst trying to steady your hand, the mascara wand shaking from your movements. The music in Tara’s bedroom was louder than any concert you have ever been to, pounding in your ears and causing you to go slightly deaf.

“Okay but I’m serious,” Tara yelled over the music, “if you don’t wear this skirt, I will kill you. You’ll look so good.”

You turned in your seat at Tara’s desk, turning to see her hold up the shortest skirt of your life. It was tiny, denim, pleated and with a chain dangling from one loop to another. It was cute but you didn’t know if you could pull it off, your ass would definitely be seen if you so much as lifted your arms.

“Please.” Tara tried her puppy dog eyes, pouting her lip in an effort to win you over. “I can’t be the only one wearing something slutty.”

“So you admit it’s too short!” You laugh at her attempt at playing cute.

“It is!” Tara walked over to her bottle of vodka and took a swig, swaying to the music. “But no one will care, it’s a frat party for god sake.”

You both were getting ready for the next rager at whatever Kappa Kappa Fi house it was at, most likely filled with the same people but during this exam season, everyone is looking to blow off some steam.

You could hear Mindy and Anika singing to the song through the walls, they were both in the living room preparing drinks for everybody. Chad and Ethan were somewhere in the apartment, probably hyping each other up by calling each other snacks and grunting.

You turned back to the mirror and inspected your makeup, satisfied with the results you got up and took the mini skirt from Tara’s hand. She clapped her hands dramatically with glee as you took off your sweatpants and replaced them with the skirt, suddenly feeling very cold.

“You look hot.” She pushed you towards the mirror to inspect yourself. The skirt looked nice, your legs looked nice too. You paired it with a graphic baby tee and your beat up tennis shoes.

“You look good too.” You turned to Tara and took the bottle from her, taking a swig as she smiled and twirled her short dress for you.

You enjoyed these moments with your best friend, just smiling and happy. You both met in your first class of University, you were nervous because you hadn’t made any friends in the city yet but the spot next to Tara was empty and you were feeling bold. She smiled at you when you sat down, you smiled back and it was the beginning of your friendship.

“Can you two hurry up now!” Mindy yelled from the kitchen, her voice much louder than the music.

You and Tara giggled at each other, both already buzzed from the few swigs of alcohol. You both left her room and joined the group in the living room, they were all drinking and laughing together. It was moments like this that made you really love your friends.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Except for one.

Ethan was taking in your appearance, a red solo cup filled with whatever alcoholic slushie Anika has made for everyone. His outburst caused everyone to look at you, all of them looking you up and down.

“Damn, you’re hot.” Mindy

“Thank you, Mindy.” You send a scowl at Ethan, the boy sipping his drink with a crease between his eyebrows.

Ever since you became friends with Tara, you became friends with the rest of her friends. The only person you can’t get along with at all is Ethan, he annoys you to knew end and he lets you know that the feeling is mutual. Constantly bickering with each other and fighting over anything possible. Anything that he could make a snide remark about, he does.

“You’re gonna get cold.” Ethan’s voice was a mumble, like he was annoyed with your own choice of clothing.

“I’ll be fine.” You cross the room and grab a drink from Anika, downing it in one go. With just a few words, he managed to get on your nerves and fill you with a need to punch him in the face.

“I’m just saying that it’s just a frat party, not a fashion show.” Ethan continued his attack on you.

“Oh my god, It’s not like you have to wear it.” You turned to look at him, crossing your arms defensively.

“If you bend over everyone is gonna see your ass.”

"So what?" You ask, annoyed and confused as to why he would care.

"God why do you need to be so uptight about everything?" He takes a swig of his drink whilst still taking in your appearance. "You need to loosen up."

"I would if you weren't around."

“Okay!” Tara claps her hands loudly, shutting you both up. “Let’s go.”

The whole walk towards the frat party was filled with you and Tara laughing over something whilst Mindy rambles about the newest Stab movie. But all you could focus on was Ethan walking behind you, way too close behind you. He kept bumping into you from behind and not even apologising for it, just shrugging when you told him off. It wasn't long till you reached the party, pushing your way through the crowd and towards the drinks table, shaking Ethan off your tail.

"Go find some boring person to talk about movies with." You shout at him over the music as he tried following you through the crowd. It was annoying how much he fought with you yet still followed you around, an endless torture cycle.

"I'm just waiting for you to fall and show your ass to the entire party." He shouted back, his frame towering over you.

"God I don't care, just leave."

"I'm not leaving." Ethan looked around the party, obviously trying to find a place for you both to go so you could fight even more. "Let's go to the kitchen over there."

Before he could turn back to face you, you slipped away from his sight and hid behind a group of people. You watched Ethan turn back to where you were supposed to be, the wildy look around to find you. He gave up after a bit and huffed in annoyance, walking over to the kitchen and talking to Chad.

You walked over to another area of the house, hoping to be free of the ever irritating Ethan Landry. The pool table came into your sights and was loaded with bottles, ice and cans. You grabbed the first closed cap you could find and cracked it open, taking a swig and almost gagging at the taste.

“They’re not very good.” A voice behind you spoke, it was slurred but confident. You turned and took in the most stereotypical looking frat boy in your life, complete with the unbuttoned shirt and backwards cap.

Normally, you would wave boys like him off. But you were tipsy and looking to have some fun tonight, so you played into his trap.

“Then what do you recommend?” You put on your most charming smile for him, completed with a slight tip of your head.

“I would try this.” He beamed at you, reaching over and grabbing a bottle from the table. “It tastes like Fanta.”

You take the drink from him and take a sip, nodding your head at the taste. He take your approval with a grin, nodding his own head.

“I’m Luke.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“Do you wanna dance, Y/N?” Luke seemed nice and charming, and he wants to dance with you which gives you a big ego boost. “You look so good, I just have to ask.”

You take his hand and let him guide you to the dancefloor in the centre of the house, bodies upon bodies push up against each other in momentum to the song. Luke pulls you close to him, his hands on your hips and moving them with his own. You put your arms around his neck and pull him close, your faces close enough to feel his breath on your cheek.

You look around the room whilst dancing to see what everyone else is doing; Tara was talking to a girl from your classes, Chad was playing beer pong, and Mindy and Anika were already making out on the couch. You looked around subconsciously for Ethan, trying to find him through the crowd.

It was then that you caught his eyes, an ever present scowl across his features. Ethan was sitting on the nearest couch, someone was talking to him but all he could do was focus on you and how close you were to this random frat guy. The drink in his hand long forgotten, the red solo cup gradually getting squeezed harder and harder with every sway of your hips against the guy.

You don’t know what came over you, maybe it was the drinks in your system or the dark look Ethan was giving you, but you decided to put on a show. You turned around in Luke’s arms and pressed your back against his chest, moving your ass against his crotch. The infamous short skirt began riding up with every movement you were making, letting you get bolder and bolder.

You threw your head back and rested it on Luke’s shoulder, looking to the side to make eye contact with Ethan. You could see him shaking his head at you, obviously annoyed about something like he always is. He was leaning back on the couch, arms crossed against his chest, manspreading like owns the place.

Luke was gripping you harder, his breathing heavy as he groaned at your movement in your ear. You smiled to yourself for doing this to him, but you felt like it was all wrong, like he wasn't the person you wanted him to be.

“Can’t believe I haven’t seen you around before.” Luke’s voice was low, distracted by everything you’ve been doing.

You don’t reply, you felt mechanic against Luke, like his very touch made you feel wrong in every way. Your eyes kept drifting to Ethan, trying to peek at his reaction. The boy in question was now resting his elbows on his knees, bent over and giving every bit of his attention to what you were doing.

His jaw was tense, like he was going to crack a tooth from the pressure. His eyes were dark and focused, like nothing else in the world cared to him but watching you. The person next to him kept rambling on about whatever conversation they were previously on, but Ethan didn’t care.

Ethan didn’t know what was coming over him, it was like he was taken over by a force of anger and jealousy. Everytime he was with the group, you annoyed him to no end and he made sure you knew it. He never once thought of you in any way but the annoying girl in the group. But now, seeing you dance with another guy, all he wanted was to grab you and pull you onto the couch with him.

Luke’s lips attached themselves to your neck since you already had it stretched out trying to get a look at Ethan. His breath was hot and his lips felt weird on your skin, like he was trying too hard to make it sensual but it felt rushed and timid. You pretended to lean into it, like it was what you wanted.

That’s what set off Ethan.

He pushed himself off from the couch and made his way through the crowd, not even looking at the people he moved out of his way. You could feel him getting closer, like there was a pull he had on you and you could tell when he was away or too close.

A hand reached out and pulled you from Luke, earning a gasp from you and an annoyed yell from him. Ethan was gripping onto your arm like you were going to disappear, his eyes stared at you with disgust.

“Hey, what the fuck, man?” Luke threw his arms up, confused as to why someone would interrupt him.

“Don’t touch her.” Ethan stopped looking at you and turned his attention on the frat boy, yet his grip on your arm never ceased.

“Why? You her boyfriend or something?” Luke laughed, pushing Ethan’s chest.

“No, he’s not.” You tried to wiggle your arm out of Ethan’s hold but with every movement you made, his hold on you tightened. You’re sure that you’re gonna get bruises soon if he doesn’t let go.

Ethan sent daggers your way at your outburst, like it was anything far from the truth and he was surprised by it. Luke laughed at your reply and stepped closer to Ethan, challenging him.

“So what are you? Some sad friend that couldn't get any from her?” Luke’s voice was mean and his demeanour was scary, different from the charming way he was talking to you. It reminded you why you steer clear of guys like him at parties, and now Ethan’s hold was feeling a little more comforting.

Ethan didn’t say anything to Luke, instead he just turned to look at you. You looked back at him but you couldn’t describe the look in his eyes, like he had someone to tell you but couldn’t voice it.

“Let’s go.” His voice was small and quiet, but demanding.

“She’s not going anywhere.” Luke was looking at you expectantly, like he was waiting for you to shrug off Ethan.

You looked back at Ethan, he wasn't waiting for you to say anything, probably preparing to drag you away no matter what you said. You could feel some eyes on the three of you, watching to see what would happen. You turned to Luke and apologised before pushing on Ethan’s chest and taking him into the nearest private room.

You shut the door behind both of you, effectively shutting out the party and the music. You looked around the room, a small study with books lining the walls. It would be nice if you weren’t pissed off.

