#i drum on my loved ones as a show of affection | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marxo-fm · 9 months

Text

Secrecy

✯ Viscount Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!reader

Summary: You’re the princess of the United Kingdom, trapped in the Kew Palace with nothing to do but obey. That seemed to change after your brother makes an appearance at the ball held in honor of his arrival from the British Military, with a surprise guest.

Warnings: MDNI+18, Mentions of adult theme and language, slight smut with plot, inexperienced!reader, virgin!reader, praising, innocent!reader, Ghost gives reader an anatomy lesson and teaches reader certain things, fingering, slight angst, no use of y/n, head canon, no descriptions of race, skin color, hair type/length, or body type. Reader is in her 20’s and Ghost is in his late 20’s. This takes place during the Regency Era.

Words: 9.7K (I can explain)

A/N: Rewatched Queen Charlotte in one day and got inspired to somehow write this. Idk what came up in my head but I’m not mad about it. I love historical romance pieces and Bridgerton is one of my favorite shows, so this was inspired by that as well. Must I add, this will be a series (let’s act shocked!) but it’ll start off slow and then progress into something very steamy. I plan on making this 2-3 parts? Not entirely sure yet. I’m so excited to make a playlist and have this become a part of my page. I promised to write a Ghost fic in celebration of 300 followers!!! Thank you!!! That’s all peeps, enjoy this and thanks for reading once again. :)

To be in love, is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well. —Gwendolyn Brooks, “To be in Love.”

The rain drummed loudly against the windows of Kew Palace, a historic refuge steeped in tales of bygone eras. Yet another dismal night had slipped away in silence, the relentless downpour obscuring any sounds of the world outside. The scent of rain, laced with the earthy aroma of centuries-old stone, permeated your room through the slightly ajar windows. Candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that played upon the antique furnishings, each one holding its own secrets from a different age. As you gazed out into the night, the blurred outlines of majestic trees in the palace gardens whispered stories of forgotten romances and royal intrigues, echoing through time.

Yet not one memory of romance had ever occurred to you, sadly.

You sat in silence, enveloped by the heavy presence of the palace's servants, who stood as immobile as statues waiting for a command.

The stillness in the room was deafening, capable of giving even the strongest a throbbing headache, yet this oppressive silence was something you had grown accustomed to. It was an everyday affliction, a reminder of your powerlessness and the stifling constraints of your position.

The relentless cycle of attending balls, tea parties, leisurely walks, and grand masquerades had become a mundane routine. None of these activities could dispel the relentless boredom that had settled over your life. Despite the lavish extravagance and social grandeur, they only served to further emphasize your dull amusement.

Unfortunate yet fortunate at the same time, you learned to be grateful for the position you are in now, but the life you have been given to live wasn’t what you enjoyed. That itself is a secret one must never know of.

Your contemplations were abruptly halted as your mother entered the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. You rose gracefully from your seat, bowing with an elegance through years of refinement. With a quick, composed adjustment of your dress, you presented yourself as the embodiment of poise and decorum. And of course, elegance. It was essential to maintain appearances in the relentless world of aristocratic expectations.

All the servants bowed down before their queen. A display of loyalty and respect—a testament to the power she held.

“Mother.”

“Dearest.” Her voice, filled with warmth and affection, broke through the icy layer of your mood. You responded with a genuine smile, one that masked the melancholy you often kept hidden. It was carefully maintained; your mother could never be burdened with your silent suffering. If she were to glimpse even a fraction of the emotions you endured, she would tirelessly pester and lecture, determined to alleviate your pain.

But this was a battle you chose to wage in solitude, for the sake of preserving the family’s reputation and your own fragile sense of independence.

“We have a ball to attend in the celebration of the upcoming arrival of your brother. It is to be held quite soon, though, we are not sure on the date.” Your ears perked and every melancholic emotions you were enduring suddenly became cheerful. Your brother is finally coming, after being gone for a year. Though it felt like centuries he had been gone.

“That is thrilling news, I pray he arrives safe and well. Have you shared this with our other siblings?” Other siblings meant your six siblings, you’re the youngest of eight children, and it’s rather lonely. It feels like.

“Yes, dearest. I have reminded them that a ball will be held soon. The members of the Ton will be attending and it will be grand.” She replied enthusiastically, “though I have something else to share, beloved.”

