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maximoff-pan · 10 months ago

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the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.”

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens.

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too.

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it.

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to.

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist.

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband.

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children.

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington.

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?”

“How will you get it to her?” He questions.

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it.

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered.

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her.

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation.

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way.

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in.

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you.

“I never do.” Is your instant reply.

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested.

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion.

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through.

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.”

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you.

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.”

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that.

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.”

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge.

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak.

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won.

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot.

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.”

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong.

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you.

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column.

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say.

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym.

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to.

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n).

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling.

“What am I going to do?”

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you.

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has.

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so.

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you.

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now.

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions.

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well.

We need to talk.

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that.

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her.

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you.

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too.

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.”

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm.

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor.

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing.

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all.

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

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moonstruckme · 7 months ago

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I recently found ur page and omfg I spent hours yesterday reading all ur work!!!! What a lil fic of Sirius and reader but like pre relationship where she's in the hospital (u can pick reason) and she refuses to see anyone and just asks for Sirius

Thanks for requesting my love!

cw: hospital, mention of stitches

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 906 words

Sirius feels awkward and stiff as he pulls back the curtain, though for all he knows you’re too hopped up on pain meds to even know it’s him. Really, that’s the only reasonable explanation for the directions the nurse had just delivered: “She said she’ll only see Sirius right now.”

He has no clue why you’d ask for him. He’s probably the least comforting of your roommates, and as soon as he catches sight of you, knees tented in front of your chest and hands clasped around your ankles, his worry for your choice deepens.

Someone’s tried to clean you up, but they’ve done a shit job of it. There’s still blood crusted on your chin, and your face is blotchy, your cheeks smeared with dark gray like you’d wiped across them with your hands only to spread your makeup off to the sides. James had said you’d cried the whole car ride to A&E, but Sirius still wasn’t prepared to see you like this. His chest feels hollow and achy.

“Hey,” you say, voice scratchy. If hearts have strings, you’re playing his like a fiddle.

“Hey, doll.” He goes for a smile as he sits on the edge of your little cot, managing to sound halfway normal. “Come here often?”

You start to grin, then stop like it hurts. Sirius stops, too.

“Yeah, you know,” you say, “now and then.”

“Don’t see why.” He makes a show of looking about him, at the papery blue curtain and beige-ish linoleum floors. “Place is sorta depressing.”

You roll your eyes, and Sirius’ heart lightens to see you in a better humor. “Yeah, I think I’ve judged my hangout poorly. I’m dying to get out of here.”

He’ll bet. You’ve been here hours longer than him. James had been the only one home with you when you’d tripped on the stairs and bitten through your lip, and Sirius and Remus had only found out when they’d gotten home and seen the note James left, his already scribbly handwriting worsened by haste and panic. By the time they’d arrived they’d missed most of the action (Sirius was secretly thankful for that) and James had filled them in before the nurse had come out to inform them that you’d gotten three stitches in your lip and summoned Sirius back.

“I can understand that.” He gives you his best approximation of James’ easygoing grin. “You ready to go home then, gorgeous?”

The shift is slight, but Sirius sees your bravado fade, a shyness entering your expression. “That’s actually why I wanted to see you,” you say.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t bother to hide his curiosity. “Why’s that?”

“Because I know you’ll be honest with me.”

He feels his eyebrows go up. “About what?”

You shrink a bit, knees drawing closer to your chest. Your voice is small when you ask, “Is it awful? I mean, do I look awful?”

Ah. Sirius can see why you’d want him for this, but you’re wrong in your assumption. He’d absolutely lie to you if he needed to, just like Remus or James would in his place. But you’ve asked for him, so Sirius tries to do right by you.

“You could never look awful, dollface. Be sensible.” He squints his eyes teasingly, reaching for your ankle and giving it a reprimanding little shake. “It’s just a couple of stitches, you haven’t been warped unrecognizable.”

You frown, and it’s even more upsetting than usual. Your eyes look heart-breakingly insecure. “Are you sure?” you ask softly.

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure.” Sirius scoffs like you’re unbelievable. “You said it yourself, babe, I wouldn’t lie to you.” He definitely would, but there’ll never be an occasion for that. He can’t imagine you genuinely looking bad. “I can clean you up a bit, though, if you’d like.”

You blink. “Um, yeah. If you think it would help.”

“Brilliant. Sit tight.” Sirius gets up and starts going through drawers, sifting through medical supplies for something he can use.

“Fairly sure you’re not supposed to do that.” You sound like you’re trying not to smile.

“Fairly certain my taxes pay for this place, and they’ve left my best-looking roommate with a dirty face.” He finds a box of mini-wipes, turning back to you. “Don’t tell James I’ve said that.”

“Oh, I’m definitely tattling on you,” you tease, and Sirius is caught between feeling triumphant and worried that you look very near to grinning. He has no clue how easy it is to tear your stitches.

“What, you want us to match? That’s cruel, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. “He won’t punch you.”

Sirius huffs a laugh, holding you still with a hand on your jaw as he wipes gently at your chin. “You haven’t known him as long as I have.”

Your brows flick up as you meet his eyes, disbelieving. “Our James? You really think our James would hit you for saying he’s not the best looking roommate?”

“Well, not if you’re in front of me,” he muses. He throws out the first wipe, ripping open another. “He already feels bad for you, so maybe that can work in my favor. If you are going to tell him, lean on me as we walk out, okay, doll? Give me a fighting chance.”

The corner of your lips twist as you close your eyes and Sirius wipes sideways across your cheek. “Yeah, fair enough. I’ll do my best for you.”

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 months ago

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Just Perfect | Yandere Illumi Zoldyck

The heat underneath your turtle neck collar was sweltering. The coolness of the kitchen counter was unable to reach you through your jeans, only felt when you briefly let your hands brace yourself on it. The cutting board and toaster pressing against your back served as a minor obstacle, shoved to the side by the man enraptured by you. For you, it was a reminder of where exactly you were and the time of your ‘lonesome’ afternoon coming to an end.

“W-we have to stop soon.”

Your neighbor didn’t answer, instead busy himself with harshly biting your lip. Probing deeper into your mouth as he pulled at the loops of your jeans in an unspoken request. Your hands previously tangled in his hair were grabbing fistfuls of his tracksuit; passionately pulling as you felt the burning heat in your lungs as your kissing continued. The haze upon your mind was addictive, thinking only of the way his mouth never stopped sucking–your tongue, your jaw, your neck. Barely registering his pale and masterful hands slipping under the form-fitting wool to squeeze at the fat of your waist. His hands are trailing upwards speedily making their way to your chest, it was almost enough to put all your worries to rest.

The jingling of keys just outside the door stopped that immediately.

With unimaginable haste, you unlatched and shoved the man away. Hopping down from the counter to pull your sweater back down and your pants up. Turning around to fix up the appliances on the counter. You quickly ran to the decorative mirror on the wall pulled the neck of your sweater up and inspected the marks on your face. Specifically on your lips while you sucked at the bloodied part of your lip. Lightly dabbing at it you sucking your teeth, cursing yourself before turning to the door swinging open.

“Welcome home Akaza!”

The black-haired boy didn’t look surprised to see you. Instead, he looked surprised at your state even though you felt like you fixed most of it. Watching him scrutinize your appearance, stopping at your bottom lips. You curled your lips in as though it would hide what was already seen.

“What happened to your lip?!”

You chuckled nervously,” I bit it–on accident. Is it that bad?”

Adding the extra question you hoped would dissuade him from asking more. Instead, the second year marched further inside the home nonchalantly dropping his bag at the door; leaving it to you to pick up. After setting it nicely on a hook you came into the kitchen where your adoptive son was clutching at the tracksuit of your long-haired neighbor, practically growling in his face.

“How’d I know this parasite would be here?! Oi oi, you listening to me punk?! What’re you doing here!?”

You held the bridge of your nose. That twisted face and tensed posture matched the reports made by so many teachers. You knew this wouldn’t end like those situations in the past. Not if you had any say about it. Not that Illumi was going to let you.

“I think you know why.”

“GGRRRR!”

Akaza quickly reeled back to punch him only for your neighbor to dodge, and swiftly unlatched Akaza’s hand maneuvering him into the perfect position for a headlock. You figured it’d be best to end this now before one of them actually hurts the other.

“Akaza. Illumi. Break it up.”

The teen growled again reeling his fist in an awkward position. Illumi didn’t release him, anticipating the punch.

“Now, Akaza!”

The teen shook his head as he stomped away, avoiding eye contact with you. He headed up the stairs occasionally sneering as he made eye contact with the man standing unharmed and defiantly in the kitchen. Letting out a sigh you let your neighbor come in close as you apologized.

“I’m sorry about him. I’m sure you know how he feels about you.”

Illumi didn’t bother sharing your worried gaze at the steps. Only intensely staring at you. As he usually did.

“Is that where you’re going this afternoon? To the principal’s office, again?”

Crossing your arms, you already recognized the annoyance in his voice.

“Yes again.”

“You’ve had 6 meetings this month alone. And they all happen on the evenings that are usually dedicated to us.”

You shrugged. “Yes well, that’s just the reality of it.”

“Isn’t there a seaside school you–”

The glare on your face made Illumi quiet himself. Clearly, the mention of that option was entirely off-limits. It’s exactly what he feared.

“Sorry. Maybe a meeting at the end of the month can be negotiated?”

“Unless you can convince Akaza to keep his confrontations to the end of the month, then I don’t see that happening.”

Illumi didn’t groan because he doesn’t groan. Instead, he crossed his arms to stare off to the side. He waited for you to hug his waist, shoving yourself through his locked arms to hold him tight. You enticed him to look at you, smiling when he finally did.

“Depending on how this meeting goes you can come with us during our victory meal.”

“As if!”

No longer in his uniform, Akaza had returned. Looking disgusted at the affection you two displayed, he donned his shoes again and stood impatiently near the door. The teenager had you swallowing laughter, how could a little delinquent (as he portrayed himself to be) still be so polite? Despite his words, he was waiting patiently for you and he hadn’t gotten physical since he returned downstairs. You’d consider that progress.

“Well maybe during our consolation dessert?”

“Nuh Uh! Your boy toy is just awkward maybe if he didn’t stare at you like you were his dinner I wouldn’t mind.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his assessment, letting a cheeky smile spread on your face. Hugging Illumi tightly you kick up your foot to playfully bat your eyes at Akaza, delighting in the little twitch his nose makes when he’s angry.

“Awww~are you jealous?”

“Blegh! Get a room you creeps!”

“Hahaha.”

Releasing your boyfriend you went over to your son, scratching his hair affectionately before reaching for your coat and shoes. You smile at Illumi encouraging him to leave with you two as you pull out your keys.

“Well then maybe we’ll go see a movie together instead.”

Looking down to lock the outside of the door, you’re vaguely aware that the two of them are speaking. But you don’t pay any mind, you figure it’s a thing they feel like must be done. Talking about territory, counseling books would usually reprimand this kind of thing but Akaza was no doormat and neither was Illumi. It was actually emboldening to think you’d find someone capable of going head to head with your self-proclaimed bodyguard. And even better he was just next door.

“Yeah, get running track boy.”

“Don’t call me boy, boy.”

“Yeah yeah get off our lawn!”

You didn’t bother fighting them—this was a peaceful interaction more so than the others they’ve had and you could focus on starting the car while you waited. A few more insults were thrown back and forth between the two of them; finally ending when Akaza slammed the side of the door into the passenger's seat. Only then did you send him a look that had him reopening and closing the door—softly this time. Smiling at him you rolled your window to shout to Illumi,” I’ll text you afterward about what we’re doing.”

Illumi only nodded, watching still as you smiled and waved then you were speeding off. Didn’t want to keep the principal waiting any longer.

_____________________________________________________

“Aka, don’t you think this is a little…excessive.” You finally allowed yourself to speak normally, now that you both were leaving the empty school. Your son also seemed to relax, putting his hands behind his head as he walked alongside you.

“No. I’m doing it for her. Those bullies made her transfer, it is all their fault.”

He skipped ahead to open the driver’s side for you. Ever so polite you shoo him away back to the passenger side. Back in the car, you sent a wave to the principal who stood concerned while watching you drive off.

“I know but you couldn’t have a witness or someone recording you defending her?”

Akaza sunk into his seat, sulking a little. You weren’t trying to bring him down but you figured if you offered some playful jabs he’d get your point.

“Like that blonde kid! What’s–his–name is clearly high all the time, I’m sure you could pay him off to back you up.”

You spared a glance from the road, catching the laugh he tries to hide. He rolls down the window letting his hand get pushed by the wind being cut through by your speeding car.

“Douma is too popular for that kind of thing.”

“But he seems to like you enough.”

“He’s just a masochistic freak. Totally get’s off on the way I hate him.”

“Well don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m serious–”

You two continued to talk as you’ve always done. When you first met him, he was some flea-ridden kid who you’d caught breaking into a neighbor’s house across the way. Come to find he was trying to pawn off what he stole to afford medicine for his father. You’d seen this kid get caught by the police before and to say they weren’t fond of him was an understatement. In an impulsive rush of good will you decided to be a an anchor for them–coming over with food and necessities. Soon you were paying for school supplies and signing for field trips. You were more than happy when the state offered for you to tak him in. Ever since you’ve been the guardian to a troublesome boy with an inclination for using his fighting spirit to solve all his problems.

While you had no regrets about taking Akaza there was a glaring issue of your dying social life. Being in a small district for the school, meant familiar faces and a lasting reputation. While no one seemed to hate you for your son’s…unconventional problem-solving, they weren’t eager to get to know you. Those that were–usually romantically—would also start running because of some unknown force your son.

They were scared.

You understood but it didn’t make anything better. Both you and Akaza only had each other and the few people who were crazy enough to interact with you. One of those being your new neighbor.

“So icecream or churros?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

_____________________________________________________________

Watching the familiar car drive away from the entrance of the school parking lot, from his phone Illumi clicked it off. Looking back up at the blubbering woman and their teen, expecting something.

“You stopped.”

The woman nervously brought her hands to smooth over dyed hair, hiding the silver strands that imminently began to appear.

Shakily coughing she continued, “Right, well as a major donor to the school I’m sure they value me and my son’s opinion quite a lot. It’s nothing personal really—in fact we can make a donation in your name to support such a…troubled kid.”

Illumi didn’t care what she had to say. He has listened to hundreds of seedy or innocent targets try and rationalize their lives. Those in particular, that were lucky enough to get the chance to bargain. Just as usual nothing they offered was worth the pay.

“Alright I heard you out.”

Unsheathing the needles from his cashmere classic coat, unbothered by the screaming family in front of him. Now he was thinking about who’d he’d kill first? Who was he kidding, he’d been trained to kill them all at the same time. He briefly thought of how inefficient he was when he hadn’t gotten his fill of his fiance.

“WAIT! What if I got you a new principal!? Someone that could wipe his record! That’d be good ri—!?”

Illumi wasted no time flinging the needles into their necks. Their tied forms going limp on the floor. That was a great idea, it’d be easier to orchestrate the vacancy of the principal than convincing his fiance to depart with their misfit boy. It’d be even better if the newly appointed principal could avoid scheduling meeting on the days dedicated to pampering his fiance.

Wordlessly the corpse of the woman rose like the undead. Standing, twitching occasionally the corpse moved past Illumi with a mission.

Illumi turned to join, stopping at a rock song coming from his phone. Letting his puppet unlock their phone, following through with their prior promises; he busied himself with the realization of his phone’s latest feature. The icon of a locator app took up his screen, his fiance’s face adorably holding up a piece sign above the car moving through the map.

Illumi wasn’t aware that his love had, organized this app on his phone. Let alone made the . ringtone an obnoxiously inappropriate song. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to undo the effect. It was like his gifts.

Secret and made for surveillance.

Recognizing the route, he sent a message to his contact there. Illumi texted his fiance, reminding them of their prior offer. Perhaps this evening would still be salvageable; that is if that child would allow it.

______________________________________________________________

Akaza was planning a murder.

He’d done his best to keep chatting with his guardian, distracting them from their vibrating phone. No doubt the leech trying to get their attention Long enough for him to silence their phone when they got gas. He’d hope that’d be the end of it. Have his churro–icecream-monstrosity while watching the latest movie for him to laugh at with the only person in his corner.

But no.

He couldn’t have that.

Not with the leech, conveniently being at the theater after they got their tickets. Pulling his guardian into his side while he collects the ticket for the open seat next them. Instead of his parent already turned to snark to him throughout the movie, they were whispering in the ear of the neighbor. Whispering and laughing with the man who was staring blankly at the screen, probably not even watching. The frozen section of the dessert in his hands, melting was just an omen to the night ahead.

Instead of raving about the movie and they’re parent talking about their favorite parts, Akaza was forced to listen to the flirting of the two adults. Watching his parent pull at the man’s hands asking all the questions that usually would be asked of him.

“What do you mean you weren’t watching?”

“I was too busy looking at you. I didn’t care for the movie, really.”

“Don’t say that, there’s got to be something you like-”

“You.”

“Illumi, I’m serious!”

It wasn’t so bad when they relented to Illumi taking everyone out to eat. It was worth it to see the apathetic man silently accept the addition of Akaza to a restaurant of his choosing. Part of what Akaza hated about Illumi was his lack of emotions or rather the lack of displaying his emotions. Those wide black eyes bigger than olives always staring at his parent with insanity. The man’s strange movements that made him look like a puppet. The very rare smile that has people screaming in public.

He didn’t know what his guardian saw in him.

Or why Illumi was so dedicated to dating them in turn. Akaza knew he was intimidating enough to scare the people not worthy for his parent but nothing was working. When it came to Illumi the doll-like man seemed all together unphased. More often then not he was making his own veiled threats.

Akaza knew this angle, well. Others have tried to slink their way, whispering grand ideas of sending him to boarding or military school. But everytime his parent had shut them down, usually sending them away the minute they pushed the point. Illumi was much closer, literally and emotionally. Too many times had he found the neighbor making his parent bashful or stare at their phone in anticipation for a call from him.

Unfortunately it doesn’t seem like he’s going away any time soon so it was better to lay the law down now. He waited until (Y/n) had left the table, waving over their shoulder as they left for the bathroom.

“Look stalker, what’s your end goal? Sex, half their estate, you might as well come clean now.”

The pale man’s face showed no indication that he was alarmed or that he was listening at all. It wasn’t until his small lips curved and twisted into something wide and frightening. People around were whispering and a child was crying somewhere. This man was like nothing he’d dealt with before.

“What I want,” Illumi laughed, “has been clear from the start. I have nothing but the best intentions for (Y/n).”

Akaza sneered,”Yeah right. I find it funny you consider…getting rid of everyone they occasionally mention as a problem.”

Illumi cocked his head to the side. The leak of information makes him wary of keeping the boy alive at all. Instead he’ll make a note to handle those listening later.

“You know of my occupation?”

Akaza sighed,”Anyone who lives next to you knows. The thriving garden, the burner phones, and the way you talk about anatomy it’s just too weird.”

“I told you I was a docter, did I not?”

“I looked for your name in the medical registery, there is no Illumi Reldyck. I checked. There is another identity with your name but there’s no online footprint and I’m guessing you paid someone off for the fake certificate.”

The teen had him cornered. He did decide to lighten up considering the man’s hands reaching under the table for something. The thought of him reaching for a weapon did cross Akaza’s mind and he was glad for the pocket in his bubble jacket. Flashing it’s insides, and the insurance he carried as he brought his arms to rest on the back of the booth.

Illumi was no longer smiling, “I believe I underestimated you.”

Nothing more needed to be said as their food was finally brought by a shaking waiter. The glares exchanged across the table dissipating as (Y/n) finally returned.

“Glad you two didn’t bite each others heads off!”

Illumi leaned into them, “You told me you would hate it if I did that so I didn’t.”

Akaza sighed,”And I know you’d prefer it if I didn’t beat your boyfriend to a pulp in public. I know better.”

(Y/n) shook their head at the both of them before digging into their meal. For now Illumi and Akaza would be civil, it wouldn’t help anyone to fight in public with all these witnesses around. They’d wait until later to sort one another out.

Where they wouldn’t be held back by the person they were fighting over. Or the police. Or investigative hunters. Or the organization of slayers.

Yeah they’d have to wait.

________________________________________________________________

Illumi treated his wounds with the precision an assassin should have. Using his trained eyes to properly stitch at the gash in his leg. He was far removed from the process, after all it’s been years since he allowed himself to agonize over the searing feeling of pain. Instead he preferred to let his mind wander (as it often did ) to the one he endured these very wounds for.

Despite their inadvertent hand in creating more strain on his body for his next mission, he couldn’t help but let his obsession with them consume even more. To think even a child they hadn’t birthed themself was already strong enough to be an obstacle to a trained assassin. It only proved how perfect (Y/n) was just for him.

He’d long ago gotten the approval from his parents and eventually the entire family. Sharing a fraction of his extensive dossier about his fiance. They retracted their interest after the 50th page but Illumi didn’t mind. For once he valued the private appreciation he discovered when he first happened upon them.

It was a minor interaction. One that Illumi would have ignored on the route to a mission. They had smiled while passing by; a nice gesture they did on an especially good days. The assassin didn’t mind at the time. Many very observational citizens might notice him but very few actually acted on it. He didn’t care…at least not at the time. He did care when he found his mind flashing the image of their smiling face while he stabbed the needle into the subject’s heart.

At first it aggravated him that his attention was divided because of some random person. From a distance he could tell they weren’t particularly strong or highly intelligent. Yet he found himself in a department store’s camera room going through the footage of the sidewalk. Taking the seconds of the meeting on the recorded tape, he began his investigation. His…colleague often spoke about getting enjoyment from his time with people of interest. That’s all he’d call his growing interest at the time. That’s what he’d call it. Even if his investigation had been going on for five years now—he was convinced it was just for an experiment about enjoyment. Escalating from their route to work, to their home, to their room. He watched the raggedy child become a member of their home. Watched them send the delinquent to school. Watched them cut their hair. Watched them crash their car. Watched them go to physical therapy.

Watched them get farther with a lover they’d ever had. He hated that part.

That was when Illumi felt the desire to get involved. To finally introduce himself. To show them the love none of their past flings could properly pretend to show. After a talk with his parents he stationed himself in (Y/n)’s neighborhood. It took a short while to rid the house next to theirs but when he did, everything just fell into place.

Well almost everything.

“Thank you for the new job. I was told you had a request for me?”

The voice coming from the burner was calm—the tone of a fellow killer. It was reassuring.

“The student I informed you about shouldn’t need any guidance. No meetings with them or their guardian unless you confirm it with me.”

The silent static permeating from the phone filled the room. A great background to the alluring sight through the window. Right across the way was the silhouette of his beloved fiancé, oblivious of his watchful gaze. He couldn’t wait to offer the ring.

“Perhaps I can do more…with the boy…keep him away for awhile longer. Would that satisfy our agreement?”

Illumi let a smile spread on his face as that obnoxious song play on his other phone. The blue light from the window across shining through the sheer curtains.

“That would be perfect.”

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere illumi zoldyck x reader #yandere illumi #yandere illumi x reader #yandere illumi zoldyck #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere illumi zoldyck x gn reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere assassin

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sellasstories · 3 months ago

Text

CLOSE (III)

word count: 6.0k

pairing: paige bueckers x azzi fudd

⚠️warnings⚠️

implied smut, angst, mentions of a panic attack, swearing

prompts:

what happens when two best friends with strong, undefined feelings quarantine together (part 3: pazzi)

in other words, the pazzi covid fic

“We haven’t done anything fun in a while,” Azzi remarks one night while she and Paige are getting ready for bed in her room.

“Huh, you’re right. What were you thinking?” Paige asks disinterestedly as she climbs under the covers.

“Oh, you know,” Azzi makes eye contact with the blonde as she steps out of her shorts. “I have a few ideas.”

Paige almost chokes on her saliva. “Like what?” she asks, pretending like she’s not blushing furiously.

“Like going to the park,” Azzi rolls her eyes and Paige notices for the first time that she’s put on jean shorts instead of pyjamas.

“But why? We go like every day,” the older girl retorts.

“Because we should go right now. Alone, without my annoying ass brothers. Plus, I’ve never been at night, maybe it’s better.” Azzi’s logic might be slightly questionable, but Paige is already standing up.

“Okay, I’m down. Let me go get changed.”

Azzi watches her best friend leave, marvelling at how easy it was to convince her. Obviously, Paige was going to agree because she’s always game for an adventure, but Azzi was fully expecting the blonde’s usual stubbornness that came up whenever the younger girl suggested anything.

Come to think of it, Paige has been quicker to agree recently. Azzi wouldn’t necessarily bet money on it, but she’s pretty sure it started around the time that she started flirting with Paige. Really, she doesn’t mind (if anything, it’s made her life easier), but she’s starting to worry that it’s actually affecting Paige in a profound way. Azzi would have to be blind and probably stupid to not pick up on the intensity of her best friend’s reactions, but that doesn’t mean she’s able to tell if they’re due to Paige being flustered or uncomfortable. The problem is that now that she’s started, she can’t seem to stop.

Technically, nothing’s happened, but Paige is definitely looking at Azzi differently, and the ambiguity of the older girl’s responses prevents Azzi from having full confidence in her own actions. She should be better than this — she knows she’s better than this — but there’s something undeniably addicting about allowing her true feelings to be put out in the open, even only slightly.

It’s with all this in mind that Azzi finishes getting dressed, electing to curl her eyelashes and put on lip gloss for the first time in months. Already feeling antsy, she sits on her bed, tapping her fingers on her thighs as she waits for Paige. Azzi soon opens Snapchat out of boredom and is pleasantly surprised at what she sees in the camera. Her cropped tank top showcases both her abs and cleavage (both very deliberate decisions on her part), and — she’s not sure if it’s the makeup or the adrenaline — she looks confident, maybe even… seductive?

Smirking to herself, Azzi reclines onto an elbow and takes a photo from high enough to showcase all of her accessories. She barely looks at it before captioning it, ‘I’m ready ;) waiting for you’ and sending it to Paige.