You looked at Ethan who could only look down at his feet, a wave of nervousness overtaking the confident facade he just had on.

“What is wrong with you tonight?” You tried to keep your voice down but the anger was bubbling over the surface.

Ethan didn’t even look at you, just shrugging his shoulders in response.

“You have been acting like a total dick all night, more than usual.” You continue, running your hands through your hair. “And now you’re being a dick to others, seriously? Why do you have to ruin everything good in my life?”

Still, no answer.

“Are you going to say something?”

It was a quick decision for Ethan, one that he's been wanting to do for ages but had only seemed to have gotten the courage to do it now. He made the few steps towards you, closing the gap and reaching up to cup your face, all before crashing his lips onto yours.

It was sudden, him pressing his lips onto yours. You wanted to fight, to push him away and tell him off. You wanted to tell him off for the whole night and all of his antics, but you stayed still and let him kiss you. It was hungry, feverish, like he was expecting you to push him away and he knew it was going to be the last time.

It wasn’t until you slipped your hands into his hair and pulled him closer that he finally relaxed, moaning into your mouth and pushing his body closer to yours. He backed you up against the door, pressing his hips to yours to cage you in.

You hated yourself for what you were doing, knowing that you might hate yourself in the morning. But right now, kissing Ethan, it was all you wanted.

“Couldn’t handle seeing you with that other guy.” He whispered against your lips, kissing you between almost every word.

You didn’t say anything, just wanting to live in this moment forever because you didn’t know how long it’ll last, he might start fighting with you as soon as you back away. You tugged on his curls, earning a groan from him and a thrust of his hips against yours. It was getting hotter and heavier every moment that your mouths were on each other, losing all thoughts of how much you were supposed to hate him.

“The only way I thought you’d look at me was if I was mean to you.” Ethan’s lips latched themselves onto your neck, sucking and biting every bit of skin he could get to. “But seeing you with him, I just wanted him to know that you’re mine.”

“Ethan.” It was like you were dumb, you couldn’t think of anything else but his mouth on your neck and his hands on your hips, gripping them as if you were going to run away.

“If you knew how much I wanted you, you would have ran away.” He was rambling, speaking to you as if you weren’t listening.

“I wanted you too.” Maybe it was the drinks or the dancing, but your tongue felt loose and you split every thought you had to him. “I did all of that for you.”

He couldn’t say anything else, too turned on by your words and your hands tugging on his hair. His hands moved down to your thighs, gripping the exposed skin and chuckling at how you were trying to stifle your moans. His hands trail upwards underneath the skirt and to your underwear, caressing your hips with his thumbs.

“This fucking skirt.” His mouth moved to hover just above yours, your neediness made it almost impossible to focus on his words. “I wanted to rip it off you the moment I saw it, tried blocking you from everyone on the street during the walk here.”

“Is that why you hate it?” You chuckled, caressing his cheeks and taking in how pretty he really was for the first time. “Because you love it so much?”

“I wanted to take you back into Tara’s room and show you a reason why you shouldn’t wear it.” His eyes were laser focused on you, you were almost scared to look away. “Now I guess I’ll have to show you here.”

“What do you mean?”

Before any more words could leave your mouth, Ethan’s thigh wedged its way between your legs, the rough material of his jeans pressing against the flimsy fabric of your thin underwear. Your moan caught you by surprise, Ethan grinned wildly at it and was determined to hear more,

“Want you to get off on my leg.” His voice was low and hesitant, like he was waiting to see how you would react to him being demanding with you when you would normally tell him off. But all you could do was nod and start grinding on his thigh, the jean material rubbing against your clit and causing you to go a little hazy.

Ethan was much taller than you so his thigh between your legs caused you to stand practically on your tippy toes, the only anchor you had was his shoulders. You nails dug into his skin through the fabric of his shirt, using them to help you drag your pussy over his thigh. The sensation was making you desperate, you could feel him flexing his thigh every time you moved your hips forward, making then feeling on your clit so much better.

“If only the group could see how needy you are for me.” Ethan’s hands were on your jaw, holding your head up so he could see your face properly, grinning to himself at how your face scrunches up every time your clit feels a particularly good part of his thigh. “They would be so surprised to know that all that hate you had for me was just masking your true feelings.”

“What feelings are those?” Your voice was breathy and almost silent, you had never felt like this before.

“The feeling of wanting to fuck me, wanting me to fuck you.” Ethan’s lips ghosted your cheeks, kissing them after every moan you tried to silence. “If only you told me earlier, baby, that you wanted me. I would have helped you out, I will do anything for you.”

You don’t know why but those words spurred you on, causing you to pick up your pace and grind yourself on his thigh faster. Ethan could see you needed help and placed his hands on your hips, ready to help you. But before he did anything, he stopped you, much to your dismay as you let him know with a needy whine.

“Tell me you want me.” His voice was no longer cute and joking, he was serious.

“Ethan.” You whined and tried to move your hips again, but his hold on you was too strong and bruising.

“Tell me that you’re mine.”

You looked at him, his eyes dark and tough. As much as you two bickered and fought, he had never looked at you like this, it scared you a little. But the way he was holding you, the words he was speaking, it was all so hypnotic that all you could do was follow his instructions.

“I’m yours, Ethan.” It scared you more that you knew you meant it, you had known it for a long time but this was the first time admitting it. “I have always been. Now please, make me feel good.”

The last part was what got Ethan, the desperation in your voice and the way your hands clung to his hair like he was all you needed in the world, it felt him with a sense of pride. His hands started moving your hips for you, helping you drag yourself over his thigh. It was all so delicious, the feeling of your own lace underwear and his rough denim on your sensitive clit, the groans he was letting go in your ear, his lips on your shoulder blade.

“You look so good, baby.”

You smiled at the compliment, biting your lip as your eyes closed. The sight made Ethan almost cum there, how happy and hot you looked riding his thigh. He could look at your face all day.

Then, Ethan picked up his pace, dragging your hips over him with a new found speed, added to the sensation of him flexing and bouncing his knee to stimulate your pussy even more. One of his hands left your hip and went under your top and bra, groping your boob and tugging your nipple.

It was all too much; the feeling of him on your clit, his cold fingers pinching your nipples and his mouth sucking hickies on your neck. You swore that if you had any thoughts apart from you and him, you would be embarrassed that the party was hearing how loud your moans were.

Ethan could tell you were getting closer from the tugging on his hair to the stuttered motion of your hips, you were starting to lose all control. Ethan crashed his lips back onto yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth in a messy show of dominance, wanting you to know who was making you feel this good.

“Come on, baby.” His breath was hot against your lips, and you couldn’t wait till he kissed you again. “I know you’re close.”

“Mhmm.” All you could to was whine, the feeling within you getting tighter and tighter the long you grinded on him. It wasn’t until Ethan took his hand from your hip and dipped it into your underwear, rubbing your clit in lazy circles and you feverishly thrusted against him

“Good girl.” He almost laughed at how whiney you were, so different to how mean you are to him in front of your friends. “Let go for me, let everyone know who’s making you feel good, yeah?”

The band within you snapped and you came with a cry on Ethan’s thigh and fingers, their own assault on you never ceasing and he continued to rub your clit and help you move your hips on him, allowing your orgasm to drag out.

He took in your face, so blissed out in ecstasy, he kissed you hard. You smiled into the kiss, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him closer, not wanting the moment to end. You were scared about what was going to happen when you got off his thigh and left the room; would you two go back to fighting as usual or did this spark some change within him.

“Come back to my dorm?” Ethan’s tone was now nervous and unsure, and yet his demeanour remind confident. “I wanna see you in my bed, naked. Be away from the crowd so you can chant my name.”

Ethan watched your face, waiting for you to say something, anything. He was nervous too that you were going to push him away and act like this was a one time thing, he wanted it to be more, for both of you to be more. Fighting with you was the only way he was able to get your full attention, and so he did it because he had no other choice. But now, knowing that you like him back, he wanted you to be his.

“Okay.” You looked up at him and touched his lip with your thumb, a soft gesture but it caused him to melt.

“Yeah?�� His smile was contagious, causing you to grin yourself.

“Yeah.”

#ethan landry smut #ethan landry #scream #scream 6 smut #scream 6 #tara carpenter #chad meeks martin #mindy meeks martin #scream imagine

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dancing-with-draegons · 4 months ago

Text

A Gilded Cage

pt. 1

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aegon's wife!reader (she/her pronouns, Lannister colouring)

summary: One night, alone in his chambers, Aegon's wife can no longer bear her husband's indiscretions. Aemond witnesses her outburst and is intrigued.

warnings: Aegon bashing (he's in a loveless marriage with reader), suggestive themes, dark themes, systemic sexism, reader has been raised to be a pretty doll and nothing else

word count: 2.9k

Aegon's wife has often seen him go into the city and return the next morning, still in his cups, with his doublet lost, his breeches unlaced and the rank smell of brothel all over him. It was always humiliating to find your husband unfaithful, but worse than the sting of infidelity was the public shame that came with it. She could see it in her ladies’ eyes: a mixture of glee and pity, to see one who had risen so high reduced to a spurned wife.

It had not always been so. When her father had given her to the prince in marriage, he had been proud. She had been the prettiest maid in all seven kingdoms with her golden curls and deep green eyes. A true Lannister. And Aegon had been charming. She had rescued him from a marriage to his own sister, all because her father had insisted that she be wed to the prince to forge the alliance Princess Rhaenyra had once turned up her nose at. And Otto Hightower had agreed, knowing full well they would need the westerlands in the war to come.

She had been so proud to wear the red and black and green of her new house, always chased with gold. And how she had loved Aegon at first sight! Her handsome prince. Her love. Her knight and champion. She had known before their wedding that he would be a wonderful husband, a doting father, and a great king, like his namesake.

The only fly in the ointment had been the prince's younger brother. Aemond had called her father greedy, and her a prize calf. Perhaps he had been annoyed that he would now have to wed Helaena, who was only half as beautiful as she herself. Or so her father had told her when she had come to him crying. Aemond was always kind to Helaena. She remembered how surprised she had been when she had first seen him with her, how quiet, how gentle he had been with her. She had doubted her father's words then, and anyway, no marriage between them had happened, so it had all been wrong.

Now, it was not Aemond who made her cry, though he still looked at her with derision. It was her husband, who'd sooner bed every unsavoury whore in the city than his charming and beautiful wife.