Your eyebrows rose, and your curiosity piqued. What more could your mother share with you about the ball? You sought more information.

After a brief pause, she continued, “He is arriving with a guest, a Viscount to be precise. This gentleman is to be accorded the utmost respect, just as I have instilled in all of you. He holds a special place in your brother’s heart, and it is imperative that he is welcomed with the same warmth and hospitality that we extend to family.”

You nod, “of course mother. May I know his name?”

“His name is Simon Riley, he is a fine and distinguished gentleman. He holds the rank of Lieutenant General. Quite remarkable if I do say so myself.” She looked at the servants before setting her eyes on you, “He is also very close to your father.” You gasped, for one to be close to the king—your father of all people, was quite rare. Since he is a busy man with important duties he must fulfill.

“I will treat him with the utmost respect, my dearest mother, rest assured.” Having made your commitment clear, you resumed your thoughts, still buzzing with anticipation for your brother’s return and the upcoming ball.

You returned to the chair you sat in before your mother shared important news, resuming in what you were doing before.

“Read a book, darling. You are amazing at that. Do not bore yourself here.” You nod graciously, you found her encouragement as something you deeply appreciated.

“Thank you mother, I shall read.” You made your way to the nearest shelf, curious as to why you haven’t done this earlier. Maybe your mother was right, do not bore yourself with such thoughts and emotions, instead find joy in reading. It helped you get lost in the pages and words, that you forget whatever was going on in that head of yours.

“Ladies, go help my daughter with the books.” Your mother ordered.

“Certainly, Your Majesty.” They all responded.

“It is quite fine mother, I can do this myself.” You assured, nodding to the servants and their faces expressed a puzzled look. Unsure of whom to listen to. “Yes, love, do as you may.”

The servants walk back to the area they had previously stood in, watching you carefully. “I must leave now, love, It is rather late.”

“Goodnight mother.” You make your way to the shelves once again, the area was dimly lit and the bookshelf stood tall. Its polished mahogany wood gleaming softly in the warm glow of a crackling fireplace.

It was calm.

The scent of aged leather and paper makes its way through the air as your peruse the titles, each elegantly bound with gold lettering.

You spot volumes of Jane Austen’s novels, her delicate pages filled with tales of love and societal intrigue. One most famously known as, “Pride and Prejudice.”

Nearby, a collection of poetry by Lord Byron beckons with its romantic verses. The room is adorned with lush velvet draperies and antique furniture, setting the scene for a world where manners, class, and etiquette reign supreme.

Your delicate fingers skim through every romance book there is.

As you select a book and settle into the armchair, the world outside slowly began to fade away. You immerse yourself in the intricate and vivid description, momentarily escaping the constraints of your era into the enchanting world of literature.

(…)

It is the next morning, as the sun timidly filtered through the drawn blinds in your room, its radiant presence compelling you to squint and shield your eyes.

The birds chirped and the sky is painted with bright whites and bright yellows streamed through the window, a sense of lightness enveloped you. Starting the day with a serene countenance, you blinked away the remnants of sleep from your eyes and smiled drowsily. Your fingertips traced the cotton sheets, as you embraced the morning's gentle charm.

You summon the bell in your bedchamber, signaling to the housemaids that you are indeed awake and require a comforting, warm bath drawn. You stand on your own two feet, welcoming the housemaids inside your bedroom assisting in disrobing your white cotton nightgown.

They draw a bath, filling it with steaming water infused with fragrant oils and rose petals. You step into the tub, sinking into the comforting embrace of the warm, scented embrace, a welcome respite from the chill of the morning.

As you soaked in the fragrant bath, your thoughts drifted to the impending ball. You longed for any additional information your mother might have left off about this highly anticipated event, eager for every intricate detail to fuel your anticipation.

Truth be told, your curiosity about meeting Viscount Simon Riley was quite overwhelming. You harbored an occurring hope that he would prove to be the epitome of a true gentleman. Your mother's praises of him fueled your optimism, suggesting he was a man of impeccable character and esteemed authority, which only heightened your eagerness to make his acquaintance.

Excitement was a vast understatement for the emotions coursing through you.