Paige, face already heating up as she opens it, is so focused on saving it that she forgets to respond. Frantically getting ready, she almost slams her bedroom door shut in her haste to see her best friend up close.

Azzi hasn’t moved for her bed, nor has the smirk left her face. “Photo so good it left you speechless?” She notices a smudge of mascara on Paige’s eyelid and her smile gets wider. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one putting effort into her appearance tonight.

Paige’s heartbeat is going crazy, and it’s definitely not from her sprinting to her best friend’s room. “More like I didn’t want you pestering me to get ready faster,” she makes herself roll her eyes.

Azzi stands up and stretches, making her shirt ride up even higher. “That’s why you saved it, right?”

Paige looks at her shoes. “Accident?” She doesn’t even sound convincing to herself. “Anyways, shouldn’t you grab a hoodie or something before we head out?”

“It’s summer, I’ll be fine,” Azzi reassures the blonde. “Besides,” she grabs the front of Paige’s hoodie, “I can always wear yours if it comes to that.”

“Let’s just go,” Paige groans. She doesn’t bother denying Azzi’s claim because they both know it’s true.

•••••

“Fuck, I think we forgot the ball.”

“I thought you were bringing it!”

“It’s fine, we can do other stuff,” Azzi shrugs. “Playing when it’s this dark is probably dangerous anyway.”

“Always so practical, Az,” Paige says sarcastically. She easily avoids the younger girl’s attempt to smack the back of her head.

“Whatever, race you to the swings!” Azzi’s already running.

Paige really should win — she’s in sneakers compared to Azzi’s slides — but when the dark-haired girl reaches the play structure first, the smile on her face makes Paige feel like a winner, too.

The girls swing in silence for a few minutes before Paige has to speak. “You know what swings are for right?”

Azzi looks at her quizzically. “No? Swinging, I guess?”

“When I was a kid, everyone would go on the swings to tell secrets. We literally called them ‘Secret Swings’!” A look of betrayal crosses Paige’s face as her best friend’s confusion intensifies. “Wait, did you actually not do that?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Azzi says. “Must be a Minnesota thing… or you’re full of shit.”

“How could you say that,” Paige pouts. “It was like, my whole childhood.”

“I’m just saying, you’re kinda obsessed with learning my secrets lately,” Azzi teases her.

“Am not,” Paige retorts. “I just wanna learn more about you because you’re my best friend,” she says in a high-pitched voice.

“You’re so stupid,” Azzi can’t hide her smile at Paige’s antics. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t actually have any deep dark secrets. The closest thing was-” she pauses, not sure if she’s comfortable saying it yet, “-what I told you when we were drunk. And that’s out of the bag now, so you officially know everything about me.”

Paige isn’t satisfied with her best friend’s answer. “Fine. If you’re gonna be boring, I’ll tell you a secret,” she looks at Azzi, waiting for her to make eye contact before continuing solemnly, “I really like you.” Seeing Azzi’s raised eyebrow, her eyes widen as she’s quick to add, “as a friend, I mean!”

Azzi clasps a hand to her heart, choosing not to comment on Paige’s darkening cheeks. “While I’m touched, I may have already known that,” she says sarcastically. Even though they’re alone at the park, she lowers her voice to a whisper. “You coming to live with me kinda gave it away.”

“I don’t like this game anymore,” Paige jumps off the swing and dramatically falls to the ground.

Giggling, Azzi follows her lead but stays upright, offering the blonde a hand. Paige allows herself to be pulled to her feet, confused when Azzi doesn’t drop her hands.

“Can I tell you a secret, P?” She leans to whisper in Paige’s ear. “I really like you, too.”

It speaks to how much has changed that Azzi feels comfortable not adding the ‘as a friend’ distinction like Paige did, content to drop her hands and run off in search of their next activity. Paige picks up on her wording, of course, and she can do nothing but stand there speechless as Azzi’s silhouette disappears into the darkness.

Azzi’s prior worries about the dangers of playing in the low light don’t seem to extend to tag as she’s happy to start an unexpected game in the empty field by the playground.

They chase each other back and forth, laughing every time the other slips on grass still wet from a storm the previous day. After one such time, Azzi thinks she’s gotten away as she runs up a hill, only to discover a fence that would be too hard to climb with her current footwear. Seeing Paige approaching, she runs along the fence until it changes direction.

“You’re literally cornered, there’s nothing you can do,” Paige says gleefully as she gets closer.

Azzi almost makes it. She slips through Paige’s outstretched arms, but the blonde is quick and an expert at reading her. The next thing she knows, Paige has tackled her and they’re tumbling into the grass and rolling down the hill.

They come to a stop, both seeming to realize at the same time that Paige is on top of Azzi in a way that has their bodies pressed together and their faces much too close for friends in their situation. Paige makes no move to get up, and Azzi doesn’t push her off as they stare at each other, panting slightly.

Paige reaches out to pluck a strand of grass from Azzi’s hair and is disarmed by how calm the younger girl seems to be. She knows that her own heart is nearly beating out of her chest, but her best friend appears content to stay where she is, seemingly unbothered by their position.

Facing skyward in the grass, Paige thinks that Azzi belongs in the moonlight. For a fleeting moment, she imagines closing the distance between them to press her lips against her best friend’s. Instead, she settles for another kiss on the younger girl’s forehead.

When Paige pulls away, Azzi’s looking at her like she knows the answer to a question Paige hasn’t even thought to ask yet, and it sends her mind scrambling. Can she see how this is affecting me… does she know how I feel? Oh fuck, what if she’s uncomfortable?

That last thought has Paige scrambling to get up, despite no discernible change in Azzi’s body language. The dark-haired girl extends a hand up so Paige can pull her to her feet.

“If you’d stayed there any longer, I’d have no choice but to think you liked having me under you,” she says with a laugh, walking off to find a shoe that went missing in their scuffle.

For the second time that night, Paige is left speechless as Azzi walks off into the darkness.

They decide to go home soon after and Azzi, wanting to get the grass off, gets in the shower. She’s surprised to find her bed empty when she gets out, expecting Paige to be there as usual. Confused, the dark-haired girl goes down the hall to find Paige’s door locked with no light or sound coming from the room.

“Paige…?” she calls out softly. Getting no answer, she sighs and begins to make her way back to her own room. This is so weird. Come to think of it, Paige had maybe been a little closed off on the walk home, but Azzi figured it was just because her best friend was tired.

Paige listens to Azzi’s footsteps fade away from the door. Her breath shakes as she tries to hold back tears. She’d pushed it way too far with Azzi tonight, there was no way around that.

The blonde mentally berates herself for her actions. Azzi’s tone was always the same, it was so clear that she was joking, so why had Paige almost kissed her? She doesn’t know how she let things get to this point, but she does know that it’s time to set some rules with herself.

Even as she resolves to put up firm boundaries, Paige still finds herself subconsciously missing Azzi’s comforting presence next to her. As much as she hates it, Paige realizes that she has to find ways to distance herself from the dark-haired girl in spite of their inevitable proximity.

They don’t talk about it, but neither Paige nor Azzi sleeps well that night.

•••••

Azzi thinks that something must be wrong with Paige. The blonde has always been a physically affectionate person — really, they both have, at least with each other — so it’s almost impossible for Azzi to miss the space between them as they’re sitting on the couch watching some random movie. She almost thinks she imagined it because Paige still lets Azzi cuddle up against her, though there is a certain stiffness to the arm that wraps around her.

And it keeps getting worse. Azzi doesn’t know how she’d barely noticed them before, but the absence of gentle hands on her hips, arms thrown over her shoulders, and brushes of fingertips the next day is glaringly obvious to her. She can’t pretend that it doesn’t sting a little.

She considers asking Paige if she’s mad at her or something, but decides against it. Apart from whatever this is, her best friend is acting mostly normal, still looking at Azzi with the usual radiant smile and bright eyes (“that look like she’d give you the world,” Azzi’s mom had once said). So Azzi lets it go. This is fine.

And it should be, except… Azzi just wishes she knew what was going on. Needs to know, almost. She tries to think back to the night in the park, when her best friend started acting weird. Nothing stands out to her as abnormal. As much as she wants to ask Paige what the problem is, the blonde’s unwillingness to address it gives her pause.

While Azzi can’t remember anything like this ever happening to them, she’s not quite ready to start panicking. No one else has noticed the slight change in their interactions, and she reasons sadly that they might just be getting older or something. They’ll be fine, they have to be.

•••••

After a week, Azzi’s almost made peace with this new version of Paige. Thankfully, they still observe their routines and end up cuddled in Azzi’s bed watching some new show that has caught their eye.

If Azzi always waits for Paige to lay down so she can make sure they’re as entwined as possible, nobody needs to know. And if she thinks she feels Paige’s heartbeat speed up when she lays her head on the older girl’s chest, that’s a secret that she’s happy to keep.

This particular night, Azzi’s eyes are stubbornly refusing to stay open, and she decides that it’s Paige’s fault. Azzi’s head is in its usual spot on her best friend’s chest as she lays on her side. Paige’s large hands are rubbing soothing circles on her back, occasionally dipping low enough to graze the exposed skin where her hoodie has ridden up. She doesn’t know what caused it (she hadn’t even asked), but she isn’t complaining because Paige’s hands feel really good and this is the first time in a while that the blonde has touched her first.

Realistically, there was no reason that she couldn’t drift off. It had happened many times before, and it’s not like Paige would complain. But Azzi likes this time, their time, when she allows her imagination to run wild just for a little while as the pounding heartbeat beneath her echoes in her ear. So she fights to stay awake, even as her breathing evens out and her body relaxes even more.

Paige looks down at the peaceful expression on the younger girl’s face, and it almost physically hurts how beautiful she is. She can’t help but stare, a million thoughts running through her mind. Feeling brave, she plants a gentle kiss on the top of Azzi’s head, hoping that somehow her best friend will understand everything that she put into it.

Azzi doesn’t say anything, but her lips tilt upward in a soft smile. She snuggles closer and drapes an arm and a leg over the blonde.

Paige feels the gradual change in the rise and fall of Azzi’s chest, and it doesn’t even occur to her how crazy it was that she knows exactly what it means: Azzi is very close to falling asleep.

Quietly, she fumbles around for the TV remote and pauses the show, not wanting to risk waking Azzi up. The younger girl shifts slightly again and Paige holds her breath for what feels like forever.

Finally daring to exhale, she slowly returns her hands to Azzi’s back and sinks further into the pillows. The soft glow of the TV continues to illuminate the room, and Paige continues to look at Azzi.

Later, she’d come up with a million excuses for what she’d said. It was late, she was tired, she wasn’t thinking. But maybe it was simply an utterance of the truth that had been building, because it felt good to say out loud, even if it didn’t change anything.

A confession whispered in the dark, loud enough to cut through the thick fog of sleep in Azzi’s brain.

“I wanna kiss you so bad right now, you know. Like, for real.”

An answer muffled by her face still pressed into Paige’s chest.

“Do it, then.”

Paige’s heart stops. She’s pretty sure she actually forgets how to breathe as Azzi’s eyes open and she lifts her head.

Azzi props herself up on an elbow. “Did you mean it, P?” Her eyes droop as if she’s just asked the most unimportant question in the world, not one that could completely ruin their entire friendship.

Paige is frozen, her blue eyes wide with shock. “I-” The lump forming in her throat stops her from answering, and that’s honestly fine, because she doesn’t know what she would’ve said. All she can do is stare helplessly, desperately blinking back tears.

Azzi’s gaze softens. “Baby, it’s okay,” she soothes, her voice still gravelly. Rubbing her eyes, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, sliding her leg all the way over so that she’s straddling Paige.

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay? Unless you don’t want that,” she says gently. She leans forward to tuck a strand of hair behind Paige’s ear, getting a whiff of coconut and vanilla. She used my shampoo. It’s so domestic, and the realization further solidifies in Azzi’s mind that what she’s about to do is right.

Azzi looks down at Paige, unable to keep the excited smile off her face, knowing she’s wanted this for years now. As she places a hand on Paige’s cheek, the blonde gives a hesitant nod, and it gives Azzi the confidence to connect their lips.

It’s tentative and new and honestly, a little scary. Despite her outward demeanour, Azzi’s heart is racing just as fast as Paige’s as their lips move against each other. But as they both relax into the kiss, a sense of calm settles over them. This feels safe. This feels right. This feels like them.

Their foreheads stay pressed together as they break apart and inhale. Azzi wants to roll her eyes at the stupid smirk on Paige’s face, but she settles for kissing it off, finally able to do what she’s wanted to so many times before.

Paige’s hands roam Azzi’s body, touching everywhere she’d told herself she couldn’t. Azzi starts to plant sloppy kisses on Paige’s neck, but eventually the blonde feels the weight of the body on her start to press down more.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Az?” She pinches Azzi’s side.

Azzi barely lifts her head from where it’s buried in the crook of Paige’s neck. “Hmm?”

“You’re just gonna fall asleep, like right now? Really? Is kissing me that boring?” The older girl says exasperatedly.

“Yes,” Azzi deadpans. She lets the silence drag before breaking down into giggles. “We have so many nights to do this, and I’m exhausted.” She drops her head back onto Paige’s shoulder. “Talk to me tomorrow or something.”

Paige isn’t really mad, of course. She’s quite content to let her eyes fall closed as she holds Azzi in her arms.

—

Katie opens the door to wake them up the next morning. If she notices the way Azzi might be suspiciously holding Paige’s face or the way Paige’s hands might be suspiciously low on Azzi’s back, she doesn’t say anything. Closing the door, she smiles to herself. That can be a conversation for later. Right now, she’ll let Azzi enjoy something new for once.

—

Azzi is, in fact, not enjoying herself in the slightest. When she wakes up to an empty bed, she figures that Paige has somehow gotten up before her even though that has never happened in the entire history of their friendship and gone to help with breakfast. When she walks into a completely empty kitchen, her heart sinks. Where the fuck is Paige?

Wandering the house, Azzi is disappointed to find everyone’s door shut, including Paige’s. She doesn’t understand.

Azzi is getting tired of this weird cat-and-mouse game. She figured that kissing Paige would clear everything up and finally put a stop to it, but apparently she’d overestimated her best friend’s intellectual capacity or something, because why would she leave?

Breakfast is… awkward, to say the least. Paige is disturbingly polite and formal, visibly stiffening every time Azzi addresses her. Thankfully, no one comments on it, but Azzi is almost positive the tension is so thick that even her brothers have picked up on it.

When Tim suggests a ‘family day’, Azzi thinks that maybe she doesn’t give her parents enough credit. Now, her and Paige will have to interact, but at least they can avoid the awkwardness that would certainly come with being alone. She’s still super upset with her best friend, but she’s smart enough to know that anything she wants to say to the blonde right now wouldn’t help the situation.

—

Paige spends the day in her head. She’s really trying her best to act normal, but there's been an ever-growing knot in her stomach since she woke up in a panic at four in the morning.

After getting out of Azzi’s room as fast as she could without waking the younger girl, Paige had spent several hours in the bathroom as she hyperventilated. Then the tears had come, not stopping until she was crying so hard she was gagging over the toilet. Why did I say anything?

As far as Paige is concerned, Azzi’s response meant nothing good. Either she’d kissed Paige out of pity, or it meant so little to her that she hadn’t given it a second thought. Clearly, the dark-haired girl didn’t want to go further than kissing her, and she hadn’t even done that for very long (as evidenced by how quickly Azzi went to sleep).

The realization that Azzi must see this as nothing more than something best friends could do had haunted Paige as soon as it had dawned on her. It all made sense really, why Azzi had never addressed the flirting either. It had to be nothing more than a game to her. The worst part is that, in spite of everything, she still craves Azzi’s touch and comforting presence beside her.

Paige can’t even say anything. It’s not fair to tell her best friend how far from a game it is to her. And it especially isn’t fair to tell her that she accidentally broke Paige’s heart.

—

As the day goes on, Azzi calms down a bit. Paige is still acting distant, but it doesn’t feel like it’s coming from a place of malice. The younger girl figures she knows her best friend better than basically anyone in the world, and the only way she could describe Paige’s behaviour would be ‘scared’.

It’s not something she’s familiar with because Paige is hardly afraid of anything, but the haunted look dimming her normally bright eyes quenches the flames of anger in Azzi’s heart to give way to worry.

Her instinct in the morning had been to drag Paige somewhere to talk it out, but because of family time, she’s had to settle for small gestures to get the blonde out of her perturbed state.

They’d teamed up to play board games and Azzi had actually gotten a couple laughs out of Paige and a high five when they won. She’d also accepted Azzi’s offer to be teammates in 2 on 2, and Azzi had breathed a small sigh of relief when their chemistry on the court was still as good as ever. Her own concerns had eased a little when the blonde had brought ice cream bars out of the freezer after dinner before Azzi even asked for one.

All of this led to the ultimate test — going up to Azzi’s room for their nightly ritual. Paige initially claims to be too tired, but after some urging from Katie and Tim to ‘complete the day’, she relents and reluctantly makes her way upstairs. She sits stiffly at the edge of Azzi’s bed, still not sure what to say.

“You can pick the show today,” Azzi suggests, standing up and walking across the room to her closet. “I’m just gonna have a quick shower before we start it, okay?”

“Okay,” Paige replies automatically. When Azzi leaves the room, towel in hand, the blonde sits frozen in place for a few minutes before panic overtakes her again. While Azzi had been acting totally normal, Paige had barely been able to keep it together even with the buffers of the rest of the Fudds. So there’s no way she’s going to be able to get through several hours alone with Azzi.

Coming to a decision, Paige stands up abruptly and makes a beeline for her room. Finally safe behind her closed door, she can’t dispel the guilt for what she knows is a situation entirely of her own creation.

—

Azzi steps out of the shower with a clear head. She won’t push too hard, but Paige is not leaving her room tonight until they’re on the same page about the kiss and what it meant. These good intentions are dispelled the moment she steps into an empty room. Getting dressed as quickly as possible, the anger from earlier in the day comes flooding back despite her efforts to quell it.

She only makes it through four deep breaths before she’s flinging her door open and stomping walking down the hall. She expects Paige’s door to be locked, but can’t help trying the handle to confirm her suspicions. When it doesn’t budge, she insistently taps her knuckles against the wood.

“Paige Madison, I’m not doing this with you again, so help me God.” She doesn’t raise her voice, conscious that the whole house is in bed, but her tone tells Paige that she means business.

Azzi hears shuffling and a long sigh before the door opens slightly.

“What is it?” Paige stares at the floor.

“You know what,” Azzi says exasperatedly. “We clearly need to talk about this.”

“Do we? Talk about what?” Paige says evasively.

“Paige, you can’t even look at me.”

“Fine,” The blonde sighs dramatically again. “Can we at least not do this right here?” Azzi clearly isn’t letting this go, and Paige will take any extra time to get her thoughts together that she can get.

“We can do this wherever you want,” Azzi says flippantly. “But you have to promise you’ll actually talk to me, I can’t do this with you anymore.”

For the first time that night, Paige’s eyes meet Azzi’s. “I promise I’ll talk to you,” she says in a small voice. “Can we go to your room? It’s farther from everyone else.” She doesn’t want to explain the real reason: being in Azzi’s space brings her a fraction of the comfort that the girl it belongs to does.

“Then let’s go.” Throwing a pointed look in Paige’s direction, the dark-haired girl grabs her best friend’s hand and drags her down the hallway.

Paige immediately flops down onto Azzi’s bed. “I changed my mind, I don’t wanna do this anymore,” she covers her face with her hands. “Can we actually just go to sleep?”

Feeling a weight on her stomach, Paige uncovers her eyes to find Azzi straddling her. “That is the last thing we should be doing,” the younger girl argues, “and you promised me. We don’t break promises.”

Azzi grabs Paige’s hands, pinning them to the bed. Paige can’t control the flash of heat that shoots through her body. When did this get so fucking confusing?

“I’m keeping you here until we’ve figured this out. I know where my head is on this, but I need to know what you’re thinking,” her voice softens, “and I don’t like seeing you so stressed.”

Paige is once again kind of in awe of her best friend. She’s both impressed at how mature Azzi is being about this, and shocked that Azzi doesn’t seem to realize the effect that their current position is having on her.

“You should think about where you're sitting,” she pouts. Her breath catches as Azzi shifts slightly on top of her. “How am I even supposed to focus right now?”

That was bold. Azzi wasn’t doing anything on purpose, but this is the closest to an explanation that she’s gotten, and she’s willing to work any angle to fix this. It’s not like I don’t want this, too. She stares down at the older girl, a challenge in her eyes.

“Maybe I did think about it. Can you handle this, or do you need me to move?” Azzi doesn’t even sound remotely apologetic.

“I can handle it!” Paige answers a little too quickly, earning a smile from the other girl.

“Don’t panic, I’ll go first while you think,” Azzi decides. “I kissed you because I like you, obviously as more than a best friend. I have for a while, actually-”

Paige cuts her off. “How long?” She has to know.

“Years, P, but that’s not important,” Azzi sounds mildly annoyed again. Paige, wisely, lets her continue. “I’ve spent too much time trying to figure out if it’s normal for friends to act like we do, but I don’t want you to kiss me because you’re bored or anything like that. I need you to know that this actually means something to me, okay?”

Azzi leans in and Paige closes her eyes, only to feel the press of Azzi’s lips on her cheek. She opens her eyes as Azzi starts to kiss all over her face.

“Your turn,” Azzi whispers in her ear. Paige shivers as the younger girl’s lips brush her ear. “Then we can do whatever you want.”

Azzi lets go of Paige’s wrists to run her hands down the blonde’s arms. The drag of nails against pale skin isn’t especially suggestive, but goosebumps still cover Paige’s body as she considers what exactly Azzi means. She shakes her head to clear it, certain that she sees a simmering hunger in her friend’s eyes that wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

Paige swallows thickly. “I’m sorry for avoiding you,” the older girl begins sheepishly. “You were just confusing me and I didn’t want to overstep or scare you or mess up us, which I guess I did maybe but I never wanted that and I-”

She cuts herself off with a sharp intake of breath as Azzi begins to kiss her neck. It reminds her of the previous night, only this time Azzi doesn’t seem tired at all as she grinds her hips down in tandem with the rough kisses.

“Keep talking, baby,” the dark-haired girl stops to say. “You’re doing so well.”

Paige doesn’t know if it’s the praise or that name, but she feels heat bloom in her cheeks and travel down her body. The panic that had risen when she started talking subsides slightly.

Paige opens and closes her mouth, searching for the right words. “I like you a lot, too. I kissed you because I really wanted to… I want to all the time.” Feeling embarrassed, she looks away. “I think I always want too much with you. You mean everything to me, honestly.”

Maybe it wouldn’t make sense to everyone, but Azzi understands and it’s all she needs to hear. Paige, already having turned her head as far into the pillow as she can, doesn’t notice her best friend breathe a slight sigh of relief.

“Mmm,” Azzi nips playfully at Paige’s ear, “and what do you want right now?”

Paige glances down at the way their bodies are pressed together before she looks up at Azzi. They lock eyes, and there is only one word that encompasses everything she’s feeling. “You,” she breathes.

And finally, Azzi doesn’t press for more as she allows their lips to meet again. They’re both a little more sure than last time, and they fall into a comfortable rhythm with Paige’s hands on Azzi’s waist as the younger girl tugs insistently on her shirt.

In fact, there’s not much talking at all as they shed the rest of their clothes, then only the occasional whispered curse slipping from Paige’s lips as Azzi’s fingers and mouth finish what she started the previous night.

When they kiss again and Paige tastes herself on her best friend’s lips, it’s better than anything she’s ever dreamed up. And if Paige is a little nervous to return the favour, Azzi pretends not to notice as she gently guides the blonde’s hand between her legs, kissing her all the while.

—

Azzi is relieved to not wake up alone, realizing with a start that she’s wearing significantly less clothing than would be appropriate if anyone were to come in. Her frantic scrambling wakes Paige, who looks a little disoriented.

The blonde rubs the sleep from her eyes. “Hi,” she says softly, a content smile settling on her face.

The sound of her voice calms Azzi down. “Hi,” she responds, unable to keep a cautious undertone out of her voice.

Paige doesn’t register it as she’s too busy admiring the dark-haired girl. “You’re so pretty in the morning,” Her brow furrows. “And at night, and always, but especially right now.” She reaches for Azzi and her eyes slide closed.

“Go back to sleep, you sound stupid,” Azzi giggles. Locked once more in her best friend’s embrace, she can’t suppress her giddiness at how easily the words had flowed from Paige’s lips.

When they do finally get up (due to the incessant rattling of Azzi’s locked door), there’s a certain shyness as Azzi helps Paige put her clothes back on, but none of the awkward tension that had followed their first kiss. They talk in whispers until Azzi’s eyes drift to Paige’s neck and shocked laughter shatters the quiet.

“Everyone is so gonna know,” Paige panics as she examines the marks that have already begun to turn purple. “Your dad is gonna kill me or something!”

“You didn’t do anything, or at least it doesn’t look like it,” Azzi replies with a hint of pride. “It’s not a big deal, just don’t draw attention to them and no one will notice.”

—

Seeing Paige sit down to breakfast in a hoodie with her hair down (both things she’s done only a handful of times during her stay, and never together), Katie has no doubt that what she saw the previous day was, in fact, exactly what it looked like. She shoots Tim a look that says ‘I told you so’, and they both struggle to hide their smiles.

“Why all the layers? Are you getting sick, honey?” Katie bumps Paige’s shoulder as the blonde stands up to get a drink.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Paige mumbles as she looks at the floor. The blush that instantly colours her face has Tim choking on his coffee with suppressed laughter.

Azzi isn’t sure how her parents figured it out, but their playful jabs at Paige’s choice of attire don’t scare the younger girl as much as she thought they would. They know, and it’s okay. At least her brothers still seem to be completely clueless.