A few times he had lain with her, and it had been sweet enough. She had been well prepared not to expect the same sort of pleasure her husband felt, so it had all been well. To hear him moan and shudder had been enough for her. But now, he would moan for another woman, and find his release with her. And she would be blamed for the lack of an heir.

Had she known back then, when she had been a little girl despite her looks, how this marriage would turn out, she would have begged her father to wed her to one of his bannermen. But no such luck.

She was the prince's wife, and would be his queen should he ever ascend the throne, and would one day have to bear him his son. That was her duty.

Half a dozen times had she resolved to go to his chambers and seduce him, only to do her duty. She had had a nightgown made for that especially, daring and well-cut, so that everyone in the room from the seamstress to the guard had ogled her. It lay, folded carefully, in the chest at the foot of her bed, and a few times she had donned it only to lose her courage at the last moment.

She had envisioned it all: how she would enter Aegon's chambers, where he would be drinking with his knights and followers. How she would let the cloak fall to her feet and stand in all her beautiful glory before them. Aegon would rise from his chair then, not at all drunk yet, and, with his eyes on her, would send away his friends, who would leave reluctantly, eyes only on her. Perhaps one or two of them would stumble over their feet, too distracted by her beauty and she would help them up and chuckle good-naturedly. And once they were gone, Aegon would make love to her the way he had once, before they had even been wed, and fill her with his seed. A few moons later, she would give birth to his heir, and they would call the silver-haired, green-eyed boy Jaeson to honour their alliance, or perhaps Aegon, she had not quite made up her mind.

But for her dreams to come true, she would have to act.

That night, when her maid had combed her hair until it looked like molten gold and left, she put on the nightgown, fastened the hooks and laced it up tightly to cinch her waist and lift her bosom. It was more uncomfortable than a court gown, but it was a good pain, as she knew it made her beautiful.

She donned her green velvet cape to hide the revealing gown and set out to visit her husband.

Aegon had decreed that her chambers should be far from his, so as not to wake her at night, and the halls of the holdfast were draughty and cold this late in the summer.

At last, she reached his door. None of his usual guards stood vigilantly at the door but that meant little. Often her husband asked them inside to drink and gamble with him and his friends.

But as soon as she had entered, and closed the door carefully so as not to disturb the queen – and, in truth, not draw attention to herself in this state – she saw that she had come in vain.

The table was littered with cups and flagons of wine, playing cards lay in puddles of wine and ale, bowls of bread, oil and cold meat were becoming a feast for flies and other vermin.

She was too late. They had already moved on into the city, where now some whore earned her pay under him or on top of him, if he was already deep in his cups.

And it was all too much. The disgrace, the indecency of it all, and Aegon's sheer ignorance, worse, his open and downright disregard for her after all she had done for him.

She seized one of the flagons – no doubt fine Myrish glasswork with a brass handle shaped like a proud dragon – and threw it against the wall with all her might. It shattered not, as she had hoped, into a thousand pieces. The glass was thick and well made, and the flagon had only broken in two, the curved front with its spout now in the fireplace, the other half with the dragon handle on the soft rug in front of the fire.

This failure to truly wreak havoc only enraged her more, and a glass chalice and a finely carved clay bowl followed. Soon enough, the floor was littered with shards of glass and pieces of broken stoneware.

She was out of breath now from the effort, and her cape had long slid off her shoulders to pool at her feet like a forest pond.

Her heartbeat quietened as she took in the sight of destruction around her. There was no need to panic, no one would suspect her. It was like Aegon and his cronies to leave the chamber in disarray for the servants to clean up.

Not even Aegon would know. He would have forgotten the events of the night before sunrise.

At first, it had felt good, to see it all go to ruin, to see it broken beyond repair, just as she herself felt at times, when she saw them all laughing, when she was once again alone in her chambers, with no one to call friend, when Aegon had once again made her the butt of his joke, or flung some insult at her in his cups.

But now that the rage had abated, it left her cold and empty as a grave.

She turned towards the door to leave and froze.

Her good brother stood there, the door closed behind him, his one eye trained on her with an unfathomable expression.

She had never heard him enter. Had she just thrown something against the wall when he had come in?

It was just like him to stay and watch while she was at her lowest.

She loathed the way he looked, his moon pale hair smooth and silky, and bound back with a simple ribbon, his long, harsh, scarred face, his sensitive lips, and his one eye, periwinkle blue and staring at her.

How could a man so cruel be so handsome?

Now that she was facing him, he surveyed her attire dispassionately and she knew he had deduced why she had come here as swiftly as only Aemond could.

She would have felt better with her cape on but could not bend down in the tightly laced nightgown, and even if she could, her bosom would tip out of the low neckline and it would all look very grotesque and inelegant, so she stood still as a statue.

“He has long left for the city,” her good brother informed her tonelessly.

“Thank you,” she replied, though her tone made a barb of her gratitude. “My husband has left his quarters in quite a state.”

Aemond's lips pulled into a smile like a longbow. So he had been here for some of her performance. Good to know.

Would he tell on her? He loved her little, yes, but he hated his brother.

“Mh.”

“I meant to pay my dear husband a visit,” she said, because she loathed the way he shut her down with his cursed little hum.

“What is your excuse to be here?”

His gaze travelled over the broken cups in reply.

Of course, she must have made a racket.

“I was awoken by the noise, too,” she lied, daring him to object. “So I went to see if my beloved husband was hurt.”

His smile intensified. Naturally, he enjoyed himself most when he was playing cat and mouse with a mouse that gave him a chase.

“You should not have left the safety of your chambers,” he said, and that was the longest sentence he'd ever directed at her. “You might have got hurt.”

What a tragedy that would have been, his mocking smirk seemed to say, my brother's upstart wife struck down at his side.

“I'm now a princess,” she said, although they all still called her lady, but her father had said so, “I'm free to go wherever I please.”

“Free?”, his voice was delicately inflected and she thought he was being derisive, but there was something else there too that she could not place, “you are bound up like a fish in a net.”

“Well, if you are lucky, your own wife will one day make an effort with her appearance as well.” She put her hands on her hips and the fabric of her tight sleeves dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms.

Again, Aemond made no reply, though his smile had lost its amused edge.

For a long moment, he stared at her and fear rose inside her like a morning sun. He was known to be fierce and terrible when roused, and he could not bear being taunted. Aegon had done it once too often in the yard and Aemond had been pulled off of him, fists bloodied and mad rage in his eye.

She only noticed that she had edged away from him when her hip made sharp contact with her husband's dinner table.

Aemond turned around without warning, and it seemed he meant to leave –

“Why?” she asked, and Aemond halted with his hand on the door handle his back still to her.

“What have I done wrong? I have done my duty, I have smiled for him, dressed for him, I have done everything he wanted and yet –”

Aemond did not turn around.

“I shouldn't be asking you of all people, I know you think I deserve this for reaching so high. I'd wager you're pleased that he's humiliating me.”

“No,” he said at last, and turned around. “You should not.”

That was the straw that broke the mule’s back.

“Fine. You've always looked down at me and my family, but let me tell you that Lann the Clever has settled here many thousand years before the Targaryens. Let me tell you that my ancestors needed no dragons to conquer a kingdom, their wits sufficed. Go on, talk about how I am an upstart, greedy, ambitious. But remember that you were a boy when you set out to claim the largest dragon in the world, the dragon who lost his rider less than a week before. Look me in the eye and tell me I am overly ambitious, I am greedy, but know that you are the same. Do you think I do not see the way you look at Aegon, at the throne, the crown? Do you think I do not understand why you study the histories, philosophy, geography, like a young king should? Because you lust for a crown, just like I did. And let me impart this wisdom upon you: it is not worth it.”

She meant to storm past him but his hand shot out and suddenly, she was with her back against the wall, the door handle just out of reach, and a very angry Aemond Targaryen was towering over her with a thunderous look on his face.

A part of her, the one that logic and thinking did not reach, was cold with fear.

He would not harm her, she thought, not here, not her, his good sister. He knew she was the key to the west. He was no fool.

But he made no move to let go of her neck, her waist, and his body did not allow her so much as a twitch.

Gingerly, she tried to wrench free her left arm, caught between their bodies, but only succeeded in pressing it firmly against Aemond's hard stomach.

“Let me go,” she said and tried to push him away. Aemond was slim as a lance, though tall and strong, and he wouldn't move.

“You hate him,” Aemond said, giving no indication that he had heard her.

He seemed surprised by this revelation, as if it was somehow strange and unheard of that a spurned wife might loathe her husband with all her being.

The rage that was so close to the surface these days erupted once again: “Of course I do. Did you think you were the only one he humiliated? The only one he likes to make fun of, taunt, play fool's games with? Ever since one night, he was too soft to do his duty, he's taken it out on me, he's shamed me with his whores, taken them to bed, paraded them around the keep for all to see. He has a dozen bastards by now, but no trueborn son, and that is seen as my failure, not his.”

She had never told anyone about that night. How he had laboured on top of her, reeking of old wine and other things, how he had tried and tried to get it in with fumbling fingers, scratching her skin down there, bruising her thighs. And she had asked him to stop, to try again some other time, but he refused, told her to shut up and bear it silently.

“A son,” Aemond repeated softly, and there was something sinister in his tone. He was taller than her, though not by much, and she could not escape his gaze. Intense. Questioning.

And she understood.

A way to pay back years and decades of humiliation.

At the cost of righteousness, of morality, and, if it all came to light, at the cost of their lives.

She threw all common sense to the wind and kissed him.

~Aemond~

Her vehemence took him by surprise. He had never thought she would agree, let alone agree so readily.

For years had he loathed her, her and her greedy father whose bidding she did at all times. How she had revered Aegon, with large, bidding eyes, grateful for whatever shred of courtesy he bestowed upon her in his grace.

And Aegon had been pleased enough with his bride at first. That had angered him, too.

How perfect they had been, the golden prince and the golden princess.

But then Aegon had shown his true colours, as Aemond had long known he would, and his wife had not faltered. She had continued to admire him, be soft and gentle with him when she should have raged.

Raged as she had today.

Aemond was glad now that he had come. She was pretty but he had never had a taste for beauty. Had never had the opportunity to acquire it.

What he had seen…the heat of her anger, her destructiveness.