The revelation that Simon was not only close to your father, the King, but also held a special bond with your brother left you astounded. While many men enjoyed proximity to your father and eldest brother, the depth of connection your mother had described set Simon apart from them all. It led you to believe that he was indeed the definition of a true gentleman.

"Ladies, may I inquire if you have all gathered the latest tidbits of information regarding the upcoming ball?" You found yourself pondering, the fragrant bubbles in the warm bath soothing your senses, as you leaned back against the porcelain tub's elegant curves.

"Not quite, Your Highness," she informed, her voice filled with anticipation. "We've heard rumors that hundreds shall grace the occasion." Excitement surged through your entire being. Finally, the time had arrived to mingle with society, to dance, and to revel. It had been several long months since the last grand ball, and the prospect filled you with eager anticipation.

"Are any of you acquainted with Viscount Simon Riley?" Curiosity overtook you, though you couldn't quite fathom why. After all, you hadn't yet crossed paths with the man, and here you were, posing a question of seemingly little consequence to your maids.

They all gasped and stood quiet, maybe you have said something wrong.

"He is not a man of whom one speaks ill of," she responded cautiously, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "Viscount Simon Riley wields significant power and authority. However, Your Highness, that is all I am permitted to share." Her nervousness was evident, as if she were tiptoeing around a topic that carried great weight.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. This was information your mother had yet to share with you. The maids' description of Viscount Simon Riley sent a shiver down your spine, an ironic sensation given the warmth of the bathwater enveloping you.

"Do not worry, my mother shall remain unaware of this conversation," you assured with a gentle smile and a nod, watching as the tension melted from their bodies.

The curiosity within you compelled you to seek more information. "Can any of you describe his appearance?" You observed the maids exchanging uncertain glances before turning their attention back to you. As warm water continued to flow over your body, their soothing massages on your arms accompanied the anticipation of their response.

“It is okay to tell me,” you reassured with a playful giggle, “once again, mother will not know of this. It is not like you have committed treason!”

"Indeed, Your Highness," she began to speak in hushed tones, her voice carrying an air of trepidation. "Discussing Viscount Simon is a delicate matter. His influence is undeniably formidable, and we speak with a measure of fear." Her concern seemed to stem from the notion that their conversation might somehow reach the ears of this powerful figure.

A shiver of apprehension coursed through you. The maids' fear had a way of rubbing off on you, leaving you with an uneasy feeling about this Viscount Simon.

All excitement about meeting him quickly faded away into the endless void, everything your mother had described about him paled in comparison to the unsettling image the maids were painting of this man.

"Whispers of his enigmatic persona have swept through the highest echelons of society, Your Highness. They speak of him donning a finely crafted mask, shrouding his countenance in secrecy. Only a privileged handful among the Ton have been granted the privilege of glimpsing his true visage, and even the slightest revelation of his features carries the weightiest charge of all – high treason."

You gasped. Oh dear.

"Why does he shroud himself in such mystery?" The quest for information left you yearning for more knowledge. How is it that his existence remained hidden from your awareness until this moment?

Their fearful glances held your attention as they continued, "Your Highness, we remain ignorant of his motives for wearing that ominous mask. Its design, reminiscent of a skull, has earned him the haunting name of 'Ghost' among the hushed whispers of society."

Goosebumps prickled across your skin, and a shiver of fear coursed through you. The once-anticipated ball had transformed into a nightmarish affair, shrouded in dread and uncertainty.

He scared you, and you haven’t even met the man.

"That's enough, ladies. Please, remove this bath swiftly," you commanded. Your mood had done a complete somersault, and now you were acutely aware of your surroundings. It felt as though an ominous presence was creeping into your room, even though he hasn’t arrived yet.

Or maybe he has, but you’ve yet to know.

No no, don’t worry yourself of such horrid thoughts.

You repeat and repeat over and over. The fear of darkness and the ominous weighed heavily on your heart. It was a secret fear, one you dared not share, for you knew that if anyone discovered it, they would only dismiss your worries with laughter and reassurances.

The maids, their hands deft and efficient, hurried over to where you stood by the bath, wrapping you in plush towels to dry your delicate skin. With precision, they helped you into a graceful blue chemise dress, its fabric cool and comforting against your form, the intricate lacework and delicate embroidery adorning it a testament to their impeccable craftsmanship.