Paige, on the other hand, looks petrified as she struggles to explain to a still chuckling Tim why she doesn’t want to go swimming on this particular day. Even after shooting her best friend a pleading look, the only help she gets from Azzi is a reassuring squeeze of her hand under the table.

It’s a small gesture, all things considered, but it speaks to how far they’ve come that Azzi doesn’t think twice about it, and Paige doesn’t have any lingering urge to pull away.

Maybe they really will be fine.

#pazzi my loves #close #the covid fic #paige my love #azzi my love #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi fic

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tinygrove · 15 days ago

Text

Decent Man Pt. 2

The first part

Pairing: Cregan Stark/fem!reader

A/N: This ones a little longer than the last one. Maybe a little more suggestive but nothing wild just kissing. Not sure if I should make another part?

Summary: The follow up to the original post. You continue to navigate your rushed and arranged marriage to the Lord of Winterfell, but he is much more earnest than you believed.

As Cregan had mentioned, there was hardly any courting to begin with. It seemed the only thing you learned about him was his parentage and more information on his family line than you knew what to do with. Perhaps you dwelled on the matter for too long, the last bit of light was gone from the horizon and the dim candlelight could not do much for you. Sleep would surely be hard to find as a result of your worrying, or maybe you were just homesick. Perhaps you could try and fetch the maester for a draught once you've changed.

Reaching behind you, you unlace the rest of your gown. It’s an ivory silk embroidered with the details of your house sigil. You try to free yourself of your corset but a string has been caught on some invisible clasp.

“I forgot to mention,” Cregan falters for a moment as he realizes his intrusion, he seems like he might avert his gaze but his eyes never drift from you. Of course they stay firmly fixed above your neckline. “I am sorry, I did not realize you were…” What you have on under your gown is more revealing but you are still clothed, you feel no shame. Besides, if your lord husband cannot see you in only this who can? Your hair has become slightly unkempt as well, no longer so tidy and pinned but loose and deviating from its original style. You swear at one point you could see Cregan’s mouth slightly agape but you don’t dare to comment on it.

“It’s alright, we are wed now are we not? And, I cannot seem to free myself from this corset.” You’re not sure where all this sudden bravery has come from but if you are going to be married to the fiercest man in the North you should wield it more often. Cregan composes himself with impressive swiftness and makes his way behind you. Just before reaching out to touch you he stops himself as if he’s been caught in the act.

“Shall I fetch one of the ladies in your service to assist you?” He’s so close that you can feel his warm breath on the side of your neck and by then you’ve made up your mind.

“No, it's fine, I wouldn’t want to interrupt them. Do you think you could,” Before you can finish your sentence you feel the tips of his fingers graze your back through the fabric as he carefully unlaces you. It seems as if his hands have left invisible indentations on your skin, long after he’s pulled away you feel his touch. “Thank you.”

He turns away from you now, heading towards the wardrobe where a slim section has been filled with what little clothes you brought with you. He picks out a thicker cloak you’ve brought, not nearly warm enough to brave the worst of the northern weather but good enough to sleep in.

“Will this do my lady? I could lend you one of mine own as well if you do not mind.” He must’ve noticed the goosebumps rising on your skin. Unbeknownst to your husband it was from more than just the cold.

“I would like that, but I think first I must admit; I've been far too hasty to judge. You, by all accounts seem to be a truly decent man and I know we still do not know each other well but,” You need to take a deep breath to continue as heat rushes to your face. “Perhaps we might simply share the bed, as any couple would? That would surely keep the cold at bay.” Evidently your husband has become flustered as well, a red flush creeps up his neck and face. Barely visible to you but all the more endearing in the dim light.

“Are you sure, we need not make haste, my lady. I know this marriage was somewhat rushed, for the both of us and there is no need to prove anything to me.” It was not lost on you that this marriage was advantageous, for more reasons than one. Arranged marriage was not something you looked forward to. As naive as it may be, you always hoped to marry someone you’d already come to love. Maybe some gallant knight or Lord, handsome and strong. But what's more likely to last is a marriage built on trust rather than infatuation. You have all your life to love your lord husband, tonight you can trust him.

“Yes I know. I'm grateful for the patience you've shown me but I think it is no longer necessary. You're an honorable man, I can see that plainly now, I should've seen it from leagues away. I'm sure.” You take his hands in yours, as he once did and the blush on his face only becomes stronger. You lead him to the bed and urge him to sit, he leaves space between his legs for you to stand. All the nerves have dissipated by now, no room for hesitation or second thoughts. You place an almost feather light kiss on his cheek. “One for your kindness,” You kiss his other cheek as well, much more earnestly this time. “And another for your generosity.”

His eyes cannot seem to part from yours now, ardent and serious. “There are many qualities I’d like to praise you for as well but I am not sure there are enough hours in the night.” He cups your face in his hands and kisses you, firm but passionate. His lips, like the rest of him are warm and all encompassing, you couldn’t pull away if you wanted to. You have to will yourself not to chase them when he parts from you. It’s nothing like the kiss you shared during the wedding, quick and chaste. “That was for your compassion.” A large thumb swipes against your cheek and you can’t help but lean into it. “Shall I give you another for your loyalty?”

“Please.” This one lasts much longer, his hands have drifted to your waist now and your hands rest on broad shoulders. His lips press into yours strongly but he doesn’t demand anything of you. Even as he runs his tongue over your kiss-swollen lips he’s considerate. When you separate it’s with a contented hum and an understanding that if neither of you sleep now you never will. “Perhaps we should retire?” You suggest more than ask, snuffing out the candle by your bedside.

“Yes, I think that would be best.” Before you can fully remove yourself from his grasp he holds onto the thin fabric of your shift to keep you still. In nothing but moonlight the only part of him you can see is the shine of gray eyes.

“We were made one by this union, whether it was what either of us longed for marriage is our duty now. However there is no other woman I’d wish to be bound to in sight of the Gods. You are mine now, and I am yours.”

#house of the dragon #reader insert #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark/reader #cregan stark/you #hotd fanfic

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unholyhelbig · 1 year ago

Note

Natasha Romanoff x Reader with "Who did this to you?"

Title: Hallway Meetings

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 2077

Warnings: Injuries, blood, bruising, mugging, Bad Grammar

[A/n: I haven't written Nat in awhile, so here is some hurt comfort!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

By the time you made it back to your apartment, the adrenaline had sufficiently worn off. The rush of energy that kept the pain at bay was the only thing that made it possible for you to sit through the bus ride across the city, the lights were much too bright and blue, your head pounding. You pressed your fingers against your ribs on the ride home, each exhalation trembling.

Somewhere along the way, the bus came rolling to a stop and the man behind the wheel huffed out at you. “End of the line.”

You were the only one on the bus, and by that time, you were fighting sleep entirely. There was no one else on the bus, and you didn’t see the point in arguing with him. His eyes were tired and dark. Something told you he was having a worse day than you were.

With begrudging compliance, you walked the three blocks to your building. You had forgotten your coat, and by the time you made it to the entrance, there was a numbness to the fingers that you refused to realize until you typed your code in and felt what real warmth was for only a moment.

The lobby smelled damp, as it always did despite the dry winter that the city was experiencing. Sickly yellow lights changed the tile on the floor from beige to green, and you lamented the fact that the elevator that had been busted since your move-in date was still in the same condition.

Any other day, it wouldn’t’ bother you. But you let out an involuntary groan at the sight before making your way up the first flight of stairs, your fingers still pushed against the aching of your mid-section. You were certain that they were broken, or at the very least, bruised. It pained you to take a deep breath.

Two more flights of stairs and the excitement of the night had worn away entirely. Your whole body pulsed with pain, with fatigue and regret for not listening to your mother the million times she told you to be careful on your way home, to keep an eye on your surroundings.

It’s not you that I don’t trust, it’s other people. Her words echoed listlessly in your mind as you searched your pockets for your keys. The group of men who had jumped you must have snagged them too, or they were lost in the shuffle of things. Either way, you were locked out, and the damn was about to break.

“Come on,” You whispered, pressing your aching head against the cool wood of the door. You suppose you should be thinking whatever higher power was up there for letting you escape with your life, just not your cell phone. But right now, it all felt like a cruel joke.

You weren’t sure how long you lingered there, but it was long enough to slide down to the carpeted hallway and lean your head against the wall. It was much too late to call your landlord, even if you could. You were suddenly content to sleep the night off in the corridor. Concussion or not, unconsciousness called to you.

At some point, you’d drifted off to the buzzing sound of the overhead lights. When your neighbor approached, you didn’t’ make any attempt to unfold yourself at the sound of her soft footsteps. She had always been so courteous when she was home, making as little noise as possible, even when she arrived well into the night. This was no different.

She put her hand on your shoulder softly, it was a stark difference from the cold of the hallway, and you startled all the same, inhaling deeply and with enough haste to make you wince, a soft “ow,” escaping your lips.

Natasha was knelt down in front of you, an undeniable look of worry on her face. The two of you had been neighbors for over a year now, and you would be the last to admit that you wanted to get to know her better. She was quite elusive, and always kind. She was a mystery to you, and that made you all the more curious.

The two of you operated on the same schedule when she was home. You often ended up walking down to the mailboxes together, sharing in small talk. She was guarded at first, but the first time you had gotten her to open up, to laugh at a joke you couldn’t even recall, you knew that you wanted to hear that sound more than once.

Natasha would help you up the stairs with your groceries, despite your protests. You would help her learn how to cook something other than boxed mac and cheese. The two of you had shared a six-pack of beer during the buildings holiday block party on the roof, despite the cold. That night, Natasha had taught you how to peg a stop sign with a snowball, her aim impeccable.

The moments were few and far between, but they meant something to you both. You hadn’t seen her for about a month at this point and figured that she was traveling. There was no mention of what she did for work, and she seemed content not to tell you, just as you were content to let her do so in her own time.

There was a suitcase next to her door, something you had never seen her with before. She was dressed in sweats, looking casual from a long day of travel. Her auburn hair was up in a loose bun, strands falling and framing her face. You couldn’t help but think that she was stunning.

Your face must have looked pretty banged up, because you could audibly hear her breath lodge in her throat. You hadn’t bothered calling the police, nor did you see much benefit in lingering in the spot that you’d been attacked. The only thought on your mind was getting back here, certainly not with the intention of seeing Natasha.

“Y/n,” her voice was gravelly. There was a coolness to her fingers that you wanted to lean into as she lifted your chin to get a better look at the pulsing feeling around your eye. You winced as her thumb moved against your busted lip, smearing away a streak of blood. “Who did this to you?”

Her voice was hard, almost with an edge of a threat on her tongue. You’d never heard her sound this way before. She was always soft, if not quiet in her calculations. Now, you saw worry and anger etched onto her beautiful features.

“Just some guys,” you said in an exhalation. “It’s not a big deal I got locked out.”

The attempt to diffuse her worry was going poorly. Natasha frowned at you and released your chin. You struggled to voice your protests as Natasha eased her arm tightly around your center, pulling you to your feet. You saw stars, not quite sure if it was from her sudden closeness, or the exhaustive injuries.

Natasha was strong. She held you with little effort, even as you threatened to slump back down into your previous position. She unlocked her door, and you were welcomed with a warm darkness until she flicked on the light by the door.

Her home was modest, and understated. It overlooked a beautiful part of the city, the walls lined with novels that you’d otherwise be interested in. There were undertones of vanilla and tobacco, the same scent Natasha carried like a sword, your nose pressed against the small of her neck as she led you to the sofa and deposited you there.

Natasha vanished down the hallway. If her apartment mirrored yours, she would move towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. You nudged yourself up taller on the sofa, trying not to let your blood wick into its fabric. When She returned, she sheepishly shook a first-aide kit.

She set out her supplies and you groaned when you saw the bottle of iodine and cotton pads. She had done this before. Natasha worked with ease, she unscrewed the cap on the bottle before flipping it onto the pad, a sick brown liquid sopped into the surface. You could smell it from here, nose crinkling in response.

“Stop squirming, this will help.”

You highly doubted that, but all the same, let her work at the cut that was slit across your eyebrow. She dabbed the antiseptic and you refused to pull away. You knew that you would never try to get out of Natasha’s grasp. Her hand was warm and guiding. The sting eventually eased.

She asked, “Do you remember where you were when this happened?”

“Whoever they are, they’re long gone.”

You drew in a sharp breath when she nudged your ribs by accident. A discontent frown fell across her features. It wasn’t the same look of heated anger that dawned on her in the hallway. Instead, this was one of pure concern.

“We should really wrap that, you know? There’s no cure for broken ribs, but we can ease your suffering a bit with some plastic wrap.”

Before you could answer she put the iodine on the table and walked towards her kitchen. You watched her carefully. Each movement was calculated. “How do you know so much about this?”

“I’ve been put into some unsavory positions.” Natasha returned with a meager roll of cellophane. She stood, a pink color on her cheeks. “You’re going to have to take off your shirt.”

Now you were sputtering, mumbling a few things under your breath. The thrumming of your mid-section was enough for you to agree, even though your own cheeks heated up at the thought. She had a bit of a quirk to her lip, both eyebrows raised in amusement.

You got stuck halfway through, a twinge of pain shooting through your core. You must have winced, or Natasha could read the pain in your eyes because she mercifully helped you the rest of the way out. When she was done, the two of you were incredibly close, her breath warm on your skin, goosebumps coating every inch of your body.

A budding bruise stretched across your ribs, marring the tender flesh there. Natasha exhaled deeply, you felt the action everywhere. Her fingers moved across the deep smudges of brown and black and purple. Your mouth was suddenly dry as her forehead leaned against yours. She was quieter than usual.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” Natasha was knelt in front of you again, glowering as her soft touch soothed your aching. “I’ve spent my entire life making up for mistakes that I’ve made. Trying to stop the big bads of the world when… when horrible things happen everywhere, and the truth is, I can’t stop everything.”

“You don’t need to shoulder that responsibility, Natasha.” You mindlessly cupped her cheek and she sighed into the touch, her eyes closing for a moment of gratitude. “That’s not your job.”

“It is,” She swallowed hard “it is. And it pains me that you’re hurting like this. That I couldn’t protect you. All I’ve wanted to do since the moment I’ve met you is protect you from me, and seeing you like this, God, it shouldn’t’ have happened.”

She was crying, and you thumbed them away as she had done with your blood a few moments earlier. If there was any hesitancy in her emotion, it washed away with the simple gesture. Her nose brushed against yours, cold from the journey home.

Nat smelled of melted snow and you remembered the night on the rooftop. The way your elbows brushed together as you watched the lights over the city. You almost closed the distance then and there, but she’d pulled away, and you awkwardly downed another frothy beer before she threw a second snowball, nailing the stop sign where you had fallen short.

Now, it was her that leaned in. There was a slight nip of pain where your lip had split, but it eased slowly into pleasure. She tasted like hazelnut coffee from the airport, of an edge of mind. Your fingers traced her jaw. She sighed into the kiss, the most fragile sound in the world.

You broke the embrace regrettably, sucking air through your teeth “oh, ouch.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry” she chuckled softly, nudging her forehead with her own, touch dancing over your midsection. “We really should get you patched up.”

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Soft Natasha Romanoff #Hurt/comfort #request #Marvel #Marvel Fanfiction

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springsylph · 3 months ago

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Touch and Agree | Charles x Reader

charles smith x f! reader | no warnings | 2.1k | ao3 |

was trying to get back into writing but i was struck with an indescribable sadness once i thought about how useless charles must’ve felt after burning his hand in blackwater. so. i raise you unknowingly touchstarved reader versus Charles™

The horses have slowed to a trot by the time you press your cheek to the frosted window.

You hear Arthur shout some muffled declaration of success as he and Charles’ shadows curl around the front of the stable. The gang is likely aware of their return, senses now heightened by hunger and the frigid winds of Colter. But you feel the need to relay the message to the few still silently huddled in the corners:

“If you’ve been praying, today’s your lucky day.”

Tilly, arms crossed tight over her torso, is the first to pipe up from her spot near the fireplace. “Micah finally saw his sorry behind off the nearest cliffside?”

“Miss Tilly!” Grimshaw hisses, scandalized. The only thing stronger than Grimshaw's personal gripes are the exigencies of the gang. “No more of that. You know we need all the hands we can get.”

Karen, squished next to Mary-beth and a now slumbering Sadie on a wooden bench, scoffs. “Didn’t think we counted meat hooks as hands.”

That gets a snort out of John, who realizes too late that his body isn’t quite healed enough to handle said snort. A flick to the forehead from Abigail quiets him down in his cot before she turns to find you still gazing out the window.

“I’m assimin’ Arthur and Charles are back?”

You nod. “With one…two deer, by the looks of it.”

Your inhale is sharp when Charles pulls his catch over his shoulder with a jerk, beckoning Arthur to follow after him to mask his discomfort. The tension leaves your spine only after the last dregs of his shadow disappear into the stable.

Half-turned to Abigail, you mumble, “Does Charles look a little...off to you, these days?"

"Off," she repeats. The darkness under her eyes colors her words. "Off how?"

"You know," and you make as though to say something of substance before your eyebrows pinch together, "off.”

Abigail looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “If you’re waitin’ on Charles to scream bloody murder, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a burn to do him in.”

Another brick is slotted into a broken wall.

“I’m just worried.”

“About?”

“Charles. I think his hand is botherin’ him again.”

Abigail’s sigh dusts the cold air with its warmth. “I…suspect most things might look a little off since we've been cooped up like this. But we’ve got O’Driscolls and Pinkertons on the prod." She looks at Jack, now sitting cross legged at her feet and fiddling with the corner of John's blanket. Abigail had given up on herding him toward the fireplace some time ago. She strokes a featherlight hand over his head. "No sense in stressing yourself out over somethin’ Charles would’ve told us ages ago. It's good that he’s up and movin' though, ain't it?"

Your momentum stalls.

It should be. It should be.

Blackwater has left none unchanged. If you weren’t dead, you were shot, and if you weren’t shot, you were waiting for it. Hands bound. Body trammeled by fear and constant surveillance. From anyone else, this haste would be a blessing. A miracle, even, in light of all that'd been lost.

From Charles, it reads more like a warning.

But you don't think your feet have been planted here long enough to question their habits.

You say nothing and return your still numb cheek to the window. Will it always be like this, you wonder? The second guessing. The wary eyes. There’s a certain degree of trust that you aren’t privy to yet. Somehow, it feels worse knowing that everyone is making an effort to be so kind to you despite it. You know plenty who wouldn’t do the same.

Better dead than dead weight.

The creed still lingers. Subsisting on what little you've gleaned in the short time you've been running with Dutch's group. Perhaps that's the root of this peculiar sense of worry. Of pity. You and Charles don’t speak often—there's a general lack of overlap in duties, for one, and he mostly keeps to himself. But you've always been one for actions over words. Charles was frighteningly capable, and more than willing to prove it time and time again.

To him, the burn he’d suffered may as well have been a bullet to the leg.

Your only issue is that no one else seems to see it.

You’re tracing shapes into the windowpane when movement just outside startles you. Charles, bow in hand, stalks toward one of the smaller cabins before veering off toward the small stream that lies just behind the stables.

You're springing up and stumbling out the front door before your brain has time to temper your heart. Someone shouts after you—likely Grimshaw, from the way it rakes over your ears. But you ignore it in favor of grabbing handfuls of your skirts and pushing through the powdery snow.

When you round the corner of the stables, breath short and chest tight, you find that Charles hasn’t gone very far at all. He's leaning against a crooked tree, face all taut lines as his fingers fumble with the grip on his bow. A frown plays at your lips when you notice the path of his footprints, stretching a few paces farther before it loops back to where he stands.

“Charles?”

You think you hear him exhale through his nose before he meets your gaze with the same smile he usually does. Bright. Unwavering. A little squinty, since the sun is in his eyes. “You good?”

Right. The usual pleasantries. You've conversed with him in your head for much longer than you have in person.

“I’m uh, fine." You blink stupidly. "Are you?"

“Mhm. Right as rain.”

Your eyes can't help but slide to the bow he clutches just out of sight. He doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest.

“…I’m just holding it, for now. Till my hand heals up, at the very least.” Charles holds up the offending appendage. “Not like I have anything better to do."

It's hard to tell if he's intentionally skirting around the point, or if he really does think there aren't any better uses for his time. The frown you'd been fighting off finally gets the better of you once Charles returns to adjusting his injured hand on the bow's grip.

"I don't think you should be doing that," you insist. Because he really shouldn't be. At all.

"Afraid I can't do that," he replies. "I'm one of the few here who can hunt worth a damn in this weather. I get sloppy, we starve.”

“Is that what you think?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“It’s what I know.” He says it with enough certainty to make you almost believe him. “Go back inside and warm yourself up. 'Preciate you checking on me, but if you freeze to death, they’re gonna laugh knowing you came out here without any gloves on.”

You clench your fists. Feel the ice that's settled there begin to splinter under the pressure and breach the thick skin of your palms. Fine, then. You’ll speak to him in a language he can understand.

Though your march over is less than graceful, he parts with the bow with surprising ease. Charles’ warmth, much like the rest of him, is tailored to perfection. Your fingertips graze remnants of the finery on the parts of the parts of the bow that his hands have warmed.

His eyes flick over you. Placid. Confused, too, on account of the ever-tightening grip you have on what you hope isn't a prized possession. His vexation becomes clearer once you step away, full hands now hidden behind your back. You have to take an extra step back for your own peace of mind.

“Charles Smith,” you begin, “I’d like to strike up a deal.”

“A deal.”

“I won’t repeat myself. We’re losin' daylight here.”

Chin tipped upward, you don your favorite facade.

Confidence.

"You focus on takin’ care of that hand, and I won't tell Arthur and Hosea you've been messin' with your bow."

His face belies a slew of unvoiced expletives. But you know Charles to be the—somewhat—gentle sort, so there’s no need to brace yourself. Even if he isn’t entirely convinced, you can at least hope that he’s found a little amusement in all this.

“You said ‘strike a deal,’” he says slowly. “This smells like a threat.”

“Deal, threat, whatever strikes your fancy.” It didn’t matter so long as he stopped stretching himself so thin.

He seems to mull over your words for a bit, no longer leaning up against the tree. There is, however, a small chance that he’s trying to find the right assortment of words to get you off of his back.

“We’ve got two deer.” You continue. “If Pearson is as frugal as I remember, that’ll keep us all for about a week. Should be more than enough time to get your hand back in order, right?”

“Hm.”

There’s a moment where Charles’ uninjured hand begins to stretch towards you. You just barely remember to lean out of the way before he drops his arm with a defeated sigh.

“So no bows—”

“No knives or guns, either. Unless absolutely necessary.”

“—Then how’m I supposed to keep up my strength? Can’t just sit idle, you know. We’ve got people here who need taking care of.” He takes three steps forward, and you take three steps back. “We’ve all got weight to pull out here. I’m of no use to anybody if I’m sitting out over a little burn like this.”

There goes that nasty word again.

Use.

You can joke all you want, but that’s what this boils down to.

“Well, you…just need something to pull on, right? Keep your hands busy?”

You hold out your hand.

The corner of Charles’ lips twitch downward. "I’m keeping my knives on me—"

"Take it."

"…What?"

You laugh. Loud and exaggerated enough to shake the snow off the trees. "Some gentleman you are, lettin’ a lady’s hands grow cold.” You flex your fingers. “My hand. Take it."

You use the awkward silence that follows to explain yourself.

"I figure it's got a little more give than a bow. And it’s got enough resistance to scratch that itch. You ever feel like shooting, ask for me. Hopefully it’ll have you feeling stupid long enough for your hand to heal up."

He brings a hand up to block the sun from his eyes, and you find yourself strangely missing the gold it cast on him. "That's not something I should be asking of you."

"Works out great, don't it? You're not asking, I'm offering, so there's no problem." Or, at least there wouldn't be if things go the way you know they will. It's no well-kept secret that Charles isn't too keen on extra company during his downtime. No one faults him for it, either.

Any chance of him taking you up on your suggestion is slim.

The wind is thunderous where Charles is quiet, snaking through the empty trees.

"Whether you take it or not, I'm walking off with this bow. But I'm not about to let you run yourself into the ground."

You flex your fingers again, and they tremble.

Charles shakes his head, and you're sure you've won—

"Alright. I'll do it."

Well, that's not good.

Violently off track and suddenly very unsure of how to proceed, you drop your hand. Charles, evidently resolute in his decision, says nothing more as he approaches.

You stumble back a bit as his body nears, wishing that the head you house on your shoulders was screwed on a little tighter. You think it's begun to spin when he takes your hand into his own; gently, as if scooping up a wounded bird from the forest floor.

He opens his mouth, then promptly closes it, brows furrowing as he inspects your palm.

Something is loud.

It's your heart, you realize. Stuttering with each squeeze of his bandaged fingers. Consequences are not beneath you, it seems.

You allow him a few more experimental squeezes than you would've liked, but you can't quite shake the strange tremor that races up your throat the longer he holds you.

Nothing is said until he pulls his hand away.

“And I can do this, whenever?”

Your tongue is miles away. “I, uh. No.” Wait. Voice crack. “I mean—yeah. Yes. Whenever.”

Charles makes no note of your vocal blunder, instead taking one last look at the bow you hold before beginning to make his way back to camp.

He taps the hand at your side as he passes. Leans to talk right into your ear. “Keep these wrapped up for me, will you?”

He’s gone before you have a chance to tell him that you would’ve done it without his say-so.

(Damn it, you think. Palm tingling. I’m in some deep shit.)

#i have no clue what's happening here #charles smith #charles smith x reader #charles smith x you #charles smith x female reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #charles smith rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

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coralinnii · 2 years ago

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❋ Falling into his arms ❋ feat: Vil ⭑ Azul ⭑ Deuce ⭑ Malleus genre: fluff note: gn!reader, no pronouns used with reader, unspecified relationships, reader is depicted as magicless,

Trying out his new heels

Vil has an extensive collection of designer shoes of all styles from his modeling gigs or even gifts from companies to entice him to work with them. On occasion, he gets a few of the same style if he ever thinks he knows someone that would pull them off, like you for example.