All her treacherous softness was gone, her simpering smiles, her honeyed voice.

He, and he alone, saw her how she really was. Raw. Angry. Wanting.

The ease with which she betrayed Aegon, the swiftness with which she had kissed him. Aemond could taste desperation and fury on her lips. It was a powerful aphrodisiac, he knew best.

He held her tightly as he walked towards his brother's bed.

#Aemond Targaryen x OC #Aemond Targaryen x reader #HOTD fanfiction #oneshot

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writtenfangirl · 2 years ago

Text

The Light

In which Benedict Bridgerton counts the ways he loves you.

I've had this idea for a while and this draft has been sitting in my draft folders for lord knows how long but I finally decided to publish it! After initially reading the Bridgerton books, I want the world to know that Benedict has always been my favorite Bridgerton brother because I relate to him the most.

Epilogue

I. In the quiet moments

Saturday morning was always quiet in Aubrey Hall, Benedict’s childhood home. With Aubrey Hall in the throes of summer, that meant the Y/L/N’s stayed with them. Her mother’s dearest friend had always been Y/M/N, having debut in society together. They had made it their tradition to visit one another during the summer and where Y/M/N, it usually meant Y/N followed. Y/N, who was Y/M/N’s only child with her husband, Y/F/N. She was two years younger than Benedict but they had always been close.

He was always the first one up, and as the cook and the maids prepare breakfast, he would often sneak away towards Y/N’s room. He knew propriety dictates that such an action was uncouth but he was a child and Y/N was his best friend and so he snuck in anyway.

He knocked first. That secret knock they devised just last summer so the person on the other side knew that it was them.

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

The door swung open, as if already expecting him. Y/N was already awake and dressed, her hair tied up in a ribbon, her dress clean and pressed. Though Y/N only came to visit Aubrey Hall during the summers, the times that she did were some of Benedict’s favorites and they had their routine down to a tee.

“What are we doing today, Benedict?” Y/N asked, as she did every morning.

“We can go visit the lake and see how many animals we can see in the clouds in the sky!”

“Okay!” Y/N said with a childish giggle.

Benedict gripped her hand, leading Y/N out of her room, past the gardens and towards the lake that bordered their estate.

They spent the morning watching the sky, their backs pressed against the grass, giggles emanating from the duo as they argued about whether that cloud looked like a frog or a bunny. Their hands were still tightly held within each other’s grasp and they didn’t let go until they were called to breakfast and Benedict dared Y/N to race him back to the manor.

He knew then that he loved her. She was his best friend and best friends loved each other no matter what.

II. In the loud moments

Benedict’s family was considerably large and though he loved his siblings dearly, he knew that there was never any quiet when it came with them.

They were loud. And boisterous. Unless they had guests, dinners with the Bridgertons usually ended with dinner being flung across the table. Y/N’s mother had arrived sick with a head cold and had requested to have dinner in her room alone, leaving Y/N to have dinner with the Bridgertons all and on her own. And though Y/N was not a Bridgerton, Benedict knew how much the Bridgertons loved her, especially because she was privy to their chaos.

Chaos, most especially seen in Aubrey Hall, where 10 year old Anthony had begun sending their father, Edmund, mischievous looks.

Violet, as if sensing the impending doom, had a warning tone already ready. “Anthony Bridgerton, don’t you dare.”

But Anthony paid his mother no heed. Instead, a mischievous smirk stretched across his face before he jumped on the table and loudly screamed, “FOOD FIGHT!” before proceeding to ham fist the mash potatoes, flinging it towards Colin’s open mouth.

Chaos irrupted from the table as everyone, including Benedict’s parents took their own food, flinging it across the other side. Benedict’s mother was laughing in glee despite her previous protestations and Edmund had declared himself Violet’s knight in shining armor, shielding her from the onslaught of lamb stew that Colin threw their way.

Almost instinctively, Benedict felt Y/N’s hand grip his own, pulling him down towards her before Daphne, who was but two and couldn’t possibly understand what was going on but could understand that fun was being had, could hit him with the mashed peas on her plate.

Then and there, Benedict knew he loved Y/N. It would be difficult not to love her when she would willingly sacrifice her favorite dress to spare Benedict the green stains of mashed peas.

III. In the moments you do not share

He missed Y/N, terribly so. Being away to Eton meant he didn’t see Y/N nearly as much as he wanted to and though they wrote each other letters, it just did not suffice.

She had been a constant in his life and her sudden absence felt like a rock wedged between his ribs where his heart should be.

He enjoyed his time at Eton, he truly did. They were schoolboys and youth was their elixir of joy. It meant living life free of inhibitions, gambling and drinking and finding women to fill their beds. But none of his friends could ever hope to replace Y/N’s presence. With Y/N there was no bravado, no explanation. Just unhurried conversation and fun he could remember tomorrow.

He couldn’t wait to see her and his much needed vacation in a week was enough to give Benedict a spring in his step.

Today also happened to be mail day and though he knew he was going to see his best friend in a week, he still anticipated her weekly letter.

With the letter slipped into his dorm at the end of the day, he quickly sliced through the wax that bore Y/N’s family crest, reading through its content.

My dearest, Benedict,

I suspect that by the time you receive this letter, the time between us seeing each other will have considerably shortened. I miss you terribly. Summers in Aubrey Hall are simply not the same without you. Colin has turned whiny waiting for his two older brothers to come home and spend the summer with him. Daphne is growing taller by the day and Eloise has begun to learn how to read. She and Francesca are joined by the hip everyday. Your mother and father are as splendid as always and I suspect a Bridgerton whose name begins with G will soon join us.

I am quite alright though I am shamed to admit how terribly I’ve missed my greatest friend. My mother and father are also splendid as is the rest of my family. Do come home in one piece. I’m afraid I may go slowly mad with Colin pestering me everyday.

The Light of Your Life, Y/N Y/L/N

Y/N’s words brought him all the comfort he needed. He loved his time in Eton but he could not deny it’s loneliness. His friends couldn’t understand how it is he could possibly miss his family but theirs was a strange existence. His parents valued love above all else and he had grown up alongside his siblings in a home full of love and laughter.

And he knew then that he loved Y/N for her ability to assure him, to lull him into a calm that could keep his mood afloat for days.

IV. In the moments you do share

Oh how he missed her. He missed the way Y/N’s H/C hair whips through the wind, carrying with her heady scent. He missed her twinkling laughter, her teasing smile. He especially missed the feel of her hand grasped around his.

They were growing up and though Benedict knew that their youth would still be with them, there was a certain kind of melancholy that came with the realization that things will not always be as they were. Y/N had informed him that with her debut to society next year, she would not be able to spend the summers with him. He couldn’t imagine Y/N married to anyone, let alone married to anyone unworthy of her and he had been insistent that he spent next year’s summer with her.

“Y/N, light of my life,” he said, his tone serious but his eyes lit with jest. He’d begun calling her that after he heard his father call his mother the light of his life and he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Y/N was the light of his life. He pulled them to a stop, Aubrey Hall looming in front of them despite being a great distance away.

“Yes, Benedict, light of my life?” She said demurely.

“Do you think you can make me a promise?”

“What promise is that?”

“You won’t marry someone unworthy of you.”

At that, she laughed. “If I have any say about it I shan’t marry at all. But I’ve held it off as long as I can. I’m twenty one now and mother is at her wits end.” But her eyes grew serious and somber, her laughter slipping from her lips. She looked at him as though she knew deeply, truly, what was inside Benedict’s heart. He reached for her, felt the silky lock of hair that fell from her chignon, her breath that feathered across his wrist as he tucked the strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes were fully trained on her face, at the way her lashes swept across her cheeks, the red flush that crept up her neck that Benedict knew would take him weeks to shade match. He wouldn’t deign call her cheeks rosy. She would hate him for comparing her to something so common.

If Benedict were to paint her at this moment, he’d call it Summer’s Embrace. It captured her beauty, the ephemerality of today.

He could feel the heat of her and it was as if that very heat burrowed itself within him, finding a home in his heart. When she spoke again, her words were but a whisper, the spoken promise of planets swearing fealty to their stars. “I swear to you, Benedict. I will not marry someone who is not worthy of me.”

And with her promise, it was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He could feel the rush of air in his lungs mixed with her heady scent, the scent of childhood and misty early mornings. He felt her hand squeeze his own in earnest and Benedict knew that she would keep her promise forever if she could. He loved her then, for that promise. How could he not love the way she loved herself? Fiercely and with a protectiveness that Benedict knew was reserved for him and only him.

V. In the soft moments

There were no nights as special as rainy nights and none were as special as the ones he got to share with Y/N.

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

The door flung open, revealing Y/N. Her E/C were shiny with excitement, her face positively glowing.

She was wearing her simplest dress, covered only by a black frock that Benedict had leant her once that she refused to return. Her feet was clad in her finest riding boots and Benedict nearly had to clamp his own mouth shut to keep from rejoicing.

“It’s raining,” Benedict noted with a grin.

“I gathered as much,” Y/N said with a grin as equally mischievous as his.

“It would be the responsible thing to stay indoors. You are to leave for London tomorrow and I imagine that such a long journey may end in you getting a head cold.“

“Benedict, light of my life, when have we ever been responsible?” She looked at up at him, grinning like the devil.

And before the both of them lost their nerve, Benedict grabbed Y/N’s hand, sneaking them down the stairs and past the gardens, letting the rain wash over them.

Oh he adored the rain’s ability to wash away everything. And he knew how much Y/N loved the rain too. How she adored letting it fall on her skin as she jumped over puddles and danced on the wet grass.

Her long hair stuck to her forehead, giving her the appearance of a drowned cat but her wide smile more than made up for it. Even in the darkness that smile could light up a thousand lanterns and Benedict never found her more beautiful than she looked now.

A sudden feeling seized him and before cowardice could choke it down, he was already pulling her to him. “Y/N, I must tell you something,” Benedict yelled over the din of the rain, catching her chin between his fingers. Drops of rain were caught between her lashes, her breath coming out in pants between her lips.

Goddess Divine. That’s what he’d call this painting of her.

“What is it, Benedict?”

He swallowed. An invisible force had consumed him, wrenching the words from his lips before he could stop them. “I love you.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open in surprise. “W-what?”