The young model offered to try out these pair of heels that he said would accentuate your legs even better and he wouldn’t stop until you tried them on, so you did.

But these particular pair were taller than what you were used to walking in so rather than an elegant figure, you more resembled a baby deer wobbling on ice. You only managed a few steps before you tripped up and started falling forward from your loss of balance.

Luckily Vil was keeping a watchful eye on you or before your literal fall from grace, the Pomefiore leader wrapped a strong arm around your waist to pull you upright.

“Good grief, you’re a disaster in heels” he sighed which you pouted in rebuke. Blame the shoes, not you!

“Try again, make sure to lift your legs so as to not trip and shift your weight accordingly” Vil instructed, strict as ever.

But he didn’t move away from you. In fact, Vil offered his arm for you to hold on and stepped in line with you. The blond senior was probably making sure you don’t hurt yourself but you couldn’t help but think you two resemble a couple walking together which conjured feelings of butterflies in your stomach.

You kept your silence about it, hoping you get to stay like this for as long as you can. However, Vil caught your poorly hidden glee and smiled bemused by your cuteness.

Working at Monstro Lounge

It was a busy day at Monstro Lounge as Azul revealed a limited addition menu using a shipment of rare ingredients he procured recently. With the heavy traffic of customers, you took this as an opportunity to make some extra cash for the week.

It was not because you wanted to stay close to a certain caecilian merman. Pfft, of course not.

And even if you did, you didn’t manage to see much of Azul anyway when the stream of students coming in and out made you busy throughout your shift as you zoomed around the restaurant taking orders and serving dishes.

In your haste to bring in a new order, you failed to notice a student getting up from his table and knocked you over, sending you flying backwards.

Panicked, you braced yourself for a bruised back and/or bum. But to your surprise, you felt a pair of arms scooping you before you fell. In your peripheral vision, you noticed the flutter of a large silver coat and matching wavy locks.

“While I appreciate the liveliness of my business, I must prefer to avoid mishaps” Azul quipped, bringing you upright to your feet with such ease that you never realized how sturdy the lean Housewarden really was.

The student who knocked you over apologized sincerely to you which you easily forgiven and the atmosphere returned to a happier ambiance as everyone turned their focus away from you.

You thanked Azul for rescuing you and he played off your gratitude with a business-like smile. “Well, you can also return the favor to me” How typical of the calculating student.

But before he left to return to his office, Azul whispered in your direction and if you weren’t already hyper-focused on him, you could have missed it.

“I rather you take a rest than to run yourself ragged and hurt yourself”

Azul walked away before you could question him but you felt a warm bubbling feeling in your chest. Was the Azul Ashengrotto worried for you?

An accident during flying lessons

Flying lessons are typically uneventful for you since you couldn’t participate with the other magical students. Being on the ground while you watch your classmates soar across the sky stung (though you supposed it’s better than running laps with Coach Vargas)

One day however, Grim had the brilliant idea of letting you fly with him on his broom. He was confident in his skills on the broom that he could handle the extra weight. He is a genius mage, after all.

You should have had better common sense. You’ve seen his progress and you’ve seen him nosedive towards the ground a couple of times so how in Twisted Wonderland can he handle a passenger? But you let your envy win as you wanted to experience the joy of the wind blowing in your face as you flew so you agreed.

So, that was a terrible idea.

There was a moment of excitement as it seemed to be going well. Grim was keeping the broom steady despite the new addition on the stick. The two of you managed a few short laps and you started to let your guard down…then it happened.

You heard Grim let out a yelp as the broomstick suddenly stopped mid-flight and suddenly jolted upwards, scaring you as you were knocked off the broom and started falling straight towards the field.

The wind rushed by your ears, deafening you. You couldn’t hear anything but your own racing heart as tears escaped you.

Then suddenly, you saw a familiar shade of blue as you crashed into a firm body as something - or someone - stopped your fall. Warm arms wrapped around you protectively as you and your saviour descended ungracefully but safely back onto the ground.

“Yo, are you guys ok?!” You heard Ace yelled out as he dashed towards the two of you. “Nice catch, Deucey. Talk about a close call”

It was Deuce who saved you? Clumsy but well-meaning Deuce? Your eyes looked over to see Deuce with his signature blue hair scolding Grim on your behalf and you placed a hand on your chest. Your heart calmed down a bit but it was too quick to be normal. Your face felt hot and your hands felt clammy.

It’s just because of your adrenaline, right?

A misstep while gargoyle watching

Be it by choice or by convenience, you became the main companion to the great fae mage during his nightly stroll to find gargoyles to appreciate. You walked through many nights with Malleus, listening intently to his passionate explanations of these old figures. Whether you like them or not, you have to appreciate the pure joy in Malleus’ voice as he talks endlessly about them.

During one night, the two of you decided to take a closer look at the particularly old gargoyle as Malleus to look over the details of the figure that can only be seen up close.

You were atop of the roof of an old manor, and you could feel how decrepit the building was as you felt certain parts of the roof coming loose or weaker than other areas. Malleus wasn’t worried as he lifted himself to not add his weight on the building.

After a while though, you forgot your worries as you listened to your companion speak about the gargoyle that caught his interest tonight. He pointed out a particularly small detail that you couldn’t quite see. So, you took a step forward to take a better look.

When suddenly, a piece of the roof broke beneath your feet and your foot was caught as you started to fall forward towards the edge of the roof.

You let out a scream fearing the worst, but then you felt a rather gentle brush of wind before you felt your body slowing down. In a flurry of green lights you found yourself floating into Malleus’ arms as he caught you before you even descended off the roof. Gently, he pulled your foot out from the broken part of the manor and proceeded to float down towards the ground below with you in his arms.

“I apologize. It seems I’ve underestimated the state of this building” His voice was calm but you saw glimpses of concern and guilt in Malleus’ green eyes. Without a hint of discomfort, he started to walk towards the Diasomnia dormitories “You have gotten hurt on my watch so I will take responsibility in tending to your injury”

Even if you were shocked by the sudden turn of events, you didn’t voice any complaints as you chose to relish in the warmth of Malleus’ hold. You also didn’t question the young fae why he didn’t just teleport into his dorm or just heal your injured foot right there.

You were willing to take the scolding from Sebek and the embarrassing teasing from Lilia any day for time spent with Malleus, and the feelings seem to be mutual

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst x reader #twst imagines #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #deuce spade #twst deuce x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader

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orion-nottson · 1 year ago

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devil’s in the details | tfp!megatron x reader

A/N: i have tfp megatron brain rot. like i know he’s cray cray and deluded, but literally so am i we’re made for each other he’s mine

also this obvi deviates from canon, bc there is no way on god’s green earth that dreadwing and starscream could coexist semi-peacefully.

also, please be warned that i haven’t written transformers fanfic since i was like 14 💀💀 fought for my LIFE with the terminology (had to check my old WATTPAD stories to find some vocab 💀)

summary: lord megatron propositions you. it’s a rather bold request.

content: SMUT, 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, femme!cybertronian!reader, seeker!reader, sticky sexual interfacing, breeding kink, wee lil bit of choking, technically boss/employee relationship, power dynamic (it gets semi-resolved), implied past relationship/thought unrequited love, average decepticon emotional constipation, business arrangement procreation

word count: 6,367

~ * ~ * ~

The Decepticon warship lingers somewhere over the southern pole of Earth, resulting in a dramatic decrease in temperature, even with the efficiency of Cybertronian technology. You shift your wings for the umpteenth time, armor plates releasing air to alleviate the discomforting chill that’s started to bother you. Of course, it was far from being so cold that you needed to worry about your core temperature, but you are a Seeker from Vos, and Vos was always warm.

The thought makes your wings tremble again, so you hurry yourself to your quarters with a bit more haste.

It wouldn’t suddenly be warm and tropical, but at least you’d be able to curl up and shiver in privacy. Recharge sounds particularly nice too, considering you’ve been up for several cycles trying to appease Lord Megatron’s endless demands. Inwardly, you roll your optics— There seems to be nothing you can do that would satisfy him.

The corridor finally breaks into the wing that houses Decepticon high command, where yours and your fellow officers reside. Your room is down almost the entire expanse of the hall, the turn right before where Megatron’s personal habsuite lies. From where you’re walking, you can spot the sleek, black metal door. A chill runs up your back struts, and your processor convinces you it’s from the icy cold that’s overtaken the Nemesis.

“Curse this inhospitable, organic planet.” Muttering to yourself dissuades you from also blaming your Master, who was no help either, if you were to be honest. He could shove his “not wanting to expend precious Energon on unnecessary heating” decree up his tail pipe.

You resign yourself to some rather cold nights for the foreseeable future. Perhaps... If you played your cards right, as the humans say, you could convince Soundwave to pilot the ship north. Maybe somewhere near Hawaii...

A sharp, gravelly voice from behind you calls your name, and you spin around to see your Lord and Master a ways down the corridor from you. Immediately bringing yourself to attention, you straighten your back struts and bow politely.

“My liege.” You say, thanking Primus you’ve become so accustomed to Megatron’s thunderous shouts that you no longer jump, let alone flinch, when they occur. The silver mech strides up to you easily, displaying all the strength of a warrior in the confidence of his steps.

“Retiring to your quarters?�� He asks austerely, as if he’s ever concerned himself with your whereabouts, let alone personal routine. Unease creeps up on you, so you shift on the thrusters of your peds and cross your servos over your chassis. Wings fluttering, you reply slowly, “Well, yes.”

“Allow me to accompany you there.” The silver mech says brightly, and it’s such an absurdly peculiar request for both the mech saying it and the situation at hand. You instinctively snort a laugh.

“I do believe I know the way to my own habsuite, my Lord.” You say before you can stop the words from coming out, and immediately regret them once they do. You meet Megatron’s hard stare sheepishly, wings dropping timorously. Forgetting your place in the grand scheme of things is not wise amongst the Decepticon ranks.

To your utter shock, you’re not met with a vicious reprimand and instead Megatron grins— this wickedly suave thing— and purrs, “Humor me.”

And all you can say is, “Of course.”

Megatron hums appreciatively, brushing past you as he takes the lead, like he always does. You step in time behind him, nearly colliding into his back struts when he suddenly halts, and you stumble backwards a few steps. The looming mech pivots, glancing down at you with a quizzical expression in his glowing optics.

“Seekers are a rare breed, yes?” Lord Megatron asks, and whatever game he’s begun to play with you genuinely stumps any reasoning you attempt. Opening your mouth, your optics dart over his face, trying to decode whatever message your Master is sending and coming up empty.

“Er... Yes, my liege? Even before the war, Vos was not a populous city-state. There are probably... even less now.” You reply cautiously, becoming very put off as Megatron takes a step towards you. He looks as impassive as ever, though you’re beginning to see a very curious appraising expression overtaking his faceplates. It begins with the upcurve of his mouth, derma pulled into the most wolfish grin you’ve ever seen on the mech.

Utterly bizarre. Your processors want to reset because this Megatron is starting to look like the studly gladiator of Kaon you’d hear be lasciviously giggled about, not the ruthless, merciless tyrant he’s supposed to be.

“I have a rather... avant-garde proposition for you, my most loyal Seeker.” Megatron purrs, his servos clasped easily behind him as you’ve seen him too many times before, often when he schemes. He’s also talking to you as if this is casual, expected business of him; matter-of-fact and cordial, with his usual cool drawl.

Before you can reply, Megatron turns sharply once more and begins walking down the corridor, stopping after a few steps when he realizes you hadn’t started with him. He turns his helm to look back at you, this time there’s this strangely unreadable expression on his faceplates.

“Follow me.” He says simply, and without a second thought, you do.

Even though you’re a Seeker with naturally long legs, his pedsteps are even longer strides, so you have to exert some effort in keeping up with Megatron. It adds to the growing franticness that’s begun to bubble up inside your chassis.

While not exactly fear, though that’s certainly part of it, you’ve been a Decepticon and aboard the Nemesis under Megatron’s direct command long enough to know that when he becomes cryptic, it means trouble. Or at least a command that you’d rather not be the one to deal with. Bluntly asking what the frag he’s on about wouldn’t be the best course of action, but you know that he likes you enough not to offline you immediately if you did.

So you do.

“My Lord, what exactly are you asking of me?” You inquire, noting with slight abject horror as Megatron approaches the door to your quarters and types in your lock code with ease. Of course, he is the leader after all. Instead of answering your question, he makes you feel even more uneasy by throwing you a mysteriously sultry look and quipping, “Let me have you if only for a breem. Or longer should I entertain you.”

You catch the flash of his ruby optics, their intentions indiscernible, and then he disappears into your habsuite like it’s his own.

There’s something to it, an itch of a thought that’s begun to decipher the puzzle and put together the pieces. Lately, Megatron has been far more... involved with you, more eager at your presence, and it was blatantly obvious that he grew quite miffed when others got too close. It was no secret to anyone— From Soundwave and Starscream to a lowly technician— that Megatron had an optic for you (many did, frankly) and thus he was quite possessive of your wiles and charms as well.

This line of thought leads you to step into your room, slowly and evenly as if it’s unmarked territory and not the quarters that were assigned to you millennia ago.

“Lord Megatron...” You trail off, catching his stare just as he sets your old null ray back on your weapons rack, where most of your old, dismantled, and prized tools are located. Your null ray had been a favorite, until some blasted Autobot blew out the important bits that kept it working. That had stung, and even eons later you still curse that specific Autobot to the Pits.

Megatron flexes his claws, and with a flourish he clasps his servos behind him once again. His red optics scan the entirety of your quarters, lingering on your berth until they come back to rest on you. His gaze is equal parts unnerving and fascinating, as if he’s deconstructing you armor by armor, stripping you down until he’s watched your spark pulse.

His optics, like twin red suns, center you at their universes, and you feel oddly... flattered at their amorous disposition.

“It is no secret that I have watched you for some time.” Megatron starts, tilting his helm as he becomes pensive. You nod dumbly, hardly processing a word he’s saying. Megatron takes a single step towards you, looming like a shadow. In the dim lighting of your room, his silver armor catches all the chiaroscuro, his violet accents hued to black. Only his glowing, fiery optics remain bright. He continues.

“I admit,—” Megatron drawls your name deliciously, “— That I have found myself... captivated by your beauty. Entranced by your prowess, both in battle and mind.”

“I...” Your vents hitch, wings shivering at the praise. Blinking rapidly to ensure this isn’t some monumentally vivid dream, you clear your intake and say, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, my Lord.”

Megatron laughs, that slight chuckle that sounds halfway between his engines roaring and something genuine that comes from the spark. The silver mech’s rolls his shoulders, armor hissing as it releases air. Wildly, he confesses something you never would have expected from him, “I believe myself bewitched.”

His servos have clasped themselves into fists at his sides, and briefly you wonder if he’s angry with you, then his entire frame relaxes like he’s decompressing after a long spar with Dreadwing.

“Tell me, my little Seeker, why have you denied yourself of me for so long?” Megatron asks it like a tease, like he’s some boon to be revered or a sacred sword to be wielded. Heat rises beneath your armor plating, and your processors race kilometers a nanosecond to find a suitable answer. Or at least one that doesn’t make you sound like some lovesick femmeling.

You couldn’t lie and say you had no... feelings for your Master, who was as handsome and dark as he was powerful and cunning. Megatron was once a gladiator of Kaon, and gladiators on Cybertron were what you had often admired, marveling at their strength, drive, and raw spark. Megatron had been no different, though you also found his commanding presence and impressive intellect to be even more attractive.

That was really why you’d joined the Decepticon cause all those millennia ago; Drawn to your Master’s fight to bring equality to the rigid castes and to seize control of the Energon supply to better disperse it by his charismatic allure.

And somehow, Megatron knew all of this.

“It would have been insubordination if I acted upon my... desires.” You reply, crossing your arms over your ample chassis with a shrug. Megatron matches your collected temperament with a hum, staring down at you with unreadable red optics.

“Indeed. Though I wish you’d had disobeyed, my little Seeker.” Megatron purrs, taking a step towards you that closes the space between your frames and boxes you in. His EM field magnifies the atmosphere around you, tingling at the periphery of yours.

“M-My liege?” You gape, faceplates feeling hot as metal left in direct sunlight. He chuckles, and sinfully the tip of his glossa runs over his pointed denta. Your spark skips a beat, owlishly watching

“If I had known sooner that you wanted me as direly as I did you, then this song and dance would have concluded vorns ago.” Megatron growls, optics flashing with not anger, but lust. He takes another step, and you’re speechless.

“That being said, I am patient. I have no qualms with how long we have waited, nor will I if you choose to wait longer.” One of the tyrant’s long, clawed digits clicks at the bottom of your chin, tilting your face upwards. His touch is delicate, like you’d break if he pushed too hard. Honestly, you probably would if he did. Part of you wants to see him try.

“What did you want to ask of me?” You whisper, optics fluttering until they stay half-lidded and dewy under the carnal scrutiny of your Lord. Megatron grins, a sliver of sharp denta flashing in the lowlights of your habsuite. He takes a final step towards you, a half-shuffle that does well to close the gap between your frames, the air warming from the work of your combined engines. You hope he feels the way your spark races, hope he feels the heat emanating from your core.

“Give me an heir, carry a sparkling of my code and stand beside me as my queen.” With each word, laden with desire until it shows in his optics that drip with lust, Megatron has you against the wall of your habsuite, one servo tracing the sleek edge of your wing.

It’s entirely intoxicating, and against your better judgment and all remaining reason— and mostly because you haven’t had a good, hard frag in ages— you moan.

It’s a soft, angelic sound that barely catches on the audials, but it makes Megatron grin like a shark. You gasp, affronted, optics flickering, “My liege!”

“Have I offended you?” He breathes, and suddenly his mouth is against your neck cables, each word leaving the softest of kisses on your Energon lines. Your resolve nearly crumbles entirely, each brush of his dermas like a shot of high grade to the systems. You sigh, vents hissing, and place one servo on his chassis. Beneath the broad expanse of silver armor, his engines rumble like thunder on the horizon. It makes you pulse with need.

“No.” You whisper, wanting to sing as Megatron kisses the slope of your jaw, then pecks the side of your mouth, agape with shock. He pulls back, the heat of him evaporating as soon as he’s once again standing at his full height. You tremble, not from the cold, but from his absence.

It’s not something you’d ever given much thought about, your feelings towards your Lord and Master, but it’s something that’s come rushing back. All the suppressed thoughts, the dashed dreams, the impossible futures... They come back to you and leave you weak in the knee joints, cooling fans whirring from the memories of the fantasies you’d entertained when you’d had long midnights alone.

“What say you then?” Megatron’s stare is hard, unshaking and fully serious. He wants to have a sparkling with you, wants you to bear him an heir— He wants you as his queen and equal, to stand beside him and lead the Decepticon cause. The expression on his face is a cross between a wild animal, wanting to ravage you the nanosecond you say Yes, and the warlord with enough resolve and self-restraint to accept if you say No.

It’s all so much at once. Eons of time made up in just a single question. Details and technicalities will have to be conferred over later, as for now you’re content with the conditions as-is.

“Well... You are a handsome mech, my liege.” You reply, teasing him by placing a chaste kiss directly on the Decepticon insignia on his chassis. He doesn’t say anything, only his engine rumbles more audibly. You look up at him and salaciously imply with a coy smirk, “I do believe we’d make a fine clutch of sparklings.”

And then you find yourself swept up into his arms, back struts and wings pressed against the wall, your Lord’s hips slotted perfectly against yours. The more base urges inside you squeal, your Seeker coding nearly overtaking you and having you present to him like a turbofox in heat.

Not one to be outdone, Megatron quips, “And you are quite the striking femme— Shall I ravage you against the wall or your berth?”

You laugh, cut off only when Megatron captures your dermas in his, drowning you in the roughness of a mech starved of Energon. He kisses like he owns the practice and has made it an artform; Dragging your dermas with his, glossa invading your mouth, denta nipping dangerously close to sensitive nodes and wiring. You moan and gasp, coming to the realization that one of your servos grips his wrist and the other is flat against his chassis.

You shutter your optics, reveling in Megatron’s power and dominance, wanting so desperately for him to devour you. The warmth blossoms, spreading throughout your core until you feel charges pulse at your interface panels that have you whimpering.

After what feels like vorns, Megatron parts and your dermas unlock with a metallic pop. Megatron’s mouth ghosts over yours, and he hums as he repeats himself, “Berth or wall, little Seeker?”

“The berth, my liege.” You urge breathlessly, a delighted sound escaping you as Megatron heaves you from the wall and carries you to your desired destination. He isn’t gentle when he deposits you on your berth, doesn’t mind the wings, so you hiss when your back struts connect with the metal beneath you. Megatron manages to keep himself between the smooth metal of your thighs as he hitches one knee up onto the berth.

“I wonder,” Megatron stops to kiss you deeply once more, making your processors spin, “If this is an auspicious position for conception.”

A bite to the dermas stifles your wanton moan. Your Lord may not be fully aware of it yet, but each mention of being sparked, of bearing his heirs, has your more base urges spiraling out of control. While Vos was not populated by many Seekers, the need to breed is more hardwired into the programming than most other frame types. His words act like fuel to the fire.

“O-Oh— I can only hope.” You gasp, your whimpering cries smothered by Megatron’s dermas in yet another bruising, brusque kiss. This time, he lingers, slows down as if he savors the taste of you on his glossa. Your servos grip his shoulders, smoothing along his breadth before your pointed digits grip at the armor panels high on his back. Megatron responds most enjoyably, using one servo to anchor himself above you and the other to caress down your body.

His servo travels from the curve of your waist, talons scratching at your paint, down to the slope of your hip where it rests heavy and warm on the junction of your thigh. He teases the sharp point of his thumb digit on the transformation seam nearest your interface panels, causing you to arch your back struts like a cat. Megatron uses this opportunity to settle a servo on the low of your back struts, where he pinches at the sensitive nodes at the bases of your wings. That makes you cry out, your cooling fans whirring loudly as a charge builds up deep inside you.

You’ve never been this close to an overload so quickly before, though you’ve had many sleepless nights built up to bring you to this moment. And Megatron proves his expertise in the berth, past rumors and gossip proven to hold more truth than you once thought.

Your entire frame feels electrified, your lower body feels like it’s on fire, the heat centered gloriously on your interfacing parts. Particularly your valve and anterior node, which feel wet and pulse beneath the panel with each of your sparkbeats.

“You react so gratifyingly.” Megatron purrs, his gravelly drawl like fine high grade on the audials, uncharacteristically sweet and sensual. He glances down at your interface panels, where your glowing transfluid is beginning to seep out along the seams. With a devious grin, Megatron meets your gaze just as he presses his thumb digit to your overheated panel.

“Megatron!” You cry his name, forsaking honorifics, and nearly overloading on the spot. Almost unconsciously, you send a command and your valve panel slides open, revealing your weeping slit and throbbing anterior node. You cry out again when Megatron wastes no time and starts tight, small circles on the sensitive bundle of mesh wire and circuitry.

“Beautiful.” He hums, quickening his pace on your anterior node as he notices sparks fly as your charge builds. You grip his back, claws digging at his silver armor and leaving scratches in his already worn paint. Megatron leans in, steals your dermas in a kiss, keeps circling your wet node, and just as you see warnings for an imminent overload— He stops.

The charge doesn’t die, but it decreases to a staticky tingle, and you part from the kiss, scandalized that he’s prevented your overload. You gape at Megatron, giving him a glare that could rival the World Destroyer’s himself. He only offers you a sly look.

“My liege.” This time you growl the title past grit denta, bucking your hips against your Master’s still servo. He hums, your anger meaning nothing to him, though indulging you by brushing two digits along the transfluid-soaked mesh of your valve. You gasp, optics blowing wide as he pushes them in, mindful of his sharp claws, stretching you wonderfully.

There’s a slight burn at first, pain sensors sending alerts, alleviated as your frame adjusts to accommodate his thick talons. Megatron eases his digits back until they are almost out completely, then sinks them back in. Your knees come up, peds shaking as you hook them behind his back struts.

“Patience, my dear,” Megatron kisses your neck cables, “Is a virtue.”

And like he had your anterior node, he works your valve slowly, steadily building the charge that buzzes all the pleasure centers in your frame. Warnings for an overload screen your vision again, this time your optics flicker as it grows closer. Staccato vents escape your intake, fans skipping cycles and hitching, encouraging Megatron to go faster, digits plunging in and out of your valve with sopping, moist noises. The room smells like interface; the tinny tang of transfluid, the almost-burnt smell of metal-on-metal friction.

You moan, this time a long keen that crackles in your audials, and Megatron responds with the first pleasured sound you’ve heard from him: A low, throaty groan that he practically strangles in his intake like he doesn’t want it to escape.

“M-My liege, plea-please.” You whine, writhing, bucking your hips even as Megatron’s servo relinquishes your wings in order to still them. You sob, systems on the fritz as the charge crackles, your overload closing in due to Megatron’s working servo and digits. He laughs again, the breathy one that you adore, and surprisingly heeds your plea.

“I want you like this when you take my spike.” Megatron hisses, doubling his pace and making you scream. The wet squelch of your mesh grows louder, and with each thrust of his servo, his knuckle joint brushes your throbbing anterior node, whiting out your optics.

“I want you disheveled.” The tyrant presses close to you, tightening the cyclic thrusts of his digits, biting at the base of your neck cables. Your helm lolls to the side, voice crackling in constant whines as you squeeze your optics shut. He growls, sharp denta piercing an Energon line close to your shoulder armor, the pain mixing with pleasure and having you singing.

“I want you desperate.” Megatron snarls like an Earthen beast, the gruffness of his voice matching the hot stretch of your valve. Transfluid soaks the inner seams and mechanisms of your thighs, spilling onto your berth below. Megatron drags his dermas to yours, his glossa hot and heady as he shoves it in your mouth and dominates the kiss. You moan against him, gripping him tight and hearing the sound of metal screech as its torn.