“I love you,” he repeated, courage surging within him, his previous hesitancy evaporating like steam. His hand reached for hers almost instinctively. He felt her warmth, the way the heat of her hand seemed to jolt through his body like static. “Most ardently. In every way a man could love a woman, I love you. You are truly the light of my life and without you, I am pitched in darkness. You are the cracks in my heart but also balm soothes that it. I love you, Y/N. I have spent years of my life loving you in secret and I can bear it no more. I love you.”

He could see it in her eyes, the love she bore for him. It was the same love he felt for her, a garden in full bloom. But the words that followed her were not the words he thought he’d hear. “Benedict, I have been promised to someone else.”

VI. In the hard moments

“What?”

“I have no choice,” Y/N’s voice was cracking as hard as his heart. “My father has promised my hand to another. My debut, it is a farce, meant only to assuage his guilt for selling his only daughter. I am to be married to the Duke of Albany before the season ends and then he will ship me away to the colonies. He sold me to the Duke to pay off his debts. I have no dowry, no money. I thought to spend my last summer with the people who loved me, truly loved me. The Bridgertons have treated me as their own family. You have treated me as your own. Benedict, please I am so sorry.” She was rambling now, that much he could see. She always did that whenever she was close to crying, as if the fast words would somehow catch her tears before they fell.

He should say something, he knew he should but the words stuck to his throat like honey. It was all too much in too little time. Married? Shipped to the colonies? Benedict thought he had more time. More time to charm her parents and offer himself as a candidate for her hand in marriage. He’d already had every intention of marrying her but now his plans had turned to ash in front of his eyes.

“This was a mistake,” Y/N muttered pulling her hand away his. “I never should’ve come. I should’ve left like my father had suggested. He was right. This is all too hard.“

Thunder clashed like rolling drums in the sky. What has once been a pleasant pitter-patter of rain had turned into a torrential downpour, soaking Benedict to the bone. Any warmth he had felt had dissipated, leaving him shivering.

Before Benedict could stop her, Y/N was already racing towards Aubrey Hall, leaving Benedict with the bitter taste of heartbreak in his tongue.

VII. In the moments they shared with others

He was a fool. A right bloody fool who didn’t deserve her.

How could he have let her slipped free so easily? When Benedict had finally come to his senses, Y/N had already fled Aubrey Hall, taking her carriage and lady’s maid with her. Before Benedict could hope to give chase, Anthony had stopped him, citing that the heavy rain had made the roads treacherous.

“All the more reason to chase after her!” Benedict bellowed, his insides twisted in worry. He was still dripping wet from the rain, the roaring fire doing nothing to dry him off. “If something were to happen to her, I could never forgive myself.”

“Dearest, you must calm yourself,” Violet said in a soothing voice. “Y/N is strong. She is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

“You don’t understand, Mama,” Benedict said clearly still agitated. “She is to marry!”

“It is her first season and she hasn’t even debuted yet,” Anthony said with a furrowed brow.

“She is engaged to be married to the Duke of Albany. He means to live in the colonies and take her with him. He’s going to take away my Y/N. Mama, Anthony, please we must make haste and stop them.” He was begging now but he didn’t care. He’d beg on the very streets of London if it meant stopping Y/N’s wedding.

“The Duke of Albany’s 30 years her senior!” Anthony protested. “Her father couldn’t possible mean to marry her off to that odious man!”

“Hush, my darling,” Violet said as she pulled Benedict into hug despite their large height difference and how wet he was. “When the rain abates, I will join you myself in stopping their wedding.”

“Mama, I love her. I cannot. I—“

“I know,” Violet soothed. “It will be alright, Benedict. You shall see.”

But he couldn’t see. If Y/N reaches London, he knew in his heart of hearts that she would marry the Duke and sail off to the colonies without saying good bye. He knew it to be true because it is what Y/N would believe to be the best for them. If she left for the colonies, Benedict would never see her again and this would ease the heartbreak. At least, this is what she was likely telling herself to assuage her guilt.

But Y/N didn’t know how much affection Benedict carried in his heart for her. He could never love another woman so long as she breathed and even if she were to pass before him, she would hold his heart in her bones forever.

“I have to go get her.” Benedict declared, ripping himself away from his mother’s embrace.

Ignoring his brother’s cries, Benedict ran from the sitting room, towards the stables. Grim determination had consumed him, his thoughts focused on Y/N and only Y/N.

He’d go on horseback. It will be faster and he was a decent rider, he could catch up to her. He had to.

“My lord,” the stablehand stammered upon seeing him. The smell of horses permeated his nose though it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

“Help me, please. Our fastest horse.” Benedict panted, his breath winded from his short run.

“But, my lord, it is pouring. I can prepare the carriage—“

“No, I’ll be faster on horseback. Please do as I ask.”

The stablehand simply nodded and ran through the notions of preparing their fastest horse.

He heard his brother first before he saw him.

“Benedict, do not be rash.” Anthony was now as wet as he was from the rain.

“I am going and you cannot hope to stop me.” Benedict barely spared his brother a glance. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

“Then I shall go with you,” Anthony motioned to the stablehand to prepare another horse.

“Follow after me if you’d like but as soon as my horse is finished, I will ride.”

The stablehand moved quickly, cinching belts and hoops in record time and it wasn’t long before Benedict was on the saddle, the stable doors banging open as his horse leapt through them.

The horse felt fast beneath him despite the rain and moved with the same urgency its rider felt. He would not be deterred. If he had to stop the wedding at the altar, then he will do so. He cared not for dowries or money and properties and his family was wealthy enough for both of them. All he cared about was her.

It wasn’t long before he saw carriage lamps up ahead and he knew that it was Y/N. The carriage was moving at a languid pace, no doubt the driver was worried about a potential accident caused by the torrential downpour.

It only served to spur Benedict on.

“Stop!” Benedict yelled at the carriage.

It was as if God Himself was on his side. By some miracle, the driver heard him over the loud din of the rainfall. Benedict kicked at his heels as the carriage slowed, letting his horse ride just a little bit further than the four horses that pulled the carriage.

“Master Bridgerton,” The driver said, his eyes wide in surprise but Benedict paid him no mind. He dismounted from his horse before circling towards the door of the carriage. And then he knocked that secret knock they shared as children.

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

“Go away, Benedict.” Her voice was muffled through the door. The window’s curtain was drawn but he could see her vague silhouette as well as the silhouette of her maid.

“You do not have to say anything. You do not even have to answer me. But I implore you to listen.”

When Y/N didn’t say anything further, he continued.

“I wish to marry you,” Benedict said, his voice strong despite his pounding heart. For once in his life, he spoke to Y/N from his heart, let the words drip from his tongue like honey. He didn’t care that they had an audience, that Anthony was approaching from his own horse, that Y/N’s maid was in the carriage with her and that her driver was looking at him as though he’d grown two heads. Right now, all he saw was her. “Do you understand me, Y/N? I wish to marry you. I care not for your dowry or your money, I care only for you. If you wish to never look at me again, say so at once and I shall depart and I will never share in your presence until the day I pass from this world. I will endure the pain and the heartbreak because I love you and I wish only for your happiness. You need only tell me that you do not feel the same for me.

“But if you find that you cannot live without me the way I cannot live without you, tell me so. Let us end our own miseries and be happy. You, who deserve happiness more than anyone else in this earth.”

Despite the loud din of the rain, Benedict’s world grew silent, focused. His attention was on the carriage and the carriage alone. He knew that if Y/N told him to leave, he would do so without a moment’s hesitation. He will ride on his horse and turn his back away from her and he will never see her again.

But then, the knob turned slowly then all at once. The carriage door opened so fast, Benedict barely had time to jump out of the way before the door could hit him.

Y/N’s face was illuminated by the carriage’s lamps. She was still wet, wearing the same simple dress snd frock she had been wearing, having left Aubrey Hall in such a rush that a puddle had pooled at her feet, one that her lady’s maid desperately tried to wipe away.

But neither of them cared about that right now. An asteroid could crash from the heavens and obliterate the earth but their dust would stay in an embrace for the rest of eternity if they could.

She made her way out of the carriage, ignoring her maid’s protestations and making her way in front of Benedict. Whatever parts of her body that dried by her time in the carriage was immediately soaked by the rain once again.

She looked up at him, her eyes almost twinkling.

Venus on Earth would be the name of the next painting. Of that, Benedict was certain.

“I love you too,” Y/N whispered before grabbing his lapel and pulling him down to a kiss.

In front of all these witnesses no less!

Y/N’s lady’s maid gasped in surprise while the carriage driver and Anthony averted their eyes but Benedict didn’t care. He leaned into the kiss, relishing the taste of her. She tasted like rain, like misty mornings and the sweetness of youth. And their kiss was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He’s kissed plenty of girls before but nothing and no one would ever compare to Y/N.

And when they pulled away, Y/N’s grin could only be described as incandescent.

“Now you two truly must marry,” Anthony said but there was no displeasure in his voice, only keen triumph, “lest Y/N’s father wants his daughter’s reputation in tatters. I will write to him tomorrow. Tonight I will write to the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license and you two can wed before the week is out.”

“Thank you, brother,” Benedict said, finally feeling able to breathe.

He looked at Y/N, saw the triumph in her eyes. Y/N was one of the smartest people Benedict knew and though she knew kissing him would bring scandal nipping her heels, it would also force her father’s hand. The Duke of Albany wouldn’t want to marry Y/N if her reputation had been compromised.

It was no matter. To Benedict she was perfection and he wouldn’t have her any other way, tattered reputation or no.

“You are a bloody idiot, Benedict Bridgerton,” Y/N said but there was no malice in her voice. Just pure sprightly joy. “It took you this long to realize you loved me?”

He grinned, the kind of grin a man has when he knew his place in the world and his was beside her. “In truth, I fell in love with your fire long ago. Cowardice just seized me every time I felt the urge to tell you my feelings. But I do well and truly love you.”

“I love you, too.”

VIII. In their moments alone

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

Y/N’s door opened quickly, a strained smile on her face as she ushered Benedict in. Propriety dictated that their actions could only be deemed scandalous but Benedict didn’t care. He was marrying her tomorrow anyway. There was nothing and no one that could stop them.

It had been two days since the carriage incident and Y/N’s father had arrived on horseback to Aubrey Hall as soon as he’d received the missive.

“I have promised you to the Duke of Albany!” Her father had roared as soon as he managed to push his way through the butler, storming towards the sitting room where the Bridgerton family was having tea. Violet had the younger children ushered away from the confrontation, leaving only Y/N, Benedict, Anthony, and Colin.