The silver mech groans, low and rough, breaking the kiss and allowing his helm to fall besides yours. To the cables and wires of your neck, he leaves open-mouth kisses, condensation hot from his vents, then pulls himself up to your audials and whispers harshly:

“I want you as mine.”

The last word is punctuated by a hard push of his digits and his thumb squashing your anterior node, and your overload hits you like a system crash. You wail, wings fluttering and hitting the berth with metallic clangs as your body seizes, the charge overtaking your processors. Pleasure like molten lava consumes your frame, transfluid squirting out onto Megatron’s forearm like paint.

The overload lasts eons, like some supernova of a dying star. Your legs lock, armor plating shivering, wings hitched high and scraping against your berth. Maybe this is what death is, you think illogically, Maybe I’ve joined with the Allspark.

“Beautiful.” Megatron breathes again, his optics glowing in awe, “Positively beautiful.”

It takes a click for your processor to compute what he said, then another for your optics to blink back on. Coolant tears leak out the corners, blurring your vision. Your mouth gapes, dermas damp with condensation, your cooling fans whirring in loud in your audials. The grip you have on Megatron loosens, servos slipping until they fall upon his shoulders.

The charge in your valve mesh and anterior node quivers and bounces, and you realize with a pleasant tremble that Megatron’s digits are still firmly inside you.

“Megatron.” You coo his name, “Megatron.”

He says yours back, like all you’ve done and are doing is exchanging designations in a routine meeting and it reminds you of a time when things were simpler between the two of you. It’s been eons since Megatron’s seen you the way his ruby red optics gaze upon you now, eons more since you’ve felt seen.

War has made you both volatile, too tough and too angry to do anything else but fight, and fight some more. But here, in the privacy of your berth, blanketed by the secrecy of darkness: War can’t touch you. Nothing can.

“How I have yearned for you...” Megatron cups your faceplates, his servo cool against your overheated frame. You smile, still hazy from your overload and the lingering sensation of his other servo very much connected carnally to you, feeling like you’ve overdone yourself on too much high grade.

A switch flips inside you, the one that reminds you’re no fainting femme, but one that asks and will take regardless. You are a Seeker, after all— It’s in your code to want offspring.

“Give me a sparkling, my Lord.” Even though your voice wavers, it still sounds like an immutable command. The contemplative look on Megatron’s face morphs into the devilish one, and he snarls, removing his digits from your core. A thin line of gooey transfluid stretches between you and his servo, until Megatron brings it to his mouth and his glossa licks along the length of his digits. His optics narrow in as he hums.

“You presume you can command me.” And yet he obeys again, his interface panel unlatching with a hiss. His spike emerges, a long, thick one that fills in sections, ribbed along its length. Glowing transfluid oozes in droplets from its tip, rolling down the underside of his spike. Your jaw drops, both in want and slight alarm— Megatron is a large mech, you should have better anticipated a large spike.

“Know this, dearest: I will take you, ruin you, fill you up until my code takes.” Megatron promises, lining his bobbing spike up with your throbbing valve. He then grabs your hips, propping them up for a better angle. You quiver, writhing on your berth and bracing your servos on his forearms. His armor is hot under your touch, and your claws dig into the smooth of his paint. Then you match his stare, licking your dermas.

“Frag me like you mean it.”

Megatron suddenly thrusts his spike into you and you wail, unforgiving of your smaller stature. The delicate mesh and sensitive wires give and mold around the hot rod of his pulsing length, forming a slick suction around your lover. He groans, easing back then thrusting in with earnest. Your thighs tremble as you take him, each rimmed circlet of his spike passing into you, dragging deliciously on your valve’s walls.

It’s a tight fight, even with being loosened by Megatron’s thick digits. The transformation seams on your hips and thighs stretch, soft whirs and clicks as your frame adjusts to take him. He’s the biggest you’ve ever had, and the strongest too. The power in his hips drives you up the berth, and he pulls you back down.

You can’t meet his thrusts, but you try and buck your hips in time with him, erratic at first. Megatron’s servos are locked on you, guiding you when your movements skip or miss. All the pleasure centers in your frame are alight, charges sparking and fritzing along your circuitry. Another overload builds, a hot, deep bubbling in your core.

With each thrust of his spike, your valve squelches, the mesh slick and hot with transfluid. More drips down your legs, your aft, onto the berth, leaving everything tacky. Megatron hits a particularly sensitive node deep inside you, one you didn’t even know was there, and you keen. Coolant tears prick at your vision again, escaping the corners and rolling off your faceplates.

“How badly do you want it?” Megatron seethes, and you could mistake his lust for anger. He seizes your neck cables, dangerous talons threatening Energon lines, as he demands, “How badly do you want me?”

“Desperately.” You wheeze, optics whiting out as Megatron squeezes your neck cables just so as he gives you a series of particularly rough thrusts. Your peds tighten on his back, urging him deeper. Your Master vents, harsh and hot, his engine rumbling loud in his chassis.

“You will look...” Megatron chokes on a groan,”... Excellent with a trine at your hip.”

That makes you whine, Seeker coding squealing and preening at the thought. A trine. Three little sparklings just like their carrier. You’d delight in carrying them in your gestation chamber, wanting to see yourself change and swell to accommodate them.

“I want... I want,” Your voice cuts out, broken by a sob, and you can only manage a tight, “I want that!”

“Good.” Megatron pistons his hips like a jackhammer, his rhythm not breaking once. Powerful thrusts meet the wet heat of your core, the tops of his thigh armor clanking loudly against your legs. The overload warnings start appearing once again. Megatron hisses when your valve tightens around his length, and it prompts him to pick up the pace.

“You are so pretty.” He growls, leaning in to recapture your dermas with his. As he kisses, he doubles his speed and the strength behind it. You moan and sob into his mouth, servos gripping him by the back of the helm. His glossa battles with yours, his sharp denta nicking you more than once. Then he switches to kissing you deeply, soulfully, like he’s found salvation in your dermas.

It’s as you’re so viscerally connected to Megatron that the heat in your core reaches a boiling point, the slow-building electricity coming to its peak. Your valve walls spasm, the giving mesh convulsing in the telltale sign of your overload on the horizon.

Somehow accomplishing it, Megatron kisses you deeper, his faceplates flush and hot against yours. A particularly hard grind of his spike on the sensitive nodes of your valve has you gasping into the silver mech’s mouth. Your optics squeeze shut, you feel like your core is about to explode with heat—

Your second overload hits, just as spectacular and wonderful as the first. Electrified charges bounce between the mesh of your valve and Megatron’s throbbing spike, transfluid soaking him and yourself once again. It’s only after your audials tingle that you realize you’ve screamed loudly enough to reset them. Your systems crash, processors overheated and cooling fans hitching and trembling. With a hiss and a long grunt, Megatron follows you over the edge as well.

Warmth blooms in your core, pleasure nodes and receptors picking up the hot liquid feel of Megatron’s transfluid deep inside you. It comes out in spurts, and he rides his overload by continuing to push into you. As your optics come back online, you catch him hunching over you, ceasing his thrusts in favor of pressing as close as he can, spike still weeping transfluid and coating your inside walls.

Megatron hisses and groans, his frame shivering just once as he finishes, lazily bucking his hips thrice to empty himself completely. He doesn’t disengage his spike, leaving it to soften in your overworked valve. You can’t feel your peds, not after the overload you just experienced, and your entire frame shudders when he nips at your neck cables once again.

For a while, he hovers above you, his EM field embracing your frame. Softly, your servos caress his upper back struts, the tips of your digits dancing along his seams. His servos finally release your hips, revealing he’s left shallow dents in your armor. No matter, you’d wear them proudly.

“Do you have fiber cloths in your refresher?” Megatron asks, breaking the comfortable silence, his vocal processor crackling only slightly. A twitch of the helm is the best “Yes” you can offer, and brutally Megatron parts from you, drawing a soft whimper as his spike and warmth leave you. The thought of sliding your interface panel back on crosses your mind, but your anterior node and valve are still throbbing so tenderly you can’t will yourself to do it.

You hadn’t realized you closed your optics until Megatron’s approaching pedsteps makes you open them again. He stands before your sprawled, ruined frame, a sheer fiber cloth in his servo, reaching to clean you. Silently, he wipes up the glowing transfluid that’s stained your berth, then moves to clean what’s left on your body.

For a long few moments, the sounds of your cooling fans cycling down, wings softly scraping on your berth, and Megatron’s movements fill your habsuite. At some point, you hear the distinct click of Megatron’s interface panel closing and you tilt your helm up to see him putting his spike away. Also distinctly, the slight burn of soreness as Megatron wipes your exposed valve of excess transfluid.

You’d need to wash regardless, but it’s the thought that counts.

“That was...” And you have no words. Your voice sounds distant and far away, like you’re listening to yourself whisper from miles away. Megatron hums to fill your silence, then you hear the muffled sound of the cloth being discarded somewhere in your room.

“May I join you for the night?” Your Lord’s question is far more polite than it needs to be, considering the circumstances, but it’s

“Of course.” Your answer is quick and sure, marked by the tremendous effort you put in to roll onto your side, even though you still can’t quite feel your legs. You watch Megatron around your berth and sit at your side. He stretches, silver armor plates shifting and whirring back into place, the length of his back struts revealing his hidden Energon lines.

Then he swings his peds up and lays beside you like it’s the most normal action he’s ever done. Though you do have to scoot over until your wings stick out past the edge.

“I would like for this to be a repeated venture,” Megatron teases after he settles himself, “And if you will accept, for this to be continued past a successful newspark creation.”

He glances at you out the corner of his optic, its glow dimmed. You smile.

He’s never been one for grand romantic gestures, never one to speak about softer, kinder things like “love” or “sparkbonding”. It’s unbecoming of him, the Leader of the Decepticons, former gladiator of Kaon, dark Lord and powerful Master. You don’t know if he’d ever pose the actual question, or if it will remain as nebulous, vague riddles and coded phrases for you to decipher and analyze. It isn’t in Lord Megatron’s making to be tender— At least not in the explicit regards.

“I want nothing less for the sire of my offspring.” You reply, your frame curling around the curve of his chassis, servo finding the same spot it always had: Right above his insignia, above his spark. His engine rumbles evenly, the steady drumming could bring you to power down, though you’re kept awake by the pleasant ache between your legs, the chill of the Nemesis, and the pride in bearing your Lord an heir.

~ * ~ * ~

epilogue

Your berth is too small, much too small, for two Cybertronians attempting to recharge upon it. Megatron keeps an arm wrapped under and around you to prevent you from falling off, your frame halfway atop his. One of your servos rests under your helm, the other lazily traces invisible shapes on his broad chassis. Both of your EM fields mingle, the waves pulsing to each other in rhythm.

Earthen hours have passed since your coupling, and though you’re tired, you find yourself unable to slip into recharge.

“My Lord?” You catch his attention, Megatron optics flickering back as he pulls himself from the onset of recharge. Part of you regrets keeping him awake— Primus only knows how many sleepless nights your leader subjects himself to— and the other part of you quietly marvels at how he was nearly dozing in your arms. What show of trust is as great as that?

“If I am to carry, this means the Decepticon cause loses one of its strongest warriors—” You sigh happily as the warlord shifts so that his servo rubs your wings, tenderly caressing sensitive transformation seams and Energon lines. What more you wanted to say dies on your glossa, too caught up in the tender display of affection your Lord gives you.

“A temporary hindrance.” Megatron rumbles, shuttering his optics once again and stating, “The Decepticons will prevail.”

It falls quiet, fully so for a handful of clicks until you pipe up again.

“... And, we will need protoforms. And transitionary metals and alloys. And start the process of distilling Energon into low-grade, sparkling-safe—”

Megatron silences you with a deep kiss, one that has you purring in delight and cupping his faceplates. He lingers on your dermas for a few beats, his EM field heavy and warm on yours, lulling you closer to recharge. Megatron parts, settling down on his back struts, his frame creaking and hissing air as he relaxes. Then he sighs:

“We will discuss technicalities in the morning.”

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp megatron #megatron #megatron x reader #megatron x you #megatron x femme #megatron x cybertronian reader #cybertronian reader #femme reader

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year ago

Text

Garden of Secrets [28] - Poison Ivy

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Anger leads to impulsive decisions.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, angst.

Word Count: 4500

Series Masterlist

Well, this—

This was definitely unexpected.

You could feel the fear pounding through your system, the ticks of the clock in the drawing room echoing in your ears. Josie looked almost frozen in her seat, but you knew that expression on her face way too well. As soon as your uncle had left his study, he had asked you all to go to the drawing room so that you could talk about the letter away from Teddy, who was sent to play outside again.

“What does it say?” you croaked out as soon as the maid walked out of the room after serving you tea, and your aunt heaved a sigh.

“There’s nothing to worry about, we assure you.”

“Uncle?”

“What your aunt said,” he said. “It’s just a letter.”

“He doesn’t write to you,” you insisted. “You know I know that. So what is it?”

“Y/N…”

“Can I see the letter?” Josie spoke for the first time and your uncle heaved a sigh, then handed her the letter. You rubbed at your wrist, watching her frown before you extended your hand.

“May I?”

“This is not happening,” Josie growled, holding up the letter and your uncle shook his head.

“Obviously it is not,” he assured her and you pulled the letter out of her hand, then scanned the lines, your heart still beating in your throat.

“…They want to host Teddy for the season,” you murmured, raising your glances from the letter, then shook your head fervently. “No. Not that’s not—”

“That’s not going to happen,” your aunt said. “Teddy isn’t going anywhere.”

“It’s a trick,” you managed to say. “Remember what he was saying when you first got there to get us out, he only wants Teddy with you so that he can use him to get more money from you—”

“I know that,” your uncle said. “Trust me. I see through him very well.”

“And this…” A hysterical laughter spilled from your lips as you checked the letter again. “What is this supposed to mean? Coming to visit?”

“He’s not going to come here to visit,” your uncle said. “As you said, it’s a trick.”

“Uncle, if he tries to take Teddy away—”

“He’s not going to take Teddy away,” your uncle said. “I promise you. He’s not going to get any of you there ever again.”

You threw the letter on the coffee table and flexed your numb fingers before digging your palms into your eyes, shaking your head.

“I will just throw more money at him and it’ll be the end of it,” your uncle said as you lowered your hands. “I honestly wouldn’t have told you if you two hadn’t found the envelope, there’s no reason to be worried.”

“And everyone is safe,” your aunt said, reaching out to squeeze your hand and you offered her a small smile.

“Josie?” your uncle said softly and Josie turned her head.

“I’m fine,” she said and cleared her throat, rolling her shoulders back before she stood up. “I’m fine but um…I need to find Bess, excuse me.”

She walked out of the room in a haste and you exchanged glances with your aunt, then you darted after her as well.

“Josie!”

“I’m fine I said!” she snapped as she made her way down the stairs and passed the foyer with you following her.

“No you’re not!” you told her as you both stepped out of the house and you grabbed her arm to make her stop. “Come on. It’s me. I was standing right beside you throughout that hell, remember?”

Josie turned to you and clenched her teeth, then scoffed a bitter laugh.

“I don’t want to see him, or her.”

“Funny we have that in common,” you deadpanned and she clicked her tongue.

“I might just have to kill him if he shows his face here.”

You grimaced.

“Don’t,” you said. “Bess would kill me if I let you get hanged, and I can’t handle Andrew alone.”

She heaved a deep sigh and sat down on the marble stairs, and you sat beside her, taking her hand in yours.

“He’s not going to take Teddy away,” she said. “Over my dead body.”

“And mine,” you said and twisted your wrist, trying to ignore the throb of pain but it didn’t escape her notice.

“I almost forgot,” she mumbled and you shrugged your shoulders.

“It’s fine,” you lied through your teeth. “It’s a habit at this point, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“Are you alright though?”

“Um…” you trailed off, pursing your lips before nodding your head. “Yeah. I’m just worried about Teddy, that’s all.”

“And yourself?”

“I’m safe, I have Benedict.”

Josie smiled slightly. “I almost forgot,” she said. “Yeah. You’re married, they couldn’t take you back if they tried.”

“Oh that’s not why—” you paused and shook your head. “They wouldn’t have tried anyway. I’m not the heir, I’m worthless.” A small laugh climbed up your throat. “Look at that, I sound like mother.”

“Don’t say that,” Josie said. “Never say that. You know that’s not true.”

You heaved a sigh, fixing your gaze on the carriage before clearing your throat.

“You know, father sending a letter makes a lot of sense when you think about it,” you mused. “I was beginning to get too much sleep lately with zero nightmares. He must have sensed it or something.”

Josie’s lips twitched for a second and you raised your brows, then tried again.

“Not to mention I have been smiling too much, and Benedict even said he forgot how scary I can look sometimes,” you said. “We can’t have that, I have a reputation to uphold.”

That managed to draw a small chuckle out of her and you smiled at her, squeezing her hand.

“Will you be alright?”

“Probably,” she said. “You?”

“Always am,” you said. “I can take care of myself. Learned it from you.”

She smiled at you softly, then hugged you and stood up from the stairs.

“I will find Bess,” she said. “Will you tell Benedict?”

“Uh…” you trailed off. “I don’t know. I guess so.”

“I’ll just go and come up with a plan in case they do decide to show up,” she said. “Kiss Teddy for me?”

“Will do,” you said and she walked away to get in the carriage. You watched it go down the stone road and heaved a sigh, then stood up as well, threw your shoulders back and made your way to the backyard where Teddy was playing.

“Y/N!” he called out as soon as he saw you and ran to you. “Can we play now?”

You tried to blink back the tears and hugged him tight, then pressed a kiss on top of his head.

“Yeah,” you rasped out. “Of course we can, my sweet.”

When you got back home, it was after lunch and you were so tense that you could feel it all over your body. While you were with your family, you had tried to act as if you weren’t worried at all especially because Teddy was with you, but now that you were home and didn’t have to pretend, your head was swimming with possibilities of your parents showing up.

And if they did decide to take Teddy back…

No. That was not going to happen. You were not going to let them, not even if it killed you.

They weren’t going to hurt Teddy, ever.

“Hey you’re back,” Benedict’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts as you were walking past his studio and you turned your head, trying to pull yourself together.

“I am,” you said. “And you’re still here?”

He motioned at the canvas in front of him and you stepped into the room, your eyes finding the covered canvas at the corner of the room before you turned to him.

“New project?”

“You could say that,” he said with a sigh. “I was working on yours but there’s just something in your eyes that I cannot depict on canvas. Not to mention the…rest of you.”

You raised your brows. “What are you working on then?”

“A landscape,” he said as he stood up from the stool. “At least I will be working on it once I get back. Right now only the sky exists.”

“You’re leaving?” you asked, your stomach doing a painful flip and he nodded, then cracked his neck, making a face.

“Yeah I’m meeting Henry,” he said. “It wasn’t in the plans but he insisted. How about you? How was Josie?”

You could feel your throat tightening but you managed to keep your expression calm.

“She’s fine,” you said and shifted your weight, nibbling on your lip. “Benedict, can we um… when you come back, can we talk?”

He pulled his brows together. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah!” you said quickly. “Sure.”

“Because I can stay—”

“No need for that,” you said. “It’s not urgent.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” you lied through your teeth and smiled. “It’s just that—it’s a long story. It can wait.”

His blue eyes searched your face as if trying to see whether you were lying and you could feel the panic filling you once more so you cleared your throat.

“You should go, you wouldn’t want to keep Henry waiting.”

He nodded slowly as if still deep in thought and stepped closer to you to press a kiss on top of your head to say goodbye. As soon as he pulled back, you rested your forehead against his chest, his scent filling your nostrils, the lovely sensation shooting through the absolute terror in your mind. You closed your eyes for a moment as his hand went to the back of your head and he pressed his nose into the top of your hair.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you sure everything is alright?”

You swallowed thickly and pulled back to look up at him, wrapping your fingers around his wrist to squeeze at it in an assuring manner.

“Totally,” you said. “I’m just tired I suppose. I should take a nap until the dinner time.”

“Okay,” he said gently. “Then I’ll see you at dinner time and we will talk, yes?”

“Yes,” you said, nodding your head. “At dinner time. Sounds good.”

He kissed your temple, making you smile slightly.

“Get some sleep,” his murmur was soft and he walked out of the room, his footsteps getting distant.

Panic crashed down on you so fast that it made your head spin. Your breath got caught in your throat and you managed to sit down on the sofa before your knees buckled, your heart beating in your ears. You clenched your teeth and closed your eyes, then forced yourself to take a deep, shaky breath.

“You’re fine,” you muttered to yourself as you buried your face into your trembling hands. “You’re fine.”

For the whole day until the dinner time, you felt as if you were watching the world through a haze. The panic was always there at the corner of your mind, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t focus on anything.

Walking in the garden didn’t help.

Trying to read in the library didn’t help.

Going over the ledgers for the staff didn’t help.

You had spent some time in the gazebo to at least enjoy the weather and relax your mind, but even that didn’t help.

You went back to the house around the usual dinner time when the sky turned dark, even if Benedict was nowhere to be found. You weren’t even hungry to be honest, so when the maids asked if you would like to take your dinner, you told them it could wait until Benedict got there and excused yourself to the drawing room.

It took around two hours of you listening to the ticks of the clock on the wall while staring at the book in your hand for Paula to knock on the doorframe, then step inside.

“Ma’am, the food is cold,” she said. “Would you like the cook to heat it?”

You tried to unclench your jaw and took a deep breath.

“I’m actually not hungry,” you managed to rasp out. “Could you perhaps bring me some tea Paula?”

“Of course,” she said and looked over her shoulder. “And—there’s a messenger boy for you.”

That made your head snap up. “What?”

“Shall I send him in?”

“Yes,” you said and stood up from the sofa as she walked out of the room and the boy stepped in.

“Mrs. Bridgerton,” he said and bowed slightly. “Ma’am, I bring a message from Mr. Bridgerton.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach as dread filled your system.

“Is—is he alright?” you stammered, looking at the clock before turning to him. “He’s late but I figured—”

“Oh no ma’am, he’s absolutely fine,” he assured you quickly. “There’s just…there’s this party at Sir Granville’s house and he sent word for you to join them.”

For a couple of seconds you could do nothing but stare at him, your heart clenching in your chest as if someone was squeezing it.

“…He’s at a party?” you heard yourself say and the boy nodded.

“Yes ma’am. A very fun one too. He sent you a carriage to take you there.”

The disappointment hit you so fast that you could feel the tears rushing to your eyes but you blinked them back, turning around so that you could give yourself a moment to pull yourself together.

A party.

Of course.

He was at a party having fun while you waited for him like a goddamn pathetic idiot just so that you could talk to him about what had happened earlier.

The hot red fury burned through your chest and you pressed your lips together, willing yourself to keep it under control before you dug your fingernails into your palms just so that you could focus on something else. You gritted your teeth and sniffled, then cleared your throat and turned to him again.

“What’s your name?”

“Joseph, ma’am.”

“Joseph,” you repeated and grabbed your small purse on the coffee table, then took out two coins. “Would you do me a favor, Joseph?”

“Of course ma’am.”

“Tell Mr. Bridgerton that when you came here, the maids told you I went to bed early,” you said, putting the coins into his palm and his eyes widened, then he looked up at you and nodded.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Thank you for your trouble,” you said and he bowed again before walking out of the room. You went to sit down on the sofa again, trying to ignore how badly your eyes were burning but bit inside your cheek, willing yourself to stop the tears on their way.

Paula entered the room carrying a tray and placed it on the small coffee table.

“I had them put some biscuits and such as well,” she said. “You haven’t eaten the whole day—are you alright?”

Your throat tightened as you tried to swallow, still keeping your eyes on the fireplace.

“Yeah,” you rasped out. “Yeah I just realized something.”

“Realized what?”

“How much of a fool I’ve been,” your voice came out as a whisper and you sniffled again before clearing your throat. “Paula?”

“Yes ma’am?”

You turned to look at her.

“There’s uh…” you motioned at the door. “In my bedroom, there’s a vase with a tiny sprout in it. Can you give it to Mr. Binsted? Tell him it’s geranium and that he can plant it in the garden or put it in the greenhouse, or throw it away if he wants.”

“Of course ma’am,” she said. “Now?”

“Now would be good, thank you.”

She offered you a small smile and left the room. A bitter laugh climbed up your throat and you shook your head slightly, a tear escaping from your eyes. Your hand shot up to wipe it away quickly and you heaved a trembling sigh, then pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, resting your chin on them and fixed your gaze on the flames in the fireplace.

You knew how to deal with anger.

Growing up in that hellhole your parents called a home had taught you a thing or two. You knew how to function with anger burning in your veins and remain completely calm to the outside world, no matter how much you wanted to scream.

And you should have seen that coming. It wasn’t as if this was Benedict’s first time telling you he would be there and then not turning up, it had happened when he had promised you a dance for the first time as well.

Not coming home at night was new though. You had read about it on Whistledown before you got married of course, but it hadn’t occurred to you that it would take place within your marriage as well.

Yet another thing you should have seen coming.

People didn’t change, really.

You couldn’t sleep that night no matter how much you had tried. You kept tossing and turning in bed, and when the morning came you decided there was no use trying, so you made your way to the breakfast room, the smell of delicious food filling your nostrils before you sat down, and a maid filled your teacup.

“Thank you. Can I have the room please?” you asked and the maid and the footmen walked out of the room, leaving you there. You pushed at the food in your plate and sipped your tea, grimacing at how hot it was before you heard the footsteps coming closer and soon enough the door opened.

Benedict.

Even the sight of him was enough to break your heart but it didn’t take long for sadness to be replaced by absolute fury. You could swear the rage was powerful enough to blind you but bit inside your cheek as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Good morning!” he said, smiling. “Y/N you have no idea what happened last night.”

Your jaw clenched as you watched him grab a piece of toast before he bit on it, your eyes taking in his whole appearance. He looked rather disheveled in a way you would have thought was handsome if it were any other time, but right now it only poured gas over the flame of your anger. His cravat was loosened, his hair was ruffled, he had rolled his shirt up to his elbows and the excited gleam in his eyes signaled that he’d had a rather fun night.

“I just got home by the way, I know I missed dinner but I sent a messenger boy to you last night but you were already asleep so I figured—anyway, last night there was this party at Henry’s, and Lord Easton was there!” he said, oblivious to your silent form. “My hero in art! And Henry introduced us, and he even showed some of my sketches to him and he said I was very talented! And Henry had this room for the party for artists only, and we all painted while drinking and Gordon—that’s Lord Easton by the way— he thinks I should apply for the Academy this year as well, can you believe that?!”

Your fingers curled into fists as you dug your fingernails into your palms, that fire in your chest climbing up your throat.

“I drank too much,” he said with a small laugh. “I absolutely lost the track of time around evening and we all fell asleep elsewhere at dawn, Margery was telling Lucy how her back will never go back to what it used to, and I woke up merely half an hour ago starving.”

You raised your brows, trying to keep your anger under control while he grabbed his cup to pour some tea, and took a sip.

“I’m just going to have a bath and a change of clothes after breakfast,” he said. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Gordon—he is a genius and he actually thinks I’m good! He was telling Henry how he didn’t exaggerate at all when he mentioned me to him!”

It felt as if you were swallowing glass shards.

“…Congratulations,” you managed to say through the haze of anger and he smiled.

“Thank you,” he said and sat down on the chair near yours. “Anyway, sorry about missing dinner last night. What did you want us to talk about?”

A silence fell upon you as you tried to see through the red haze of anger. You grabbed your fork just so that you could do something with your hands and pushed at the food on your plate, biting inside your cheek.

Calm down.

“It’s uh…” you rasped out. “It’s not important, I solved it myself.”

He tilted his head, now his whole attention on you.

“There was a problem?” he asked and you stopped the hysterical laugh threatening to spill from your lips at the last second, pursing your lips together.

Calm the hell down.

“It’s not important,” you repeated through your clenched teeth, willing yourself to keep your anger at bay as you kept your gaze on your plate. He shifted his weight, and out of the corner of your eye you could see he was frowning.

“Wait, I didn’t know—”

“It’s not important Benedict.”

“If I knew you needed me—”

“Why on earth would I ever need you?” the words left your lips like poison from a snake as your eyes snapped up to his, and even you were aware of just how cold your glare was.

As it was when you two had first met.

And even though you had been trying so hard to think through the fury and remain calm, you knew it was not going to work. The familiar fury had already taken over you, you were tired and sleepless and hungry and the worst of all, the tension that had been pulling at all your muscles since yesterday made you feel as if you were about to shatter into pieces.

He pulled back slightly, and from the look on his face you could tell that he recognized that cold glare just fine.

“What happened?”

A bitter chuckled escaped from your lips and you clicked your tongue, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“If this is about me spending the night somewhere else,” he said after a moment. “You were asleep already and I assure you nothing happened. I would never.”

“I assure you I couldn’t care less if anything happened,” you replied. “Your overestimate my interest in your life as usual. You are free to do whatever you want with whoever you want, that’s not the issue at all.”

“Then what is?”

“That you almost had me fooled,” you mused. “Which I admit was a mistake on my part to let you but you had yourself fooled as well so I suppose it’s not that surprising.”

His frown deepened.

“How am I fooling myself?”

“You’re not in love with me.”

A look of shock crossed his handsome face and you shrugged your shoulders, anger still pulsing through you.

“You—you’re just—” you stammered. “You’re an artist, a very good one at that, who was so desperate to fall in love and get some inspiration that you made yourself believe you were in love with the first person you found slightly interesting.”

“You don’t believe that,” he said, his eyes locked in yours and you scoffed.

“Why would I not?” you asked. “It’s the truth. You’ve never had any issues in your entire life so you had to create one, and you found the solution by making yourself think you loved me because all artists are supposed to be tortured and suffering, but life has been too good to you. Endless praise, endless wealth, endless opportunities with zero responsibilities, ought to be hard to find something to suffer in all that.”

His jaw clenched in anger. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?” you asked, trying to provoke him but it was no use, because even if you could tell that he was angry, he didn’t even let it seep into his voice as he spoke.

“Not at all.”

“Even you have to see how convenient this all has been for you though,” you said with a small, insincere smile as you stood up from your chair, leaning your hands on the table. “You had to find someone who wouldn’t bore you to tears but still be accepted by the ton, so you found the one person who didn’t swoon at the sight of you just so that—”

He stood up as well, running a hand through his hair, taking a step away from you as if he was trying to keep his calm.

“Y/N.”

You kept going as if he hadn’t interrupted you. “Just so that you could have an inkling of what all the other artists were driven by.”

He turned to you and narrowed his eyes. “You’re honestly being nonsense right now.”

“No, I think it’s the first time since I met you that I can actually see clear,” you retorted. “That’s what I meant by fooling me. And this?” you motioned between you two. “This was never supposed to get to this point. You didn’t even want to marry me, you merely wanted to find someone whom you could use as your inspiration because you’re so used to getting everything and everyone you want—”

“Don’t.”

“And you figured you might as well pretend to love me—”

“That’s not—”

The impatience got the best of you; “Do not interrupt me!”

“I will interrupt you all I want if you’re going to throw false accusations around!” he snapped back and you let out a bitter chuckle, a momentary silence falling upon the room until you broke it.

“I’m not accusing you,” you ended up saying. “If anything, I’m thanking you.”

He raised his brows, sarcasm etched in his tone. “Oh you’re thanking me?”

“Absolutely,” you said. “Now that we both know the truth, I do not need to feel guilty or bad.”

“For what?”

“For not feeling the same.”

That managed to get an actual reaction from him. The flash of pain crossing his face was more than enough to make your throat tighten, tears filling your eyes but you quickly blinked them back, trying to ignore just how badly your chest was hurting.

“You do not love me,” the words spilled from your lips like a growl, and you leaned in to lock your eyes with his, your palms on the table. “And I do not love you. I will never, ever love you.”

With that, you pushed yourself off the table and walked out of the room without looking back, tears burning your eyes but you managed to keep them at bay until you reached your room and slammed the door behind you and fell on your knees.

And then you started sobbing.

Chapter 29

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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probablyintensemuses · 3 months ago

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Hey Brother, pt 2

summary: in the present, you and Armando have an even rockier start.

authors note: read part 1 if you haven’t already. This one is mostly in Armando’s POV which I think is extraordinarily important.

Read Part 1 Here

Armando let the water run over him, each splash hitting a wound, causing him to wince.

The fight with McGrath’s people had been tougher on his body than he thought, and truthfully, on that tiny boat floating adrift, he didn’t think he’d make it here alive.

Luckily he had, trailing blood up the stairs and into your apartment as he waited for you to come home.

Mike had instructed him to come here and stay until things died down, until there could be some type of resolution for him, one that wouldn’t require more jail time.

He had said you would be fine with it, that you wouldn’t hesitate to help.

Armando wasn’t worried about that, he could see it in the way you’d placed a blanket over him, tucking him in, and stitching him together.

What he was worried about, truly, was facing you.

Yes, big bad assassin Armando was afraid to face his baby sister.

He couldn’t pin point why, exactly.

Maybe it was a mixture of fear, anger…guilt.

Guilt that you, his own little sister, almost died because of him all those nights ago.

Fear that you’d always be afraid of him and what he could do to you.

Anger that he even had to got through any of this shit at all.

Armando’s ran a wet hand through his sleek black hair, dragging water through his strands.

His fist shook and he wanted so desperately to punch something, but this wasn’t his place and he didn’t want to make things worse than what they already were.

So he took a deep breath, counted to ten, and then turned the shower off.

He climbed out of the shower, wrapping himself in the towel you had given him, walked out of the bathroom, droplets of water still coating him.

He tried to be as quiet as possible when closing the bathroom door as not to disturb you.

From the hallway he could see you sat on the couch, a bowl of cereal to your right, textbooks and pencils to your left.

You were studying with soft music trilling in the background, your glasses hung low on the bridge of your nose and your curly hair sprawled out.

Armando felt frozen in time as he observed you.

He hadn’t the slightest clue who your mother was or what she looked like, or the story between her and your father.

But from what he could see, you did look somewhat like Mike. Your brown eyes, thick, dark hair, warm brown skin and rotund face.

The only thing missing was his height, really.

Armando continued to watch as you turned a page in your text book, “you know staring isn’t polite, right?” You said, not looking up from your studies.

Armando coughed, adjusting himself. “I wasn’t staring.” He lied.

“Okay.” You roll your eyes. “Sure.”

“Why would I be staring at you?’ Armando trudged on.

You raised a brow, snatching off your glasses. “I don’t know, you tell me? Perhaps you’re planning to drug me again.”

Armando huffed. “Trust me, princesa, if I wanted to do anything to you, I’d have done it already.”

You look up at him, your eyes widening and your mouth opening and closing like a fish. “That’s not comforting…at all.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Armando reassured again, a pang tugging in his chest.

You didn’t trust…and some part of him felt the same about you. What was to stop you from calling the cops on him right now? Especially since Mike dumped him on you without so much as an explanation.

But in another breath it somehow hurt that you didn’t trust him. Wasn’t that part of being an older brother, trusting that he’d never hurt you?

“Why, because we’re family?” You question.

Armando frowned at that word, his nose scrunching. “No,’ his next words were slow to come out. “Because you’re not worth it.”

You scoff, gathering your things. “Wow.”

Armando watches you gather all your study materials in a haste, not sparing him anything more than a cold shoulder.

“Have whatever you’d like,’ you brush past him. “Because you're right, I'm not worth it, to anyone.” You slam your bedroom door in his face, leaving Armando with his thoughts.

Armando threw his head back with a sigh before gathering the clothes you had laid out for him and slipping them on.

Of course they hardly fit.

But that was the least of his worries right now.

The FBI was undoubtedly after him, he had wounds all over his body, he was shaking with his long-lost little sister who hates him, and he hasn’t the slightest clue when he’d be free from all this.

All the lies.

All the trauma.

All the pain.

It be a miracle if he could shake it all.

You force captures his attention, washing over his thoughts and beckoning him towards your door.

Armando leans against the wood, getting a better shot of your conversation.

“Dad?” You whisper.

“Babygirl, are you okay?” Mike asks.

“Am I okay?’ You scoff. “No I’m not okay! You completely violated my privacy by sending him here, not to mention I had his literal blood on his hands and I’m complicit in a fucking crime!”

“Hey! Watch your mouth.” Mike said, sternly.

“Really, my language is your biggest concern right now? Not the fact that you are the one who’s being disrespectful by going behind my back and brining him here!”

Armando winced at the conviction in your voice, you really didn’t like him. And if he was honest, you had no reason too.

Mike was silent for a beat before he responded. “You’re right.” He sighed. “I was just trying to do right by him. Do you know how it feels, having missed out on nearly thirty years of his life, knowing he was lied to and mislead?”

“No, I don’t. But I know how it feels to be thrust into an impossible situation just to make everyone else feel better.’ You sniffled. “I mean dad, I get that he’s your son…but I’m your daughter, and you could have at least taken into consideration how much this sucks for me too! Or even the fact that I’m fucking terrified of him!”

Mike sighs. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“If you know, why couldn’t he have stayed with you and Christine?”

“It would have to much of a risk for us.”

Armando jumps at the sound of something crashing behind the door. “What about me! Do you even care about how I fucking feel!”

“I do baby girl!”

“No you don’t, ever since you found out he was your son, you’ve been obsessed with redeeming him because of your own fucking guilt. So much to the point where you’ve put me in the backseat!”

“That’s not true!”

“Yes it is,’ you growl. “It was him, then Christine, Callie and Judie, and I just fall wherever else. If you feel all this guilt for all these people, you should have at least saved some for me.”

“Why would I save guilt for you, huh?” Mike said, clearly getting angry now.

“You know what,’ you took a deep breath. “I really hope your find a home for your murderous, bastard son soon, because I’m done being the pile you load all your shit on.”

“Don’t—,”

The line when dead before Mike could let out another word.

Armando swallows the last of your words a sharper knife than any he'd ever been stabbed with.

And maybe it wasn't exactly your words that hurt but the fact that you hadn't been lying.

Mike had been obbssesed non-stop with finding the good in all the bad things he'd done, like finding a shining diamond in a dirty, muddied pond; a miracle and an impossibilty.

Instead, he should have been focused on mending the fallout his actions left the both of you, in particular you.

Armando almost felt bad for you.

No, he did feel bad for you.

You were only seventeen when he kidnapped you, he and his mother threatening your life several times, only for you to find out it was all over a lie.

One big, fat fucking lie.

And instead of your father being there for you, shielding you from your greatest trauma, he exploited it by bringing Armando here.

It hit him then, maybe it wasn't hurt he felt when it came to you...maybe it was empathy.

He knew exactly how you felt.

Being exploited by a parent sucked, let alone two.

Armando wasn't sure what came over him, but he found himself knocking on your bedroom door.

It took a few minutes, but eventually you opened up the door.

Your brown eyes were swollen with tears and your bed was a clear mess of fustration and anger.

"I'm not apologizing for anything I said."

"I'm not asking you to."

"What do you want?"

"To apologize.' He swallowed.

You let out a low, sad chuckle. "For what?"

"I don't really know yet, maybe because I know no one's said it to you yet." He admits. "And if anything, you and I both deserve it."

Armando watches you straighten. "And why's that?"

"Because our parents suck."

You shrug. "That's true."

"So, I'm sorry."

"For our parents sucking?"

"Yes...no, I don't know. Look, I just don't want us to hate each other."

"I don't hate you." You say, using your feet to play with the hem of your pants.

"It sounded like you did back there." Armando nods to your cellphone.

"I was upset....I didn't think you'd hear all that."

"You were pretty loud."

"Well it is my house, and you did break in...so."

Armando sighs, "Touché."

"So now what?" You say.

"What?"

"You just say sorry and then what? Do we act like some happy family or do we skate around each other?"

"Up to you."

You sigh, playing with your nailbeds.

"Do you like ramen?" You eventually ask.

Armando shurgs. "I've had worse."

You leave your room. "I'll take that as a yes."

It wasn't much, but at least you were sitting across from him, enjoying a bowl of spicy ramen instead cowering away in fear.

For a moment, Amrando could actually enjoy some peace, a little calm before the storm.

He never imagined it be with the sister he never knew he had.

Life is really...something.

#fanfiction #armando aretas #bad boys for life #armando aretas x reader #jacob scipio #armando and mike #mike #mike lowrey #marcus burnett #bad boys ride or die

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writershapeholeonthedoor · 10 months ago

Text

Sunrise in the East

Pairing: Florence Pugh x Fem!Reader ; Hailee Steinfeld x Fem!Reader very briefly at the start.

Summary: Reader is very happy having one-night stands or having friends with benefits, avoiding any serious relationship for a while now. However, things change and she suddenly starts to think that dating wouldn't be all that bad.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so be kind. This is not overly romantic but I do think it represents very well what happens in real life. Also there's some light smut and some very light bdsm (very light).

MASTERLIST

You were still slightly out of breath while you slipped your pants up your legs, the sweat attached to your skin making it a bit harder to do so. Maybe you shouldn’t have chosen such tight jeans to wear that night, but oh well. Leaving the button undone, you turned around to find where your shirt had landed during the haste to get into bed earlier. At least you knew it was inside the room because, more often than not, you would have to walk around the fancy penthouse naked to collect your clothes.

Neither of you was careful with the undressing part.

You found your shirt - the simple black shirt you had slipped on after leaving your house - hanging precariously on the back of the armchair, almost falling behind it, where you probably wouldn’t think about looking before giving up and asking to borrow a shirt from the girl still lying on the bed. You glanced at the naked body barely being covered by the blue sheet while pulling the shirt over your head and grinned a little when you noticed the still red skin where your hands held a hip before. You were undeniably proud of yourself. Shamelessly so too.

Hailee paid you no mind, used by now to have you get up and collect your clothes before either of you could get too comfortable on the large bed, as she propped herself up with one arm to reach out for her phone on the nightstand with the other. Before jumping on the bed with your lips attached to one of her lips, you had asked to use her charger so you wouldn’t have a dead phone while driving back home, so your cell phone was also on the nightstand beside hers.

With one last look at the woman - still feeling so goddamn proud of yourself - you went inside the bathroom to make yourself more presentable to walk out of her apartment. You would have to take the elevator down and walk to your car parked across the street. If anyone happened to stumble over you, the last thing you needed was to look freshly fucked. You were very open about your sexuality to the press but there was no need for anyone to find out about your little arrangement with Hailee.

You were just using her mouthwash to rinse your mouth - sadly losing the last traces of her taste on your tongue - when you planned your next steps. Go to the kitchen, drink some water, go back to the bedroom, grab your phone, put your belt back on - you would have to take that one from the headboard of Hailee’s bed - and leave. Maybe you would make a quick stop by the wine store on your way home since it was on your way.

Mouthwash back in place at the sink, you left the bathroom with a big intake of breath. “Do you want some water?” You asked her, leaning down to grab Hailee’s bra from the floor. She threw it on the armchair with a smirk.

Hailee nodded distractedly before she turned to grab the empty glass from her nightstand so you could fill it. That’s when your phone screen lighted up with a new text message and, even though you knew that wasn’t Hailee’s intention, she ended up reading what it said before the screen went black again. You weren’t worried about it, of course, but you quirked one eyebrow when Hailee grabbed your phone and threw you a glare that was obviously filled with anger.

“Did you just receive a text from someone else wanting to have sex with you while you’re still in my room?” She asked and, for a moment, you weren’t sure if she was actually mad or just playing with you.

The agreement between you two has been clear since the start. You were both single, you both needed to take some of the edge off sometimes, and you both enjoyed sex. It was a friends-with-benefits kind of situation, something that has been working for you two for about six months now. You were friends for longer, ever since you met her on the set of Hawkeye, but the sexual part of your friendship hadn’t started immediately.

And even now, six months later, nothing has changed between you two. You hung out with other people from the cast, you chatted and had a nice friendship that didn’t get complicated when one of you wanted to have sex.

The thing is Hailee wasn’t the only one you had that agreement with.

Your job didn’t allow you to be in the same city all the time and you, well, you enjoyed sex.

Having sex without any type of attachment was kind of your thing, actually, and Hailee was aware of that. You two spoke of going out and meeting other people all the time. There was no way you would’ve imagined she would be surprised, and apparently mad, to see you had some type of established friends-with-benefits thing with someone else.

When you didn’t say a thing, Hailee tapped on the screen of your phone to read the text out loud for you. “Are you free tonight? I’m in town and my hotel room has some good wine.” Hailee finished reading it and looked back at you. “With a wink face in the end.”

You were still standing in the middle of her room, not sure how to react to the drastic turn of events, but you just decided to go straight to the point. “We’re not dating,” you reminded her. “And you know I sleep with other people.”

Hailee kept looking at you for a while, probably trying to read what was going on inside your head, until she let out a breath and threw your phone on the mattress. “Don’t blame me for thinking this is a bit wicked.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You decided to do the button on your pants, suddenly not as comfortable anymore, before you stepped closer to the bed to grab your phone. You unlocked the screen to open the messages and, sure enough, there was the text that got Hailee so worked up. Florence’s name was flashing with the notification and you didn’t manage to hold back a little smile because you had no idea Florence would be in the US, let alone in the same town. You liked spending time with her way before you two started with the booty call thing.

“Are you going to see her tonight?” Hailee asked, trying to sound like she didn’t care, but you still saw how she kept throwing glances at you while looking through her phone again.

“Please, don’t tell me you caught some feelings for me,” you teased in order to try to avoid a fight. You didn’t want to fight tonight, especially about that. You liked being very clear with every girl you made an arrangement with. No attachments, no feelings, no wanting to boss you around. “That would be a terrible, terrible, destiny.” You walked to the side of the bed where she was and leaned in closer to her face.

Hailee locked eyes with you, almost challenging, but the girl broke eye contact first, as expected, glancing at your lips with a hungry look on her face. “No, I didn’t.”

“Really? So why are you so mad?”

Dark eyes snapped back to yours, now flaring with anger, and you chuckled happily before pulling away to add some space between you two. There was no way you were going to stay around now. “I’m not mad.” It only took one of your glares for Hailee to sigh and refute what she had just said. “I guess I just felt… disposable,” she admitted almost shyly, going back to being the girl who would give you doe eyes while you tied her wrists to the headboard with your belt.

“Well,” you raised your eyebrows, “we don’t have anything serious going on.”

“No, we don’t,” Hailee agreed with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” You offered her a smile, feeling a bit more relaxed now that the crisis has been averted. Considering that Hailee was very adamant about keeping her bisexuality hidden from the public eye and how eager she had talked about the date she had next week with someone else, you were pretty sure she hadn’t suddenly developed feelings for you, but you guess it would throw most people off to read a text like that. “But, to answer your question, I’m going home. I know it looks like I have infinite stamina but I can’t exactly go around having sex all night,” you joked.

Thankfully, Hailee laughed. “I didn’t know you and Florence have a thing. You never told me.”

“A girl don’t kiss and tell, Hailee,” you winked at her.

“You totally do!” She laughed again, even louder now, before throwing a pillow at you. “But fine, keep your secrets.”

“Hey, I’m just so damn lucky that Marvel gave me two jobs at the same time, and it just happened to be to share a screen with two hot women,” you teased her, addressing the fact that you had shot Hawkeye and the Black Widow movie at the same time a few months ago. Those had been crazy times because you had to be at both locations across the ocean from each other, remember your lines, shoot the scenes without screwing up too much, and find some time to sleep. “And I just spoke exactly like Hemsworth would,” you completed with a grimace.

“Who else you hooked up with?”

Laughing, you shook your head. “Good night, Hailee,” you said while leaning in to grab your belt before turning to leave her room.

[...]

You didn’t meet with Florence that night, though you two made plans to see each other the next day since the girl would be in town for another week. Just like it had happened with Hailee, you and Florence became friends with benefits over time. Things with Florence were very hassle-free. You went out as friends, hung out, grabbed drinks together, watched movies, went to new restaurants, talked about people you two went out with, and, sometimes, you had sex.

It was great and so simple that you could easily say that was probably the one thing in your life that wasn’t even a bit complicated. Which was something that only crossed your mind the night before while you were driving home with music blasting through the radio. Your little chat with Hailee had provoked your thoughts enough to have some of them jump on the back of your head and grab your attention.

You had said to Hailee that having feelings for you would’ve been stupid and you didn’t think you were lying about it but it also made you think about what you were doing with your life exactly. You never had a very serious relationship that lasted more than a few months and now, when most people your age were married with kids, you were still holding onto ‘friends with benefits’ things instead of building up the courage to actually try to build a life with someone. That wasn’t something you were ever worried about but your life crisis lasted the entire night and, by the time you managed to fall asleep, you were pretty sure you would end up being one of the people who died alone in a nursing home without having anyone else to talk with but the nurse who had to change your diaper because she was paid to do so.

A bit dramatic, sure, but your job was literally doing that in front of a screen.

So, by the time you met up with Florence that night, you had an entire day to mull over your life and had made up your mind about what you wanted for the future.

Of course that it was quite hard to remember what your decision had been when Florence had you pinned down on the bed, face pressed against the pillow and ass up, while she pounded behind you with a strap that you had no idea how she managed to travel with it inside her bag. Florence was one of the very few people you ever allowed to fuck you like that. Most of the time, you preferred to be on top, to be in charge, to see the person’s face while you two fucked each other's brain out, but Florence managed to get you so comfortable over time that you would allow her to do whatever she wanted with you.

You could still remember one of the first times you two had sex - a night when you had been a bit rougher than the times before that - and how Florence immediately demanded that you two talk about boundaries so you wouldn’t accidentally trigger each other in bed. You were lying on your back, hands behind your head and a smug grin on your face after making her scream out for the entire hotel to hear, and Florence was straddling your hips slowly grinding against you even after her own orgasm.

“What about color code?” She had asked with her husky voice and sexy accent.

“What about it?” You replied without having a clue what she was talking about because the way she was grinding against you was making your head spin.

Florence chuckled lowly, sending a shiver down your spine. “Red, yellow and green. So we can communicate more easily.”

“Why?” You frowned. “Can’t we just say stop and harder?”

“Because it’s sexy,” she had replied while leaning down, one hand brushing against your skin, up your abs, between your breasts, until her fingers closed around your throat and applied some pressure to make it a bit harder for you to breathe. “Color?” Florence asked in a whisper against your ear before her tongue darted out to lick a hot trail on your neck.

You gulped and your hips jerked trying to get more friction from her. Even so, you decided to be honest about it. “Yellow.”

“Why?” Florence wondered as her fingers lost strength around your throat and she leaned back to look at you.

You shrugged. “Not my thing, I suppose.”

She nodded then before lying on top of you again. This time, the other hand that had been serving as a support on the bed sneaked between your back and the mattress, going up until it reached the back of your head. There, she grabbed a handful of your hair and gave it a very gentle pull. So gentle you could only feel the pressure of her fingers holding your curls. “Color?” Florence asked again and you had to agree that it was a sexier way to discuss those types of things.

“That’s a very green situation,” you replied playfully. “Like, lime green situation.”

And then Florence chuckled against your ear and your hips picked up pace and the conversation ended up with both of you cumming all over each other. It had been one of the sexiest experiences in your life but it also proved to you that you could trust Florence and could trust being intimate with her. She respected you and you respected her, and, above all, you were friends.

That’s why you weren’t even a little ashamed of the almost pornographic moan that escaped your lips when, after you came for what felt like at least ten minutes, Florence rolled off you with a groan after putting her body to such extremes to bring you over the edge. She collapsed beside you in bed, even though you were lying right in the middle and hadn’t moved at all, and got rid of the toy and the sheets that were tangled on your legs. You were grateful for that because your body felt like it was on fire and even the thin sheet was making it worse.

“God, no one can make me cum as hard as you can,” you declared out of nowhere, making Florence snap her eyes back to you in surprise for a second before she chuckled. “I swear to God,” you insisted, even nodding a little before closing your eyes to try to get a hold of your breath.