“Who is older than even you, Father.” Y/N had said, the picture of serenity and calm. She was sitting on the chair closest to the window, the sun’s glow settling against her skin. She looked sublime.

Ethereal Grace would be a befitting title for this painting.

“He is a Duke and 18th in line to inherit the British Crown! He is being sent to the colonies to govern. With his money, you will live a life even better than I could have ever provided for you as a baron!”

“I care not for his money, Father,” her voice had some heat to it now, “You sold me. Like some brood mare whose only purpose is to breed and pay off your debts!”

“I did not!” He sputtered. But shame coated him, his eyes nervously looking at the Bridgertons. While women in society were often betrothed without their consent, notions of selling were generally frowned upon. If word ever got out that Y/N’s father married her off for money, he would be ostracized by society. Even worse, if such word ever reached the King or Queen, he could be stripped of his peerage, becoming even more destitute than before.

“I will be wed tomorrow to Benedict,” Y/N’s voice was hard now, all conviction and fire, “You cannot stop us. Anthony has acquired the special license and the Archbishop of Canterbury himself has agreed to marry us as a favor to Violet. You have come in vain.”

At that, Y/N’s father’s face turned thunderous. He took a menacing step towards her, one that had Benedict standing at attention, turning him into a protective shield. Her father eyed him distastefully and Benedict returned his venom.

“You are making a terrible mistake. She has no dowry,” Her father hissed at him. “She has nothing.”

“She has me,” Benedict replied, his voice calm despite the rage simmering beneath his skin. If Y/N, despite all the pain and heartbreak wrought by this man, could continue to remain calm, then he shall do the same. “That is enough. She is enough.”

This time it was Anthony who spoke, his voice as hard as steel. “You will find, sir, that we care not for Y/N’s dowry, only of her happiness. Perhaps it is time you depart, before you do something you will regret. Colin, get the door.”

Y/N’s father’s fists turned white but just as Benedict thought he would swing, he turned and walked away.

But before he could cross the threshold, Y/N called out to him, “Our wedding will be at noon tomorrow, Father. If you and mother would like to bear witness, it would bring me great joy.”

But Y/N’s father simply continued walking.

It had broken Y/N’s heart, which is why Benedict came to her room that evening.

He pulled her close, letting her sob for the first time since seeing her father. He knew that tomorrow will be the happiest day of their lives but for now, for tonight, Y/N was allowed to grieve.

“I love you. I have never been prouder of you than when you stood up to your father,” Benedict said, tucking her head beneath his chin and pressing a chaste kiss on her head. “Everything will be alright, you’ll see.”

“Do you mind staying with me tonight?” Y/N asked with a sniffle, her voice hopeful.

Any other time, the word yes would have fallen from his lips like the water of a fountain. But if there was ever a time for Benedict to try and make her feel better, it was now. So rather than a simple yes, different words flew from his lips, teasing and accompanied with an affronted gasp b“Ms. Y/L/N, do you mean to compromise me? I am a gentleman! Unhand me, at once, you cur!”

Y/N gave him that look, the same look she always gave him when they were children and she knew Benedict was trying his best to cheer him up but, nevertheless, Y/N’s once somber expression lifted into her own mocking look of surprise as she wiped away her tears. “I will have you know, Mr. Bridgerton, that I am a lady! Your insinuations are greatly unfounded. Leave my room at once before you leave me with a sordid reputation.”

But Benedict did not leave. Instead, he took her hand and pulled her towards the bed, letting her body mould against his like he was a sculptor and she was wet clay.

“My mother and father kept one bedroom, did you know that?” Benedict said as Y/N settled against him. He let his fingers roam, letting it comb through her hair before journeying down her neck, down her arms before resting on her hand.

“Oh?”

It was unusual for members of the aristocracy to like their spouses let alone love them as most marriages were arranged based on factors such as dowries and wealth. Spouses tended to keep separate bedrooms, choosing to spend an evening with the other only if there was a need to but Benedict’s parents were a true love match. They stayed in one bedroom until the day his father died and even then, his mother refused to leave. Better a love lost than a love never found were words Violet often used as an explanation.

“Is that something you’d like for us?” Y/N asked, peering up at him through her lashes. “A single bedroom?”

“I intend to stay with you tonight and every night after we are married. It would be quite a challenge to do so in separate beds.”

“Alright then,” she said with a giggle, “a single bedroom it is.”

“What about you? Any requests for our future home?”

“A sunroom would be quite nice. With many shelves filled with books that I can read. The light would be heavenly and you could paint while I read. It would be beautiful to have tea there rather than have a sitting room.“

“Your wish is my command, Y/N, light of my life.”

“Oh and, several bedrooms. I think I’d like to return the favor and host the Bridgertons every summer. And several more rooms for our future children, whenever we are ready to have them.”

“Of course,” Benedict said with a nod and smile.

“And a garden. Large and beautiful. Full of flowers of all shapes and sizes.”

“We will fill it with all of your favorites.”

She paused and then she frowned. “What if my father was right and we are making a terrible mistake?”

He squeezed her tightly, letting his enveloping his fingers around Y/N’s hands. “Then we will make this mistake together and we shall have no regrets. I cannot see the future, my love, but I greatly remember our past. I know that whatever troubles may find us, we will face it together and so long as we are together, we can face anything.”

He watched her brow smoothened as another smile entered her sweet face.

“Now, what else would you like for our future home, Mrs. Bridgerton?”

And as they planned their future home, their future lives, Benedict couldn’t help but think just how lucky he was in that moment they were alone. Perhaps he was being too idealistic. He had lived a life of splendor most people could only wish for, with no real adversaries besides the problem he’d encountered with his love life. Perhaps saying that they could face anything together only proved to tempt destiny into hurdling them towards trouble. But he did mean every word he said. He could face anything, be anything so long as Y/N was by his side. Y/N, who would always help him look past the darkness and see the light. Because that was what she was. The light of his life. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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st-danger · 11 months ago

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Saint my dear, dear friend - would you please bless us all with the tale of the first time Aeon pops his knot? I'm sure it's quite the experience...

Dew feels it between huffs of breath, the beginnings of it. The telltale little bump, ever more present. He debates saying something but with his legs on Aeon's shoulders, his chest has very little room to spare oxygen for words right now. Does he know? He's not sure he does, not sure he's experienced it yet, and frankly, the flattery that comes with being the one to trigger it, that he's the reason Aeon's not going to be able to control it, hold it back... he'll be preening about that for a long while. A point of pride that he'll try to keep to himself, but will mention in passing to the others. To brag. To gloat. He can't help it. Aeon hits something just right and Dew moans. Above him, Aeon echoes, hips slowing.

"Something feels funny," he breathes and Dew has to close his eyes at the confusion threading his voice, the wave of arousal it washes him with. He clenches around him involuntarily. Aeon's about to learn something about himself and Dew is going to be the one to witness that little loss of innocence. "Dew, hang on," Aeon mumbles, "something feels different."

"Does it really," Dew says, barely biting back the glee as he stares up at Aeon's perplexed, flushed face. "Go on and show me. Pull it out."

He lets his legs drop and sighs as Aeon slides out, leaning back on his legs, hands resting on his thighs. His cock, red and wet and standing up so straight with how hard he is, on full display like this. Dew pushes himself up to sitting and takes in Aeon's expression as he looks down at it.

Sees the little swell that's starting to form at the base.

"Um," Aeon says, "that's new." Dew reaches out and brushes his fingertips down the length, which throbs in response, makes Aeon sigh.

"Is it?" Dew asks lightly, as if he doesn't know, continuing to pet it to watch it wag around. His balls are already drawn up small and tight, and Dew is going to lose his mind when he gets it inside himself, he knows. They both have a really good cum in their near future, and his balls are already aching for it.

"Why's it...big?"

"It's gonna get bigger," Dew says, and wraps his hand around it to give it a nice firm squeeze, and the noise it tears from Aeon, the way his stomach clenches- Dew comes close to putting his fang through his lip with how hard he bites it.

"Shit," Aeon gasps, hips stuttering up as his hands plant behind him, holding him upright. Dew repeats it, starts working him there and Aeon makes another beautifully stupid sound. "What-"

"Called a knot," Dew says, light and pleasant. He presses his other hand into his lap, holds himself because there's no way he cannot right now. "You'll learn to control it, eventually."

"What," Aeon repeats, and it's swelling up nicely in his hand now, as he focuses on pleasuring it.

"Swells up, you pop it inside," Dew explains, "it gets a little bigger."

"Why?" Aeon grits out, thrusting up mindlessly, thighs working. Dew lets him go, and it bounces around. He settles back, pulls his knees up, and gives Aeon a perfect view of his hole.

"Not doing twenty questions," he says. "Promise you're in for a treat."

How Aeon scrambles to fit himself back inside. How he looms over and shoves himself back in with little grace now that the pudgy bump at the base is larger, more sensitive. Needy, deliciously desperate in a virginal sort of way. Dew holds his own knees and drifts, perfectly content to let him hump away while he enjoys the threat that comes with every bump against his rim, the way Aeon instinctively presses harder against him, and for a a touch longer each time. Pulls at his cock in time with the rolls of Aeon's hips and can't believe his luck, feels almost sick with joy that Aeon's gonna dissolve and Dew gets to be the first to witness the way he'll freak out over how good it feels. He'd like to cum the moment Aeon shoves it in, and he speeds up, but-

"Cum, gonna cum, unholy shit," Aeon babbles, faster than Dew expected. Much faster. Starts jackhammering, clearly unable to help himself, and the loss of control? Dew can only find endearing. "How's it gonna fit, oh, fuck, oh, Dew, Dew-"

He reaches up and grabs Aeon's face.

"You gotta shove it in," Dew growls. "You can do it, I know you can." Aeon looks at him through half-lidded eyes, mouth open, looking so fucking brainless. "You gotta get it in nice and deep." Words are hard, with how cruelly Aeon is fucking him. "C'mon, do it, fuckin' do it."