“I'm flattered,” Florence replied in amusement as she leaned closer to give you a light bite on the shoulder.

You sighed and finally found enough strength to turn to your side so you could face her. There was a small gap between your bodies because you were still feeling too warm. “You should.” You smiled and wiggled your eyebrows. “I can't even feel my legs right now.”

It made Florence laugh again and, as she threw her head back, your eyes hungrily took on the column of her neck. “That's why you keep coming back for more,” she teased you and then reached out behind her to grab the water bottle she left there earlier that night.

You watched her for a moment - the gulp of water, her eyes dancing with mirth as she looked at you, her lips curling around the bottle - and accepted a sip of water when she offered you some. You handed her the bottle back already deciding to start talking. “You know… I was with someone else when you texted me yesterday.”

Florence didn’t look surprised or affected by the information, although her voice became a bit sarcastic when she spoke again. “Oh, no. Did I get you in trouble?”

You rolled your eyes at her fake concern. “No, not really. Well, I mean, a little bit,” you admitted with a grimace. “She got mad that I received a text from another girl but she promised it wasn’t because she was in love with me or anything. Something about feeling disposable.” You didn’t think you needed to tell Florence who you were with and you were sure she didn’t even care or wanted to know either, so you didn’t say it. Hailee’s secret would be safe.

“Friends with benefits does work a lot like that, yes,” Florence retorted with a knowing look, as if she knew all about what you were telling her. You wouldn’t be shocked to know that she went through something similar herself because, as far as you knew, you also weren’t Florence's first fuckbuddy.

She said nothing else after that, and neither did you for a while. Eventually, Florence closed her eyes as if she was about to go to sleep and you knew you had to say what you wanted before she started to snore beside you - you didn’t feel the same need to rush out of her bed like you did with everyone else.

“Flo?”

“Yeah?” She didn’t open her eyes or move from the comfortable position she was in - with one hand under her cheek and the other one resting on the mattress between you two.

You hesitated only for a second simply because you didn’t want to disturb the peace she seemed to have found. Even so, you needed to say it and Florence’s sleep would sadly have to wait a few more minutes. “Is there any chance this thing between us could ever be more?”

As expected, Florence’s eyes snapped open so fast that it was almost comical to watch it. “What?”

“Don’t freak out yet,” you told her, biting your lip to hold back a laugh that wanted to escape. “I'm not about to confess my undying love or something like that,” you promised her. “I was just wondering if there is even a small chance of us being more than just fuck buddies.”

Florence still looked too surprised to say anything more than some questions. “What brought this on?” She used one elbow to hold her body up to look at you.

“The girl from yesterday, actually. It got me thinking.” You shrugged and then mumbled: “Probably more than I should.” You sighed and rolled to your back to stare at the ceiling. “As cliche as it is, I’m not getting any younger. I'm older than you.” Even saying that made you cringe because you hated being reminded that you were older than those girls, that you most definitely were trying to be forever in your mid-twenties even though you had passed that already. “You’re still young and don't have to worry about those things yet, but I'm starting to think about having a serious relationship.” You turned your head to look at her and added: “Settle down,” as if she might not understand what you were trying to say.

Florence quirked one eyebrow. “And you think I'm the right person to do it with?”

Her reaction didn’t surprise you, of course. You two were friends who enjoyed sex with each other. Florence had never shown any extra interest in you other than that but, as you had realized the night before, she was the one person in your life who you could see maybe building up something more than casual sex with. That’s why you were having that conversation and you knew she would have her reservations about it since you just dropped the subject on her out of nowhere.

So, you tried to lighten up the mood with a smile and a little joke. “Well, it wouldn’t be fair with you, if I'm being honest.”

“What do you mean?”

“To tie you up with someone older when you’re still young enough to enjoy being single?” You gave her a playful stare. “What an asshole move.” To add some effect to your words, you rolled your eyes and scoffed to yourself before shrugging again. “But I'm a bit selfish, I guess.”

Florence watched you for a moment, still confused but starting to see what you were trying to say. “So why are we having this conversation?”

“Because I would like to know if this more serious thing I’m looking for could be found with you,” you confessed, never one to beat around the bush. “If so, we could give it a try.” You saw her opening her mouth to say something so you quickly kept talking. “I'm not saying we would immediately start dating and get married by the end of the year, but we would give it a try. It could work or it couldn’t.” That’s the only thing you wanted. To know if there was a chance for you two to at least try. Like you said, it might not work, but you knew that, if it didn’t, it wouldn’t affect your friendship. Florence might be younger than you but she was very mature and you would be able to handle it if things went south. “That’s how dating goes, you know?”

“And if not? We don’t have sex anymore?” Florence wondered and then dropped into bed again with a sad sigh. “That would be sad. Sex with you is pretty great.”

That made you laugh. “We don’t have to stop this. We can still fuck,” you told her. “I'm just telling you that I would start looking for someone else to build a relationship with. We can still fuck until I find that person.” That wasn’t exactly new. That’s exactly how every relationship works. You were allowed to have sex with whoever you wanted until you started something serious with someone. Most people wouldn’t let their friend with benefits know they were trying to find someone else to date but things were never traditional with Florence anyway.

“The girl from yesterday…?” The blonde wondered without finishing her phrase.

You quickly shook your head when you understood what she meant, though. “It wouldn’t work out like that between us. She knows it too.”

“And you think it would work with me?” Florence insisted and, this time, she sounded incredulous that you would think that.

“It could.” Again, you laughed. The look on her face was pretty priceless. You decided to turn on your side again so you two would be facing each other and playfully dragged your fingers on the mattress to poke her ribs. “You fuck me like nobody else, I trust you. Not everyone is allowed to fuck me on all fours, you know?” You joked, your nail scratching her skin. “Or pull my hair,” you added with a wink and then removed your hand from her body so you wouldn’t get too distracted. “We never tried to get further than that because we both agreed on the fuck buddies thing, but I think I could find many things about you to like. You're funny and extremely caring about everyone else. That’s enough for me to want to give it a try, if you want to.”

Florence hesitated long enough for you to know what her answer would be. It made you a little sad, of course, but you weren’t heartbroken by it. “And if I don’t, we’re not going to stop…”

“No.” You shook your head to put more emphasis on it.

And, to no one’s surprise, Florence sighed and said: “I'm sorry.”

You chuckled and reached out to squeeze her hand. “Don't be, Florence.”

“But I am,” she whined, intertwining her fingers with yours and bringing your joined hands to her chest. “I'm really sorry because you're a great person and I can see what you're saying about it possibly working out.” You tried not to think about the back of your fingers touching her boobs, though it was easier than expected because you just couldn’t look away from the sad look on her face. “But I'm not ready to have anything serious.”

“And that’s okay,” you said and meant every word. You wouldn’t hold it against her at all. You asked her a question and she answered it. Now you could move on. “You don’t have to do something you don’t feel ready to do. Especially something like this.”

“I'm sorry,” Florence repeated softly.

“Stop apologizing,” you chuckled again to let her know it was fine and she shouldn’t be feeling so guilty about it. “Thank you for being honest and saving both of us some time, okay?” To show her how grateful you were for that, you leaned in and brushed your lips against her collarbone before letting your teeth grasp against the soft skin there. “Now, I remember you saying something about more sex. My legs are still shaking but my mouth is working just fine.”

And that was it.

No hard feelings.

You saw Florence two more times after that before she left town to go shoot her new movie somewhere in Europe. You had sex at one of those times but you both had brunch with a few friends in common the other day and it was good to realize nothing had changed. You both promised to keep in touch after Florence went to the airport and talked about maybe seeing each other again in a few months when she was done shooting and you were done with your own job, and that was the end of it.

Sadly, it was the end quite literally.

Florence’s shooting delayed several weeks due to bad weather and, by the time she was back in the US, you had left to shoot a series in Australia. When you returned home, she was in the UK. When you went to Europe, she was doing a press tour in Japan. And so on. Your agendas were always clashing and you never stumbled over each other. You saw her briefly once when you attended the same award show almost a year after the last time you had sex but you had to catch a plane right after the award was over.

Even though you didn’t meet in person, you never stopped talking over texts and eventual calls when you had the time. Florence was still your friend and you enjoyed talking with her.

Life kept going on like that.

You called off most of your casual hookups with time but you tried to focus on your job more than your romantic life despite what you have decided about having a serious relationship. You wanted it, but you didn’t want to rush into anything out of desperation just to regret it later. Things would fall in place with time, you were certain of it.

Close to the two-year anniversary of the conversation you had with Florence, you received the news that a new Marvel movie was going to start being shot in a couple of months and most of the cast was going to be called back to do it. That meant you would work with her again but not only her. Many of your old friends would be there and you were very excited to live all of that with them again.

When the announcement was made, Scarlett reached out to ask all the women to a dinner party in her house and you obviously accepted it. Scarlett was a dear friend of yours and you would’ve agreed to meet her for dinner despite of the reason, although she added more reasons for you to say eyes when she said she was trying to get the girls back together before shooting. You saw some known faces in there and it was an amazing night. You all ate, talked, laughed and joked all night, and you had such a great time there that you had a permanent smile on your face when you walked out of the door by the end of it.

Brie was talking loudly while walking towards the cab that she had called to herself and Florence was standing beside you while you two watched her go in amusement. That was the first time in a long time that you two spent time together and you couldn’t deny that you had missed it. Florence made it easy to enjoy her presence.

After Brie was safely inside the car, you turned to walk to where you had parked since you all had already said your goodbyes, but Florence’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “Hey, would you like to grab a drink? We could go to my hotel, they have an excellent bar by the lobby.”

You smiled because, yes, you had hoped you two could catch up, but you had thought about asking Florence to go to a new restaurant with you the next day or something. You turned back to her and nodded. “I would love that, yes.”

That’s how you two ended up sitting at the bar stools laughing loudly without a care in the world. You had talked a lot during the dinner but you two found more things to talk about. It was easy to talk with Florence, it was easy to tell her silly stories and make fun of yourself because you knew she wouldn’t judge you for any of it. And you loved to hear her talk about her own life and her own adventures and everything that happened at the time you hadn’t seen each other.

You lost track of time and you were surprised when you glanced at your phone and saw it was almost two in the morning already. There was just one other table being occupied and two other clients on the stools by the counters but you could tell the people on the bar were praying everyone would leave soon so they could clean up and go home. You were just thinking about calling it a night and asking Florence to meet up again tomorrow when you felt her fingers brushing on the back of your hand timidly.

“So… Did you meet that person?”

You didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. “I did, yes,” you admitted and then shrugged. “It didn’t work out but that's fine.” You had met someone who you thought might be the person for you but it all went downhill pretty quickly after five months together. “We’re still friends.”

She nodded slowly in understanding. “Anyone else now?”

You could see where this was going, even more so because the fingers on your hand were drawing little circles against your skin and because her eyes were glued to yours. You had been on the end of Florence’s flirting many times before to know she was trying to subtly say what she wanted that night. You didn’t mind. In fact, you were suddenly very excited about it. As said before, you had hoped, but didn’t expect it to happen.

“No,” you replied with a smirk as your other hand found a way to her thigh, barely covered by the dress she was wearing. She smiled back at you, eyes sparkling, and you felt your heart melt inside your chest a little. “I'm happy to see you again, Flo,” you confessed in an unusual emotional moment. “It's been a long time.”

Florence nodded eagerly and licked her lips all while slipping from the stool and tugging at your hand to do the same. “Way too long, yes.”

Hours later, you were both naked on the bed again, sheets kicked to the floor, bodies sweaty, short breaths, scratched backs. Even after so long, you two still had the same chemistry as before. It was still easy. Still amazing.

You were lying on your stomach, both arms beneath the pillow where your head was resting, eyes closed as you felt her fingertips brush against your back. The last time you checked, Florence was lying on your side looking at you but you were feeling too tired to open your eyes again to see if she moved. Besides, the air around you two felt like she was trying to gather up enough courage to start a conversation and you didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Whatever she wanted to say, it looked important.

You were starting to feel sleep creep in when you finally heard Florence sighing.

“The conversation we had a year ago.” Florence didn’t say more. She didn’t finish her sentence or start something else, and you just knew she had lost courage in the middle of her phrase.

You almost smiled. Instead, you decided to ask her: “What about it?”

You couldn’t see her but Florence bit her bottom lip and her eyes looked at you with something between concern and longing on them. “I wasn't ready then but… If you still think we could give it a try…”

You had hoped.

But you didn’t expect it.

You smiled, eyes still closed. “Aren't you going to ask me out on a date, Ms Pugh?”

“Would you say yes?”

“I don't know.” It was becoming harder to hold back the laugh that wanted to escape. “You didn’t ask yet.”

Florence chuckled and you finally cracked one eye open to see her nose scrunch in that adorable way it always did. Florence’s fingers never stopped drawing random patterns on your back. “Would you go on a date with me? Almost two years later because it took me some time to catch up with you.”

Something you would never blame her for, of course. Florence was still young then. She still is now but those two years had matured her a lot from what you could tell. Not to mention that things between us wouldn’t have worked back then. Not with the crazy schedule you both have. If she had said yes back then and you two tried to date, you wouldn’t have the time to actually be together. No relationship would ever work like that.

But now… Now she was older, she knew what she wanted and so did you, and you were about to slow down on your agendas for a while. It was the perfect time to try it.

“I would love to,” you finally answered and saw her muscles visibly relaxed. You closed your eye again, smiling and trying not to look so damn smug about it. “You pick the restaurant and I will wear something nice for you to take it off by the end of the night.”

Her husky laugh filled the room. “I like the sound of that.”

After saying that, Florence curled against your side and you both fell asleep soon after that.

[...]

“Hey, Y/N?” The mattress beside you moved when Florence turned around in your arms to look at your face and you almost screamed in frustration because you were just a second away from falling asleep.

“What?” You groaned.

“Are you awake?” Florence asked with a low tone.

“Who do you think answered you?” You retorted with a huff but were unable to not find it amusing.

“I wanted to thank you for giving me another chance,” Florence said after a brief pause. “I didn’t even deserve the first one you gave me. I was immature enough to be scared. I didn’t even give it a try.”

This time, you groaned louder because, no, you didn’t want to have that conversation at - you glanced at the clock on the nightstand - four in the morning. “Go to sleep, Florence,” you begged after resting your head back on the pillow and closing your eyes.

“I just wanted to say that,” she kept going. “And that I love you. Very much.”

Well, you couldn’t not reply to that. You sighed but smiled, and then pulled her ever closer to you so you could kiss her forehead. “I love you too, Florence,” you whispered against her skin. “But I will be asking for a divorce if you don’t let me sleep now.”

Florence chuckled. “That would be the fastest a marriage has ever ended,” she joked and her words made the weight of the ring on your finger intensify.

You still couldn’t believe you two got married a couple of hours ago after dating for over three years. It felt like a dream yet and you wondered how long it would take for you to get used to the cold metal around your finger. You would have to get used to it because you would wear it for the rest of your life, after all.

“Sorry, I think Britney would still beat us,” you responded jokingly. “No record for you.”

“Guess we need to remain married then.” She forced a sigh to pretend she was annoyed by it and you pinched her side.

“What a burden,” you agreed after she laughed. “To be married to the love of your life forever? Ugh.” You faked a gag and were rewarded with another chuckle. You could spend the rest of your life listening to it and, thankfully, you would.

Once she was done laughing, Florence snuggled even closer - if that was even possible - and sighed contently against your neck. “I love you.” She kissed your jaw. “Good night.”

“Night.”

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x you #celebrity x you #marvel #black widow #yelena belova #dune #princess irulan #oppenheimer #writing #creative writing #my writing #kate bishop #hawkeye #hailee steinfeld #hailee steinfield x reader

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skzoologist · 4 months ago

Note

Req no4

A very clumsy Bae getting teased sm for how clumsy he is that particular day. Falling, tripping over, messing up smth idk what and spilling things

word count: ~2k

warnings: just extreme clumsiness and embarrassment

a/n: A request finally written, yippee! And no, this isn't a few minutes late, you're imagining things.

Back to the masterlist

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

Bae had no idea what came over him that day, if he was cursed or woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but he didn’t like it at all, not a single bit.

It had all started out small: just a few slip ups here, a few stumbling around there. None of them were a big deal and thankfully most of them happened when he was alone, out of his caring, yet sometimes overbearing bandmates' sights. Like when he had just woken up and gotten out of his bed, or, well, tried to would be a better word to use. Instead of starting his day out normally and not falling onto his elbow, like usual, he had found himself in a heap on the floor, limbs tangled up with his blanket as if it was a snake coiling around its prey. He could only silently huff at that, frustrated, grumbling about it all the while he had quickly gotten ready for the day.

But then when he’d sauntered out to get something to drink in the kitchen, he had wonderfully managed to spill the cold liquid onto his fresh clothes, and he was sure he was looking like a grumpy, soggy cat. Silent curses left his lips as he went to change into a new set of clothes with a small, soggy trail left behind in his wake, happy that he hadn’t managed to stain those somehow for the remainder of the day.

Still, maybe staying in bed would have been better for him. Then he wouldn’t have found himself in the situation he was currently trapped in, already feeling the humiliation that was to come.

Because against all odds, a simple dance practice where the whole group was together managed to turn into a game of dominoes, all thanks to him and his horribly inept self. Usually he wasn’t this clumsy, at best it was only a spilled drink or a limb that caught onto a door handle.

But for some god forsaken reason that day his limbs felt like they weren’t his and instead were just molten lead wielded to his body, and that all led to a wrong step amidst practice, his body crashing into Minho’s. Only a low yelp could escape his lips before the sudden collision, unable to stop himself and the disaster in itself.

Bae didn’t dare face anyone, much less his hyung who he crashed into, and so he opted to instead bury his face into Minho’s chest and remain laying there on top of the extremely puzzled male. He could hear the others rush over, the music stopping and shoes squeaking on the wooden floor with increased haste. Their worry and confusion was practically palpable in the air and it only caused Bae to hide away further, hands now holding onto Minho’s hoodie almost desperately.

In the next second questions rained upon Bae like fire from the heavens, hands gently placed upon his back or shoulders in search of an answer or reassurance, he wasn’t sure. At his lack of answer someone took the matter into their own hands and carefully prodded at his legs, a relieved sigh leaving their lips at the lack of any visible injury.

Because Bae wasn’t hiding away due to pain, rather, he was too embarrassed to face them all. He wasn’t supposed to make such mistakes, he was part of their core dance team for a reason, however he wasn’t really behaving like he was deserving of such a title.

Before his thoughts could spiral any deeper, digging himself a hole he wouldn’t be able to climb out of, strong hands wrapped themselves around his lax form.

“If you wanted to lay on me so badly you could have just asked, you know.”

It was Minho who spoke this time, his voice teasing and devoid of any anger. Hearing that, Bae finally emerged from his hiding spot, skin flushing as he was caught completely and utterly off-guard. He just crashed into the man, in dance practice no less, the one member in the team who was more strict to them than anyone else when it came to dancing, yet instead of being scolded for it, he got teased?

Bae couldn’t believe his ears. Surely he was having auditory hallucinations, there was no way he heard that correctly.

But before he could dwell on it any longer, Chan entered his line of sight, a worried expression sitting on his face and Bae immediately felt bad. There was no need for their leader to ask once again if he was alright, he had heard the male loud and clear the first time after all.

“I’m fine, sorry. I just-... I’m sorry.” - he rushed out, turning back to Minho guiltily as he uttered the last sentence shakily.

His cat-like hyung gave him a soft smile, the one that had no teasing or jokes behind it, only comfort and warmth. Bae just blinked at the sight, carving the rare occasion into his mind hastily, not wanting to forget it for a good while. And he was just about to smile back when he felt a hand firmly grasp his ass, shoulders hunching due to the pure shock that visibly travelled up his spine. He could feel his skin burn, pale tones now tainted with a warm shade of red.

When he glanced back down at Minho the male was now sporting a sly grin, not at all ashamed at being caught in the act. Bae glared at him, but it only caused Minho to laugh, and he wasn’t the only one. The others caught onto what was happening rather quickly, not wasting a time to join Minho and his shenanigans.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” - the male taunted him from underneath, urging Bae to nearly start choking him to death.

Except before he could start doing that, a sharp smack could be heard in the air that was only followed by long silence. A loud yelp left Bae’s lips this time as he was unable to stop himself, slowly turning back to see Seungmin with his arm held up. A clear proof that he was the perpetrator, one who wasn’t sorry one bit. Felix wasn’t far behind and nor was Jisung, but they froze in the air at Bae’s sharp gaze before anything could be done.

Within a second Bae was after the mischievous puppy, long legs moving him quickly and flawlessly. Seungmin’s laughter rang through the room as he was chased around, the others yelling and cheering for one of the two. Thankfully Bae truly wasn’t injured in the fall, the soft throbbing in his ankle now nearly gone and allowing him to run at full speed. And he was close, oh so close to catching his playful dongsaeng when the beanie on his head slipped down, covering his sight.

There was only darkness and a loud, dull sound and Bae found himself on the floor again, thankfully not on top of someone this time.

The floor felt cooling for his rapidly heating skin and so he laid there, wishing to become one with the ground. Or maybe he should start digging himself a hole and live there, that way he wouldn’t make a constant fool out of himself anymore. But seeing as how his day had gone so far, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea as his clumsiness would find a way to botch that up as well.

While Bae was praying for a deity to make the floor swallow him up whole, his bandmates laughed, several nearly suffocating from the lack of air. If falling down two times right after each other wasn’t humiliating, hearing them having so much fun over his misery surely was. A loud groan escaped him, deciding to just pull the hat over his entire face and save himself from further mockery due to his now entirely red skin.

“H-hyung, are you, are you okay? You fell pretty hard over there.” - Jeongin asked amidst laughter, although to his credit, Bae could hear the maknae trying his best to calm himself down. Or maybe he just wanted to believe that, he didn’t know at that point.

Bae silently huffed and gave him a thumbs up, as only his pride was hurt and completely shattered in the fall. Would have been better if it was a bone in his opinion though, as he knew the boys would keep teasing him about this for days.

“You sure? Your skin is all flushed and red, Bae, all down to your chest!” - it was Hyunjin this time, not bothering to hide the amusement dripping from his voice.

This time Bae lifted his arm and gave him the middle finger, his other hand tugging the hoodie resting on his fallen form to hopelessly hide his showing skin. It was of no use, he was well aware, but it made him feel just a bit better, much like laying there in the darkness did.

“Alright, alright, let’s stop teasing our clumsy lil otter for now. You can continue when we get back to the dorms, yea?” - Chan said, nearby voice much too entertained and Bae felt immediately betrayed.

He nearly gave his oldest hyung the middle finger as well but he’d caught himself, hands now crossed in front of his chest as he turned his head the opposite way to where he had heard Chan from. A few members gasped, probably having seen Bae nearly go against Chan, something he rarely ever did.

“Oh my god, is the baby pouting?” - Jisung asked and Bae could already imagine the quokka excitedly hopping around with, like a kid in a candy store.

He didn’t get a chance to come up with a reaction as his only line of defence was abruptly torn off of his face, Felix’s wide grin greeting him. Wide eyes blinked at the sudden action, unable to do anything even as the sunshine menace confirmed Jisung’s question, loud cooing filling the air.

Bae wanted to really, really disappear into thin air at that point. If he could, he would have done so a long time ago.

As if his prayers were heard, Changbin came to his rescue, shooing everyone away. It didn’t help Bae nearly enough for his skin to regain its natural colour, but at the very least it didn’t worsen the situation either. He felt like he could breathe again, although the will to stand up or even move a limb hadn’t returned to his body yet. What if he would just fall down again? He didn’t dare know the answer.

“It’s one of those days, isn’t it?” - his dongsaeing knowingly asked, voice so soft it nearly made Bae tear up.

He could only nod at that, a small frown nestling itself onto his lips at the memories of not just today, but at all the other ‘clumsy days’, as the others had started to call them. They happened, albeit sparsely. Something always went wrong whenever those days emerged and they never failed to nearly ruin everyone’s day along with it. There hadn’t been a day where Bae didn’t feel riddled with guilt, as he wasn’t blind to how the others without fail took an extra step to look out for him in those times.

Changbin nodded back with a warm smile, hands moving and sliding under Bae’s back and knees. Before he could even open his mouth to protest he felt his world shift and there he was, lifted up and laying in Changbin’s steady arms.

“I’ll be right back, just putting our clumsy lil ice prince into his room!” - the dwaekki shouted, the others only shouting acknowledgements as if it was a regular occurrence.

Because it was.

This wasn’t the only time that Changbin had just taken Bae into his arms or onto his back, a dorky, happy lil smile curving up the short idol’s lips without an exception. And each time Bae was stunned into silence, knowing fully well that he wouldn’t be able to fight his way out of it. If Changbin made up his mind to do something, then he would do it no matter the cost.

“So about my reward for carrying you…” “No, Bin, you’re still not getting a kiss.” “Aw come on…”

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tragedybunny · 11 months ago

Note

hiya! for the Very Secret Santa =) would love anything fluffy and sweet with just Astarion or Astarion/Tav enjoying a starry night outside. Thank you in advance!

Hope you enjoy this gift! Very special thank you to @satanicspinosaurus for the lovely beta work.

All the Wonders Of the Night - Astarion x GN!Tav

It was the middle of the night, and you were trekking outside of Baldur’s Gate like someone who either didn’t know or didn’t care about the possible dangers outside the walls. Being outside those walls was an important part of your plans though

You’d spent the night in Rivington, and now you left the last road, and plodded south through the open fields.

“Where in the hells are you dragging me,” your companion fussed behind you, causing you to smile. Astarion had made strides in the last couple of weeks, but he was still somewhat the irritable vampire you had met on the beach that day. It also seemed that he wasn’t exactly fond of surprises, but this would be worth it, and he must have trusted in that to agree to come with.

“Not too much further my Love,” you called back behind you, as you navigated your way forward.

“You’re lucky I adore you,” he returned, sounding a bit more chipper. Perhaps he was aware he had come off a little hostile a moment ago. You tried not to correct or police him too much, but there were times it was hurtful and you couldn’t help but say something.