Aeon dribbles a little drool, too dumb to remember to swallow, sliding out over his lip and Dew pulls his head down to lick it off. That's enough. That's the trigger that does it; Aeon's eyes roll and he shoves forward and with a nice slick pop, Dew gets everything he wants, everything he could possibly want and then some with the high, reedy sound that forces itself from Aeon's throat. He curls in on himself like a overturned bug, and Dew's hand flies to his cock, jerking himself furiously while Aeon keeps squirting and throbbing and growing a touch bigger just like Dew had promised him, just enough to help keep him there, hold him in, like Dew isn't squeezing around him, like he isn't about to spasm and cum and prevent him from going anywhere all on his own. He's pressing exactly where Dew needs him to, and for a moment, Dew forgets about Aeon the person, and focuses solely on Aeon the sex toy, the knot he's going to use for his pleasure and cum around, the first knot his naive darling has ever popped.

It doesn't take much longer when Aeon begins whining, shaking uncontrollably while he cries something about too much sensation even as Dew still feels him throbbing inside. He howls when Dew finally cums, too, and collapses on top of him and begs for him to stop, and then for him to squeeze it some more.

Dew runs gentle nails up Aeon's sweaty back and can't help but laugh. A bit. He's held back the elation long enough.

#st-speaks #ghost #the band ghost #dewdrop ghoul #dew ghoul #sodo ghoul #aeon ghoul #phantom ghoul #nameless ghouls #dew/aeon #dew/phantom #dewdrop/aeon #dewdrop/phantom #sodo/aeon #sodo/phantom #dew x aeon #dew x phantom #ghost fanfiction #ghost headcanons

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zyhkoo · 13 days ago

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⚡️ Please, please, please

fluff, short oneshot, wally west x f!reader. a/n: my first time writing wally! if he’s ooc here, please dont hesitate to tell me.

( wally tries to get you on a date )

You let out a big exhale as you stretched your limbs. You had just come from a really long mission, and all you long for was rest. You said your report to Bruce and walked into the lounge.

But before you could pass out on a random couch or so, you could feel Wally West’s arm around your shoulders. “Hey, welcome back.” he smiled with his usual bright grin that could blind Helios himself. He always seemed to pop up wherever you went. It was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence. Sometimes it was endearing, but other times it was just plain annoying. And then there was the flirting…

Wally has been infatuated with you for who knows when. He reminds you of a puppy, wherever you go, he was there. Wherever you sat, he was just behind or beside you. You weren’t sure if he was actually interested or not— consider well, he flirted with others too.

You weren’t sure what to make of it. One moment he was flirting with you, and the next he was flirting with anyone else with a pulse. It was like he couldn’t make up his mind. ��Hi, Wally.” you sighed, this so called ‘relaxing’ break is going to turn sour.

He was always excited to be around you, his eyes practically sparkling with glee. “You just got back and already you look like you want to fall asleep.” he smiled, lightly poking your cheek. “I’m fine. Just tired.” you said, rubbing your eyes and trying to fight off a yawn. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Oh, nothing in particular." Wally shrugged "Just wanted to see how my favorite hero was doing."

He gave you that charming smile and you suddenly felt more tired than before. It was like his beam was draining out your energy. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to be annoyed right now.” you grumbled, trying to squirm away from his grip. “Don’t be like that, why don’t I take you out tomorrow?” he asked, looking in your bloodshot eyes. Then he pouts, “You never say yes.”

You let out a tired sigh, “And why do you think that is?” He only laughed, shaking his head, “Come on, you can’t keep avoiding me forever. I know you think I’m charming."

But you stared deadpanned, unamused.

He chuckled, not deterred by your unamused expression, "Oh come on, you know you can't resist me. Don’t give me that look…” You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, trying to remain unamused. But the truth is, sometimes his persistence was endearing. "You're insufferable, you know that right?"

After hearing another no, Wally resorted to Dick for advice. He finds him in blüdhaven, walking around with his little dog Haley.

Dick squints to see the familiar figure up ahead “Wally?” He dragged Dick to one side and began to whisper frantically to him, “I need your help. How do I get her to go out with me?” Dick raised his eyebrows, “Is.. is that all?”

“What do you mean ‘is that all’?” Wally said incredulously, “I’ve been trying to get her to go out with me since for.. forever.” Dick chuckled, shaking his head, “Have you ever considered that she just isn’t interested?” He rolls his eyes, “Why wouldn’t she be interested? I mean look at me. I’m a catch.” Dick smiled and patted Wally’s shoulder, “I’m not saying you’re not a catch. But I do think you’re a bit pushy, buddy.”

Dick gives him some advice; instead of flirting hopelessly. He suggested that Wally should treat you genuinely, perhaps some flowers as well. He then bought a bouquet of flowers, nothing too extravagant and rang the doorbell of your home. You wondered who that was, you didn’t order anything and you were definitely not expecting to see a friend. You walked to open your door, “Hello, how may I—“ then you saw him, with a small smile and flowers in his hand “help.”

Wally stood on your doorstep, holding a small bouquet of flowers. His usual goofy smile was softened into a more genuine one, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with hope.

“Hey there,” he said, slightly sheepish. “I uh.. I got these for you.” He held out the flowers towards you, watching your reaction closely. You started to close the door, but Wally’s foot quickly shot out to block it. “Wait, wait, wait! Before you slam the door in my face, just hear me out for a sec, okay?”

You raised your brow as you opened the door. Wally took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “Look, I know you’ve said no every other time I’ve asked, but I want you to give me a chance,” he began. He held out the bouquet to you again, “No strings attached, no flirting, just... a nice evening out. Just you and me. Please?”

He handed you the flowers with a sheepish smile, something you had never seen before. You took the flowers from him, their petals soft and velvety under your fingertips. Then, you looked up at him, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of sympathy for the speedster.

You started to think for a bit, maybe you were too harsh on him? He was actually here, genuinely wanting to ask you out which was entirely different from before. “Okay.” you said quietly.

Wally’s eyes widened in surprise, “Wait, really? You’re saying yes?” he asked, not quite believing his ears. You nodded. “But only if you promise to drop the whole ‘playboy’ act for the night and just be yourself,” you said. Wally nodded quickly, “Can you close the door for a sec?” you blinked for a moment, confused before closing the door.

As soon as you closed the door, Wally let out a silent cheer, doing a silent fist pump in the air. He couldn’t believe it. You actually agreed to a date with him. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, be cool, Wally. Just be yourself." he muttered to himself.

After a few moments, he heard the door open again. He plastered on a charming smile and turned to face you. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, holding out his hand. “Mmm, why not. Let me get my stuff.” you replied.

And from that point on, the two of you started to hang out regularly.

#౨ৎ blythe’s fics #dc x reader #wally west #wally west x reader #wally west x reader oneshots #wally west dc #kid flash #wally west fluff #wally west x reader fluff #dc #dc comics #wally west x f!reader #fluff #dc x f!reader

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mypimpademia · 11 months ago

Text

— Bad Religion

Teen! Gojo x Teen! gn! reader

TW: Light angst, unrequited love (gojo experiences heavy limerence), swearing

Note: Set during Gojos high school years. Based on the song “Bad Religion” by Frank Ocean.

Gojo Satoru may be god among men, but gods pray too.

He’s worshipped you since the moment he laid eyes on you, he’d kiss the ground you walk on and lay in your path so your feet never touch it.

He wasn’t sure if you didn’t know or didn’t care, but he was so entirely devoted to you that it didn’t even matter.

“It’s never gonna happen.”

Suguru’s voice fell on deaf ears, his friend far too focused on his so called “one true love”. He was practically burning holes into you with his stare, but the thought of you catching him didn’t cross his mind.

“Stop being creepy,” Suguru spat, nudging Satoru to catch his attention this time.

Satoru kissed his teeth, “I am not being creepy,” he defended. “Don’t they look incredible today?”

Suguru couldn’t help but cringe at the lovesick expression on Satoru’s face. It was dramatized with the intent of aggravating him, but he knew better than anyone that it was still very real.

“You say that everyday.”

It’s true, Satoru did say that everyday. But it wasn’t his fault you always looked so incredible.

Before Suguru could even blink, Satoru was on you like a magnet.

“Hey Toru,” your voice rang like a church bell. You missed it, but the staggering 6’3 boy’s knees buckled at the sound for a moment.

“You wanna go get boba with me later?” He was so enthusiastic, practically bursting at the seams with glee.

You felt bad saying no.

“Sorry Toru, I can’t today,” you frowned, and so did he. “Nanami is helping me study after school today, but another time, yeah?”

Satoru could feel hot spit pooling at the back of his throat, the thought of you being with someone else when you should’ve been with him made him sick. Nanami was his friend, but in that moment, he wished unspeakable things upon him.

“Toru, are you okay?” You asked, waving a hand in his face.

“I’m fine,” he’s not. “I was just thinking of when I’m free next,” he’s always free for you.

“Of course, just let me know, m’kay?” You smiled, and that was more than a blessing to him.

Satoru both couldn’t fathom and couldn’t stop imagining the thought of you being with someone else. How could you do that to him?

How could you do that to him when he was so in love with you, so devoted? He’d get on his knees if you asked, pray if you wanted, give you his life if you wanted, how could you?

Satoru had always heard that prayer was the only thing that could save someone, but as far as he was concerned, you were the only one he wanted to pray to.

Whether loving you was a cult or a religion, if you had no followers, he was as good as dead.

But unrequited love is nothing but a one man cult, and it’s a bad religion to love someone who could never love you.

—

Thank you for reading, comments and reblogs are appreciated, follow for more <3

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 25 days ago

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@hammerhead96 I AM BITING THIS! I am so sorry it took 45 years <3

Anselm Vogelweide x gn!Reader • Rating: PG pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: You paint Anselm's portrait.

Warnings: Fluff, Anselm has siblings here, I'm just making stuff up, little bit of jealous!Anselm, kissing, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2311

“Stop moving.” You glare politely at Anselm over the canvas.

He smiles sweetly at you from his position on the chair in the middle of the room. The large floor length curtains are drawn, letting in the late morning sunshine. He’s sat at a slight three quarter angle, his scared side facing you.

It had been his sister that had commissioned you, Adela Vogelweide, a gift for his birthday. The fact that she’d chosen you had surprised you. You knew she had enough personal wealth to hire practically anyone in the world for whatever exorbitant amount they wanted and still consider it small change.

Adela had seen some of your pieces at a local gallery showing, the curator an old friend of yours, where she had quite loudly enquired about the price of your largest landscape. Paid three times the asking amount, and then said it was still undervalued.

She had called you up personally after convincing your friend to let her use their phone. The first words she’d spoken to you when you picked up were, “Why are you underselling yourself?”

Adela was brazen and kind, with a quick temper she had never directed at you. She dyed her hair black, something she delighted in telling you, except for two streaks that framed her face, those she kept in her natural grey. She had also delighted herself in telling you all about her older brother Anselm, and what a nuisance he was, a rapscallion, but a loveable one. And wouldn’t you be a dear and paint his portrait?

This was your fourth sitting.

“You said I could move a little, my dear?” He gives you a cheeky grin.

You poke your head around the canvas again, purposefully benign a little more dramatic than you truly need to be, because you know it amuses him.

“Emphasis on a little.”

His smile widens. “Am I moving too much?” He feigns innocence badly.

You give him a look. “Yes. Stop fidgeting.”

“My leg.” He pouts, and rubs his thigh.

“Anselm.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“That leg is not the one with your brace on.”

He chuckles and then quickly puts on a mock serious expression. “Can’t my other leg hurt? My, my, this is most uncaring of you, and here I thought you such a sweet person.”

“Well, you thought wrong then, didn’t you?” You carry on painting, adding a little shading. Most of the sittings so far were just to get a feel for him as a subject. You’d completed several rough sketches and paintings, and taken umteenth reference photos.

“I don’t think so, my dear, I’m a very good judge of character.”

“Would you say that runs in the family?” You ask nonchalantly.

“How so?”

“Is Adela a good judge of character?”

He pauses for a moment and then nods, “She is.”

“She warned me about you.” You say offhandedly and Anselm cackles with glee.

“Did she?”

“She did.”

“How marvellous. Did she tell you I’m a wretched and depraved lust filled bloodthirsty tyrant?”

You pause, “No.”

“What did she say?” He strokes his beard slightly.

“That you were cheeky.”

He tuts. “Now, that is a gross misrepresentation, I will have to have words with her.”

“Don’t get me in trouble.” You giggle.

“Now, now, my dear. She’ll most likely tell me off for some reason, probably for my playful, but oh so charming treatment of you, wouldn’t you say?”

You give him another look and he laughs.

“You disagree?”

“Stop fishing for compliments.”

“Ah, but I must. You haven’t said one kind thing to me all morning.” He folds his arms, pretending to huff.

“First, that is untrue, second, stop moving.”

He grins, “My apologies,” and puts his arms back down. “My dear Adela does love to scold me, despite being the younger sibling. You would think she was twelve years my senior, not junior… It is the different father I think.” He smiles fondly.

“You have different fathers?”

He nods, “You are enquiring about the surname yes?”

You nod as well.

“Well, my mother is Magdalena Vogelwiede, the only child of my grandfather who lived past infancy. She kept the family name and refused to change it when she married, not that any of her husbands would have dared to argue with her, besides all of them coveted the prestige of being part of the Vogelwiede family. All of her children were given her last name.”

“Do you have other siblings?” You ask, still holding your paintbrush but you have given up most pretences of actually working. The way he talked was almost hypnotic. Soothing. You could happily listen for hours.

“I do, I had an older brother, Wilhelm, who died very young. When my father died, my mother remarried and had Adela and Helena. She divorced my step-father when Helena was two, shame, as I was quite fond of him. She didn’t marry the father of my youngest sister, Libeste. But that was a very good thing, he was a terrible bore.”

You smile, delighting in the fondness in his expression. “Is she still with us?”

He nods, “She is, going very strong. She lives in Italy with her suitor, a toy boy.”

“Toy boy?” You snort.

“He’s only sixty eight.” He chuckles.

“Scandalous.” You grin.

“I like him very much, his name is Alvin, like the chipmunks. Which is what he said to me the first time I met him, a very sweet man, utterly besotted with my mother, the poor fool.”

“The poor fool?”

“She bullies him so,” Anselm sighs fondly, “But he does love it. So I think they are meant to be with each other.”

You barely manage another five minutes of painting before Anselm has to take an emergency meeting. He apologises profusely and kisses your hand when you leave. You do your best to hide your giddiness when his lips touch your skin.

The following Thursday you’re back at his house, mansion, just about to get out of your car when your phone rings. Adela.

You press accept. “Hello, Adela.”

“My darling, how are you? Are you well?” Her voice practically purrs on the other end of the phone.

“I’m good, you?”

“Fine, fine, listen, I am having a small get together tomorrow night, I will send a car for you. Yes?”

“I,” You pause, ever so slightly taken aback. “Well…”

“You are free of course?”

“Well, I was going to work on the portrait-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, you have plenty of time, I understand art works can take years.”

“I don’t think it’ll take me years, I mean-”

“See? You are already ahead of schedule then my darling, 8pm the car will come. It’s a small thing, barely a hundred people, casual dress. And I mean it, wear jeans and a t-shirt if you want, or nothing at all.”

You open your mouth to speak and close it again as she continues.

“I simply must introduce you to my son. Anyway, see you then, ciao!”

She hangs up before you can even say a word.

You’re setting up in the ground floor study when Anselm comes in. His expression is stormy, you would almost say bleak if it wasn’t for the hard look in his eyes.

He sits on the chair without his usual exuberance, muttering a quiet “Good morning.”

You pause, still setting up your easel. Part of you isn’t sure if you know him well enough to ask about what’s bothering him, even though he’s been nothing but forthcoming and charming with you. You swallow down your anxiety.

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm,” he nods and doesn’t look at you.”Perfectly well.”

You bite your thumbnail nervously, but don’t ask again. You set up the rest of your equipment in silence.

The quiet is odd. You realise you’re so used to hearing him talk, to being swept up in his tales that now the room seems hollow and barren without them. Cold and sterile. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks loudly, echoes sickeningly.

Nothing seems to be going quite right, your colours are wrong, the shape irregular.

You’ve been working for around twenty minutes when Anselm finally talks.

“Has my sister invited you yet?” He’s a little gruff, a huff in his voice.

“I’m sorry?” You look up from your work.

“Invited you… to her gathering tomorrow?”

“Oh, erm,” You stumble over your words, the hard look he gives you is practically alien, so unlike his usual smiles. “Yes, she called me just as I got here.”

Anselm’s expression hardens. For a moment you don’t think he’s going to speak again. “She wants you to meet David, her eldest.”

You pause, not sure if you should reply, but you do anyway. “Yeah, erm, she mentioned it briefly… not that I really got a word in.” You laugh weakly, maybe he was annoyed at how long it was taking you to start on the painting? “Honestly, I was planning on working on your portrait, but I didn’t really get a chance to refuse the invitation.”

He hums again, sighing and slumps down a little in his chair. “He got divorced last year, you know?”

It takes you a full minute to realise he’s talking about David.

“Clean break, his ex-wife was very reasonable. No children.” He sighs again, “A perfectly eligible bachelor.” He runs his hand through his hair, pushing his curls in a completely different direction.

“Anselm,” you tut, briefly forgetting the tense atmosphere, you walk around the easel and towards him, your hand outreached to fix his hair before you catch yourself. You stop, pausing right in front of him.

He looks up at you with soft eyes. “I apologise, my love. I did not mean to disrupt your work with my bad mood.”

“It’s alright,” you smile slightly, “We all get annoyed.”

“I’m sure you are rapturous in anger, all dragon fire and destruction.”

You snort. “I am not.”

He smiles and leans forward, pressing his head towards your hand. “I am sorry I disturbed my hair.”

“It’s fine,” you lightly run your fingers through his curls, careful not to catch or pull as you move it back into its previous style. You motion for him to sit back so that you can position the last few rogue strands. You touch his hair for a little longer than absolutely necessary, swallowing as you press your fingers deeper.

Anselm breathes in deeply, closing his eyes for a second and presses closer to your touch.

“Is your nephew getting engaged or something, does Adela want me to paint a portrait of him too? Is that why I’m invited?” You ask innocently as you finally adjust his hair to your liking. You drop your hand to your side, a little disappointed that you no longer have a reason to touch him.

He opens his eyes slowly, staring up at you with a small frown. “My sweet, are you being serious, or pulling my leg? Because if it is the latter, I must say it is poor form considering my injury.” He motions a little dramatically to his brace.

“What?” You shrug a little, trying to work out what the hell he’s on about.

A small smile pulls at his lips when he realises you are being sincere. “My dear Adela wants to set you up with David, tomorrow is a formal introduction of sorts.”

You pause, a little dumbfounded and Anselm chuckles.

“My, the look on your face, you do not seem pleased.” He, however, is the happiest you have seen him all morning.

“Here,” Anselm stands, “I’ll get my assistant to bring you a photo of David,” the tease in his voice is undeniable. “So that you may gaze about the face of your future beloved.”

You finally find your voice. “Anselm.” You scold.

He grins wickedly, turning to face you fully. “I do love it when you use that tone with me, my sweet. Admonishing me does suit you.” He steps a fraction closer, raising his hand to lightly brush your cheek with the tips of his fingers. “I would happily die a thousand deaths to be under your thumb.”

You swallow. “I don’t want you to die a thousand deaths… or be under my thumb.” You say softly, trying to say that you want him safe and alive and of his own strange but endearing free will.

But Anselm’s expression falls and he lowers his hand, mistaking your words for rejection. “I apologise again-”

Panic grips your chest and you blurt out the first thing that comes into your head. “But you can be under me if you want… as in…” Heat rolls over your face and you screw up your eyes.

He laughs happily, stepping closer again so that you are chest to chest. He lightly traces your bottom lip with his thumb. “May I kiss you, my love?”

With a giddy rush of energy, you lean forward and press your mouth to his in a soft, sweet kiss. Anselm moans happily, wrapping one arm around you. When you break the kiss he leans his forehead against yours.

“Please forgive my foul mood earlier, I was… distressed.”

“Why?” You tease, a sugar rush of happiness overtaking you.

“Because I thought you were going to spend the rest of your days riding my nephew instead of me.”

You snort, unable to stop yourself, and quickly cover your mouth with your hand.

“Oh no, please, let me hear you laugh.” He gently takes your wrist and litters your cheeks with kisses, until you’re giggling uncontrollably.

“Well, I’ll have to let Adela know there’s no need for me to go tomorrow.”

Anselm tuts and raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think so, my love, I think it will be much more exciting to turn up on my arm and then proceed to make out messily on every available surface.”

Thank you for reading!

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