“I offered to carry the pack,” you remind him teasingly.

“And let you claim you did all the work?” You must have slowed a bit because he’d closed the distance to wrap his arms around you. “You’d like that wouldn’t you,” he asked, nuzzling into your neck.

“I could never think to steal your glory.” You answer, grasping his hand to pull him along beside you.

A few more minutes and you’ve reached your destination, a moderate hill rising out of the grassy plain surrounding it. It’s not much elevation, but it is higher than where you stand. “Up we go,” you say brightly and hear a sigh beside you, which may or may not be sincere.

The top of the hill offers a calm view, the Chionthar, a dark ribbon on the horizon, and Baldur’s Gate, a collection of lights. Around you, a sea of grass ripples in the gentle night breeze. Not a single stray cloud disrupts the gleaming sky above. A night as perfect as you could ever ask for.

“This is it,” you announce brightly.

Astarion looks around skeptically and begins to shed the pack he was carrying. “I’m going to trust you on this one, darling.”

Taking the pack from him, you kiss his cheek softly, pretending not to notice how he still flushes at small, affectionate gestures. “You won't be disappointed.”

The heavens are moving though and you'll have to make haste to be ready in time. The supplies in the pack really just amount to a couple bed rolls, some extra blankets, a bottle of wine, and a bit of food for yourself. You’re not so worried about Astarion getting hungry as you’re used to finding yourself the snack when he’s peckish. Quickly, you arrange everything into a comfortable little spot to lay back and look at the sky.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you say, inviting him to join you as you settle onto the bedrolls, wrapping a blanket over your legs.

“If you insist,” he says with a grin that you know means mischief.

In a moment, Astarion is sprawled across your blankets, head in your lap. “You’re like an ill-behaved cat,” you chide and run your hands through his curls.

“You wouldn’t want me any other way.” A kiss is blown your way, and you just sigh, because you know he’s right. Instead, you fumble your way around him to open up the bottle of wine, without moving him from your lap. “Not to be impatient darling, but I am a little curious why we’re out here.”

You let the first sip of wine wash over your tongue before you answer. It’s white, sweet, melodic, and fruity - the kind of wine Astarion claims to hate. The truth, you know, is that he can’t taste the same as he did before his current state of being. Even the darkest, deepest reds taste cheap to him. You give him every happiness that’s at your disposal, maybe in time you’ll be able to give this too. But for now, tonight will have to do.

Taking a glance at the heavens, you gauge the time. “You’ll see soon en-'' Your words are cut off by the first falling star, streaking across the sky. Apparently you were off by a few minutes in your calculations.

“Oh…” Had you managed to render Astarion speechless? Even with your slight error in timing, his crimson eyes are locked on the sky in enchantment.

The first falling star was accompanied by another soon after and you poured Astarion a glass of wine even if he’d fuss about the taste. He took it without complaint, head still nestled in your lap, as even more bursts of light filled the night sky above you.

The rain of stars began to rhythmically fall from the heavens, a dazzling display of lights. The two of you were uncharacteristically silent, attention rapt to the phenomena above you. You let your hand continue to run through Astarion’s hair, every once in a while caressing an ear or skimming your fingers along his forehead. In response, he snatched your hand, alternating between gentle kisses and playful nibbles each time.

When the pace slowed a bit Astarion finally shifted, pulling you down so that you were lying next to him for a proper cuddle. “So,” you asked nervously, wondering what he’d made of the surprise.

“That was quite lovely my sweet. And you went to all the work to drag me out here to see it.” He nuzzled against your cheek, leaving soft kisses.

“Does that mean you enjoyed it?” Face buried in his curls, you inhaled.

“I..,” his voice catches a little, “I did. You can’t see much of these things from the places I was spending my nights in and obviously Cazador wasn’t going to let us wander off to go star gazing.” You give him a light squeeze, a quiet acknowledgement of that small piece of everything he endured, not even the autonomy to look up at the stars. “But I do have to ask why you decided on this particular outing?”

“You see, it is beautiful, but it’s something beautiful you can only see at night. The night holds a lot of wonders that one can’t experience in the day, you included.”

“Oh, stop,” his voice trembles.

“I brought you out here to show you, the night is vibrant, alive, and full of wonderful, beautiful things. And I’ll have no regrets about living my life in it, if I get to share it with you. I know you’ve been worried about that.”

Astarion sniffles and buries his face in your neck. “I suppose this means there’s no changing your mind.”

Your arms tighten around him, holding him close. “You’re stuck with me. I love you, and I want this life with you more than anything.”

Above you, stray stars still fall as you kiss Astarion softly. Relaxing into your touch, you feel his hand on your waist, gripping as though he never wants to see this moment end. But tonight is just the first of many to come, nights as numerous as the stars still standing firm in the heavens.

@micropoe10 @writingmysanity

Tag list:

@mxxny-lupin @azu21 @tallymonster @dependsonthedream

@sunfire-ancunin @bambamwolf87

@fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress

@bhaalbaaby

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #x reader #secret santa asks #my fanfic #my writing #baldur's gate 3 fanfic

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meltedbluecaterpillar · 3 months ago

Text

Vil's Lemon Cookies

A/N: This is a commission for @starshiningsirius . I am happy I was able to write it. Vil is very handsome... I secretly love him a lot. I will express it more in the future I hope.

tags: fem!reader, aphrodisiac, closet sex wc: 4.6k+

You looked at the macaroons with a defeated sigh. They looked horrific. You stayed up all night making them. The entire recipe was made from scratch to show the person you wanted to give them to that you were capable of putting your heart into something like this. You tried to make them in cute little heart shapes for Valentine’s Day but it was all in vain.

They were oblong and abstract in shapes. The cream filling was the only appealing part. You knew the task would be extremely tedious, however the effort was necessary for the person you wanted to give the cookies to. “They don’t look that bad…” Grim yawned in the wooden chair, nodding off with lazy blinks of his big, round eyes. He had stayed up all night to help you, but now the desire for sleep was here to claim his conscious state. “They’re supposed to look like hearts, Grim.” You mumbled as the defeat melted into an expression more forlorn. “Close enough.” He yawned with a wide stretch of his jaw as you looked at the clock on your phone. It was 5:50am, consequently your classes started at 7:30. You didn’t really have time for a power nap AND to get ready. But you also didn’t want to be too exhausted to give the cookies to your Valentine.

Sam promised that the strange vial of lemon extract would bring you closer to the person you baked the liquid into. Part of you wondered if it was bull, since it sounded more like some mystical love potion. And you were pretty sure during your History of Magic classes, the Professor had mentioned that was extremely illegal. But Sam could have been pitching you a metaphor. Or maybe he really did sell you a crime. Thinking about it in detail was starting to give you a headache. “Grim, do you want to go to school today?” You questioned the beast through your own exhaustion as your eyes roamed across the table. Covered in excess flour and remnants of your baking tragedy. You were only met with his soft snoring. Taking that as a firm ‘no’ to your question you sighed.

You would be flying solo today, or perhaps even sneaking off to the library to catch up on some sleep. After cleaning up and tying your ugly macaroons up in a thin plastic bag and violet colored ribbon, you carried Grim upstairs to bed. You tucked him in and began to get ready for school with your eyes threatening to shut at every moment. The cafeteria sold espresso shots. You thought that grabbing one would be the best course of action for when you made it to the building. If you didn’t fall asleep walking down the path first. You showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth while scrubbing the crust from your sleepy eyes. Finally, you got into your uniform. You looked yourself over in the mirror as a quick glance over for any possible imperfections. Maybe some lip gloss? Mascara maybe?

It was Valentine’s Day and you wanted to look your best to take away attention from the disfigured macaroons. But for now you just wanted to sleep on the couch. You grabbed your school bag and your phone, heading down to the lobby of Ramshackle for a swift power nap. The ghosts promised they would wake you up in time for classes, but they seemed worried. You were up all night. They thought that maybe it would be better for you to skip the first few hours to catch up on a few hours of needed rest. But you refused. With sorry expressions, they promised to wake you up in time.

-♡-

You walked to school with haste. A scowl on your face with your eyes glued to your phone. Your blazer shielding you from the rain pelting against you. And it was only going to get stronger. The ghosts did wake you in time for classes. But only for that. You wouldn’t have any time to go hunting for the person you wished to gift the macaroons to. It could be that they intended for you to get some much needed sleep. But you didn’t have that in your timetable for Valentine’s Day. You had the cookies tucked into your school bag, pouting in silence as you made your way up the wet, stone stairs of the college.

As you entered, your tired eyes spotted Vil walking far ahead on his way to class. You didn’t have time to stop him, and Rook was already singing his praises. The moment you reached your first class, the bell had rang. With a joyless and exhausted sigh you sat in your seat and pulled your notebook from your bag. The least you could do was get ready for a long lecture. But you didn’t realize that when you closed your eyes, the bell would be ringing again to signal the end of class.

You actually fell asleep at your desk.

Whipping your head around, seeing most of the students already heading to their next class. It left you with a sour taste in your mouth. This had to be the worst Valentine’s Day you had ever experienced. You shoved your things back into your bag, quickly rising to your feet to make it to your next class. However the thought of skipping to sleep in the library sounded more and more appealing with every step. As you left the classroom, a familiar face was waiting for you. A wide and friendly smile, his blunt bob pulled back into a ponytail and his hat missing from his head. “Bonjour! Did you sleep well?” Rook asked in a way most found unsettling.

But with your attempts to be in the gaze of Vil, you had gotten used to him. “Very funny…” You mumbled as your pace began to slow as he walked beside you “Non, non! It is not a jest, I was sent to fetch you!~!” He chuckled as you finally slowed to a stop in the bustling hallway. A warmth settled in your face as you looked at him with suspicion. There was only one person that Rook would ever obey. “Do you have time after school?” He asked and you swiftly nodded. No hesitation needed. “Très bien! Please go straight to the Film Club at the end of the day. Someone will be waiting for you there,” Rook followed after you as you walked to your next class with your heart jumping excitedly in your chest. “And this is from me.” He handed you a small violet box as you reached the classroom door. Giving you a small nod farewell as the bell rang above you. You pulled open the box and frowned. It was an anatomically correct heart made of red chocolate.

Gross. But fitting for someone like Rook to give as a gift.

-♡-

The school day had finally ended, and you took in a small inhale as you stood outside of the Film Club. The chocolate heart Rook had gifted you was loaded with caffeine. Just enough for you to make it through the rest of the day. Hopefully there would be no one else present, you knew how aggressive some of the other students could be towards Vil. You rehearsed what you wanted to say in your mind as you started to pace. Smoothing out wrinkles in your uniform and trying to fix your hair. Should you try to play things cool? Maybe acting aloof and sultry? Be friendly, but not too friendly… Right? You swallowed down your anxiety and raised your head. Your hand clutched the brass knob tightly.

Just his acknowledgement would be enough to make you happy. It was quiet on the other side.

You took in a slow inhale, and let it all out before announcing that you were coming in. You forced open the door, eyes filled with determination. “Excuse me, Vil-” You stopped as a boiling warmth stung the flesh of your face. Amethyst colored eyes locked with yours as Vil frowned, holding a script in his slender, well manicured fingers. His hair was up in a neat braided bun, his ears had shimmering crystal earrings dangling softly with each delicate movement. “What? Come in, don’t just stand there.” He instructed firmly from where he leaned against the table. A silk, royal purple shirt exposing the flesh of his chest. Not a scar or freckle to be accounted for. It was tucked neatly into a pair of black Victorian styled trousers that naturally accentuated the gorgeous silhouette of his body. Down to blood colored stilettos, making Vil four inches taller than before. You were taken aback by his appearance. You didn’t expect him to be dressed for the club already.

Now you felt far too underdressed to see him.

Your disheveled uniform made you feel the urge to spin on your heels and leave the room. “Um…” Your rehearsals were all in vain as you awkwardly closed the door to the club room behind you. “Yes? Did Rook send you? Perfect, I needed to speak with you this morning.” He wasn’t waiting for you to explain yourself and jumped to his own conclusions with a grin. The soft rain pelting against the glass windows. It pulled you deeper into the room as the adrenaline you felt began to wane. The script in his hands was discarded to the table's surface. He curled his finger with a smile. “Come here my little sweet potato. I have a gift for you.” His voice was silky as he walked over to another table and began to dig through his school bag. Your heart was pounding as you came closer, smiling to yourself as the burning reached the sensitive tips of your ears. He called you his sweet potato.

It was rare for him to use that nickname. Since you had gotten closer, he only referred to you by name or the appropriate title of Prefect. You stood before him. Your face was hot as you struggled to remain still. To fight the urge to fidget from excitement. “Hold out your hands.” He instructed sweetly with an arm hidden behind his back, towering over you with a soft expression.

He really was gorgeous. You swallowed down even more anxiety, inhaling the faint floral scent of his cologne as you held out your hands obediently. “For you, happy Valentine’s Day.” He cooed sweetly as he handed you an expensive bar of chocolate. Lined in gold foil and telling you it was number one in the world. Almost like it was made to be photographed; not eaten. “I had it imported from home. No other chocolate can compare, so I know it’s something you will enjoy.” He chuckled softly as you looked at it with wide eyes. Traditionally, girls were to present boys with sweets on Valentine’s Day. The favor was to be returned on March 14th, White Day. Maybe things were different in Twisted Wonderland considering Rook had given you that chocolate heart earlier. Either way, you appreciated it a lot.

“I planned to give it to you first thing this morning. But I couldn’t find the time to give it to you. I know it’s inconvenient since my club starts in,” He paused and reached for his phone. Only to click his tongue in annoyance. “Ten minutes.” The Housewarden appeared dissatisfied as you marveled silently at the expensive treat. “I actually have something for you too!” You looked up at Vil, your heart drumming in your ears as a wave of surprise flashed in his face.

You felt that bubbling insecurity rise as you rested your school bag on the table, digging through it to retrieve the now slightly smashed and so-very unsightly macaroons. You pulled them sadly from your bag and your shoulders sagged in disappointment. “They… They’re supposed to be macaroons…” You muttered sadly as you looked at the bag in your hands. It was far worse than this morning. The overwhelming urge to break down and cry began to snake its way to the front of your brain. You were so tired, even after having three espresso shots and power napping in the library instead of attending P.E you couldn’t take it anymore.

Valentine’s Day truly felt like a disaster.

You weren’t sure if the tears starting to well in your eyes were from exhaustion or if they were from the feeling of failure. “Did you make those for me?” Vil asked as you hesitated, before nodding with a small sniffle. “I tried… I shouldn’t have stuffed them in my bag.” Your fingers brushed his own as he accepted the treats with a smile. He reached out and gently thumbed away your tears with a soft hum. “I can tell you put in the effort.” Vil teased softly as you leaned into his touch. “I’m supposed to be dieting,” Vil began as he pulled away from you. Watching as you blinked yourself back into reality.

His elegant fingers pulled the ribbon free as he sat at the table and you took the chair across from him. “but I think since it’s a holiday I can have a few of these. After all, you worked so hard on them.” He smiled softly as he took one of the macaroons still intact. Instead of what was supposed to be a perfect circle, it looked somewhat like a misshapen heart. “Are these lemon flavored?” He asked curiously, biting delicately at the corner of the treat as you sheepishly nodded with a soft sniffle. “I had bought lemon extract from Sam’s shop. I thought it would be unique instead of the traditional chocolate. But… It didn’t come out right…” You explained as Vil ate slowly, chewing and smiling as he went for another. You couldn’t tell him that the lemon extract may be magical.

“I wanted to make them perfect but I hadn't made macaroons until last night… I’m sorry.” You apologized as your body began to feel heavy with the exhaustion creeping through your body. The tears didn’t help either and the gentle pat of rain started to lull you into a comforting state. Vil shook his head in disagreement. His brows creased as he finished off the cookie. “They taste amazing actually. The appearance is appalling, yes, but the flavor is beyond expectations. And I have a very expensive taste.” He cooed as the flush in your face returned as you propped your head in your hands with a dreamy smile. He liked them! “Did you even try your own creation?” Vil hummed and you shook your head in response.

You didn’t have time. “Here,” The Housewarden grabbed one of the pastel yellow macaroons, this one had taken a shape similar to a boot. “Ahhhh~” He sang as you nervously parted your lips, tasting the lemony cream and the softness of the flaky macaroon against your tongue. Vil was right, even though they looked hideous, they were actually really good. A perfect balance of bittersweetness, the shells were soft and easy to eat, the cream coated your tongue and was the perfect thickness. “Practice makes perfect of course. I’ll be expecting some more of these soon. I’ll pay for whatever ingredients as long as you work on your piping skills.” He laughed, soft like windchime bells as you chewed slowly and savored the taste. The two of you sat and talked, the conversation flowed perfectly. Even when he scolded you for sacrificing your sleep for the sake of a pastry as you started to nod off in front of him.

The cookies and the chocolate had been finished. As the other club members started to file in you sensed that it was time for you to go. But you couldn’t shake this feeling. It wasn’t the overwhelming desire to lay on the ground and sleep. It was a burning sensation deep inside your stomach. Filling you with a dull ache that made you cross your ankles and rub your knees together. You felt… Horny.

You weren’t sure if it was that time for you to be ovulating already. Something absolutely felt off. Your cheeks were burning, and you looked across the table at Vil who was now resting his head in his hand. His cheeks were a soft rouge as he stared at the empty plastic bag with only remnants of the cookies the two of you had finished. Vil had eaten most of them. “My little sweet potato…” He sounded irritated as he pulled a smile across his face, looking at you with his eyes darkening. The lemon extract.

Sam said it would help you get closer to the person you fed it to. It wasn’t poison right? “You said you bought that lemon extract from Sam’s?” He asked as he straightened up, folding his hands across the table as you tried looking away. You felt guilty now, writhing nervously in your chair. “Are you sure it was just lemon extract?” He asked through clenched teeth as you felt the cotton of your panties starting to cling the longer you sat. Images of Vil’s angry expression swarmed your frontal lobe and all you wanted was to be forced to apologize.

There was absolutely something wrong.

Sam never said how much to use, so you had used the entire bottle in your cookies. Clearly that was a bad idea with how your bodies seemed to be reacting. “I see the club is starting!” You jumped to your feet to escape the interrogation. Swaying slightly from tiredness as the rain sounded much heavier now. Grabbing your bag with haste, your palms sweaty as you rushed to the door. “Thank you for the chocolate.” You breathed out as the burning feeling grew and grew. There was the debate between holding back the carnal hunger until you made it to Ramshackle, or sneaking into a janitor's closet to quickly relieve yourself of the hungry feeling. Either way you wanted a nap afterwards.

“I’m not finished with you yet.” The breathless growl made the hair on the back of your neck stand straight to attention. Vil was right behind you with his hands clenched into tight fists. Your thighs quivered in excitement as sweat began to pool beneath your stuffy uniform. Some of the club members called out to the two of you, bringing you both back to the current reality. “I’m going to walk the Prefect to the bathroom. Just in case there are male students lingering in the halls.” Vil’s excuse was flimsy, but of course his club was filled with sparkling eyes as they nodded and commented on how kind Vil was.

You weren’t sure either of you would make it to the bathroom.

As you left together, you could feel Vil close behind. A hand lingering along your lower back as you stumbled your way to the nearest door. Funny enough, it was a janitor's closet. You glanced around. Taking note of the hallway's emptiness, grabbing the handle to the door. Vil urged you forward, a silent command as you swallowed and obeyed. You opened the door as Vil gave you another soft push. It was small and cramped. Dark and filled with the faint scent of lemony-scented cleaning supplies. The door shut behind you with a click. Now shrouding you in the black shadows as a pair of lips found your throat, and strong hands began to pull and yank at your uniform. “I want you to take responsibility for whatever mistake you made.” He snarled against your skin. Sucking and biting at the flesh as you were pushed deeper into the closet. Your skin was on fire, your hips rubbing back against his clothed crotch as he pressed you against the wall of the closet. You were like pliable clay. Submitting to the idea of being molded into whatever it was your queen wanted.

The roughness was pleasant, the fantasy of wanting to be closer to someone you once saw as unreachable was pleasant. You continued to grind as Vil’s hips moved in tandem with yours. Soft moans and cries filled the tiny closet space. The sounds echoed through your skull as you pulled up the fabric of your skirt, silently begging for more. Vil was of course quick to pick up on things. “You did this on purpose?” He asked and you shook your head. Your eyes screwed shut as he panted softly in your ear. Cool hands slid along your hips as your panties were forced down the plush flesh of your thighs. “Liar.” He chuckled in amusement as a slender finger slipped inside of you. Your body jerked in surprise. Vil pumped and curled slowly as your walls constricted and relaxed around the digit. Your body was so excited to finally feel your more intimate needs satiated. “I know you did this on purpose. Poisoning me like this… All for a little attention?” His voice tickled the flesh of your ear as his finger pumped and curled vigorously inside of you. “It was an accident.” The words came out breathless. Hardly audible as Vil continued to kiss and suck at your neck.

You felt happy with the lingering knowledge that it would bruise on your skin. The affectionate and hungry welts by someone you had wanted to be recognized by for so long. “You could have just asked me.” Your head jerked in surprise. Asking and or suggesting your affections directly was a herculean feat you could only dare to dream of. The curling finger pressed and prodded at a rough patch of nerves inside of you. It caused your body to jump in surprise as you shook your head. “Your fans would kill me-”

“So you DID do this on purpose?” He teased and you started to pout. His mouth was much kinder now as he pressed kisses against your hot skin. A second finger slipped inside of you. “No… I… I didn’t know it would…” You were starting to feel light headed through your confession. “Sam said it would get us closer… But I thought it was… It was one of those lame metaphors so I would buy it…” You grumbled as Vil chuckled softly. He was amused. His pumping slowed. Sensually rubbing your wet velvety insides. Coating his digits with your juices as he continued to kiss and suck lightly at your flesh. “Such innocent intentions. I choose to believe you, my little sweet potato.” The nickname appeared again. “But,” He paused as the pumping stopped, and you started to pout. Your head pressing against the wall as you gnawed at your bottom lip in frustration. Vil gently patted the flesh of your ass as the sound of shuffling clothes muted the silence between you.

“there are consequences for being so naïve. Especially since you’ve pulled me into your little mess.” You could feel something rubbing against the plush meat of your moistened entrance. Round tip, smeared with something sticky and wet. Twitching and throbbing with anticipation for more to come. “Now, now my little sweet potato. How badly did you want me to do this with you?” Very was the correct answer. Vil knew that. But he wanted to hear you say it. To push the pleas’ past your own lips for him to savor. He wanted to egosurf your sentences. To hear you admit how much you’ve wanted him and for how long. The once unattainable, has become attainable to you. And only you. You reached back, curling your hand through Vil’s champagne colored hair. Once in its neat braided bun, but now loose with the ends curled from accumulated sweat. You carefully craned your neck. Your lips are just now brushing against Vil’s as you feel his cock start to slowly slip inside of you. Your walls stretched open for him. Allowing him to penetrate deeper and deeper as the two of you panted quietly in the dark.

Your lips caught his in a chaste and starved kiss. “I really like you… I’m sorry I tricked you.” The apology was breathless as your stomach coiled in excitement. The filling feeling made your eyes start to roll back into your skull as Vil took the chance to rub his tongue against your bottom lip. “I’ll apologize with my body. So I can show you I mean it.” You couldn’t believe your words were your own. Maybe it was the magical lemon extract. Maybe it was Vil giving you what you always wanted. Maybe it was you finally feeling confident after all of today’s stumbles and mishaps. His hips started to slowly thrust as a cacophony of soft moans filled the tiny cleaning closet.

“I forgive you. I always will.” Vil grunted as he pistoned his hips against yours. His hands rubbing along your flesh as he slipped them up your uniform shirt to fondle the flesh of your breasts. Not bothering to remove your bra as his hands forced themselves under the fabric to squeeze, knead, and tease. Your nipples were rubbed and pinched by his slender fingers. Pulling all sorts of whines out of you that you didn’t know you were capable of making. His lips caught yours. Eating your weak mewls and giving you the reminisced flavor of the lemon macaroons. Even if they were clumsy, they got you this far. His thrusts were steady as Vil pressed his body flush with yours. You could hear every sound. You could smell the salt of his skin and the fading fragrance of his floral cologne. The feeling of his clothes and skin rubbing against you, slowly growing overstimulating and too much to bear. You only wished that you could see his expressions. And that he could see yours.

You wanted Vil to know that you felt just as amazing as he did. Accepting his thrusts and how they quickened from excitement. How you could feel that coil in your stomach preparing to snap.

Your legs quivered as you braced your hands tightly against the wall. Your walls clenched and convulsed. Wet juices coating your inner thighs as Vil’s thrusts began to grow sloppy. Throbbing inside of you with each punch to the special bundle of nerves inside you. Stimulating you both to the awaited end of an orgasm. He panted in your ear. Moaning softly how he was so close. And so were you. “Can… I’m cumming…” He whispered weakly. His perfect appearance had become disheveled. His voice cracking and whimpering as he jerked his hips against you. Your body growing limp as the lewd smacks of skin filled the small, pitch black closet. The faint scent of lemony cleaning supplies had vanished now. Replaced with the intense smell of salty skin and lust.

You were cumming. Your body seized as Vil flattened your body against the wall. You felt so tired. Your eyes shutting as Vil peppered your face in kisses, rubbing his hands along your sweat slicked body as the warmth of his seed filled your body as the two of you came together. Twitching and throbbing together with your head growing heavy against the wall. You panted softly with Vil in the small closet. Just barely processing his words. “Will you be okay heading back on your own?” Vil asked quietly and you slowly shook your head in refusal. It wasn’t necessarily that you didn’t trust yourself to make it back to Ramshackle. You just didn’t want to go alone. You wanted Vil to go with you. You wanted to be with him longer.

Just for the rest of Valentine’s Day.

#absolute commissions.#lemon cookies smut #fem reader #aphrodisiac #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit smut

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