Each lace on the dress was adorned with a multitude of tiny individual diamonds, their facets catching even the faintest glimmers of light. The shade of blue, a soft and ethereal hue, served as the perfect canvas for these sparkling gems, making them gleam like stars in the darkness.

"'Tis a truly exquisite chemise," you whispered in admiration, extending your arms gracefully for the maids to slip on your pristine white gloves.

"Made for Her Highness, indeed, just like a rare diamond," your maids complimented, their words like a soothing balm to your nerves. Their unwavering support for uplifting your spirits never failed to bolster your confidence.

"Thank you, ladies. I must take my leave now, as there are matters to discuss with my mother and duties to attend to," you graciously replied, ready to face the responsibilities that awaited you.

(…)

"Yes, Your Majesty. The ball is scheduled for the end of this week, and all is proceeding as planned. Every detail has been meticulously arranged, and all members of the Ton have received their invitations," spoke your mother’s friend at morning call.

She took a delicate sip of her chamomile tea before speaking once more, her voice calm, "That is indeed wonderful news. I pray that everything proceeds without a hitch, and I have the utmost confidence that mishaps shall remain a distant concern." Her friend nods, before turning to you to ask a question.

You straightened your posture and offered a warm smile, "You are truly lovely, my dear. If I may inquire, are you excited for this upcoming ball?" As the question lingered in the air, a torrent of unsettling thoughts flooded your mind. The words of the maids, the mention of the enigmatic "Ghost," and the eerie mask all coalesced into a haunting collage of images. Your body quivered involuntarily, and a palpable sense of unease washed over you, like an ominous shadow creeping into the room.

You masked your true feelings expertly, putting on a facade of excitement. It was clear that your enthusiasm was reserved solely for your brother, not for the Viscount. You knew all too well that you couldn't reveal your fear, so you concealed it behind a carefully crafted persona, concealing the trepidation that lurked beneath the surface.

“Indeed I am quite cheerful. I already know well enough that this ball will be the best of this year.”

She takes a bite of her honey cake, proceeding to invade you with more questions. Questions you were not comfortable answering.

“Well yes…your mother—Her Majesty—is hosting the ball.”

"Ah, yes, of course," you quickly replied, feeling a bit flustered by the reminder. Her raised eyebrow and condescending gaze made you feel like a naive child, an unsettling sensation you couldn't quite shake off.

“Your Majesty, has she not yet met Viscount Riley?” Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Viscount Riley's name, sending a chill down your spine. The palace suddenly felt much colder, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. It was an uncomfortable and awkward moment for her to bring up such a question in the presence of your mother, Her Majesty.

"I am not privy to such information, my dear. However, I have every confidence that she will excel in his company and extend to him the respect I have diligently imparted. Would you not agree, my dearest?"

You nod graciously, before her friend decided to open her mouth once more with questions that made you shift in your seat. Uncomfortably.

"Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but I have had the privilege of seeing him in person. And, if I may say..." Her voice trailed off, and her response piqued your curiosity, causing your brow to arch. It was evident that she was quite eager to acquire more information about a man you had not yet had the chance to meet.

“He is quite tall,” she began, and your mother adjusted her posture, “he holds such authority and he is not the man to disrespect, he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and most certainly does not show his face to just anyone.”

The maids' prior revelations had served as a disconcerting confirmation. Fear welled up within you, growing like a thunderhead on the horizon, and it cast a foreboding pall over what had once been an eagerly anticipated ball. The event, once a beacon of excitement, had transformed into a looming specter that filled you with apprehension and uncertainty.

“It is quite a mystery, but it is none of our business. Maybe if he is truly as good of a man he is, I will have him marry my daughter.” Your tea to become a chaotic spray, dispersing droplets and saliva particles across the table’s contents. Your cheeks flush crimson as you glance at your mother, her expression clearly reflecting her shock and disapproval.

“Deepest apologies mother, but marriage?” Her lips tightened as you contemplated her words. “If he proves to be a good man, then perhaps. If not, then no. You are two and twenty, it is time you settle down my dearest.”

“I do not know him.”

"Indeed, there is an abundance of time for you to become better acquainted with him," your mother replied with an encouraging smile. Her eyes sparkled with the anticipation of a promising match for her beloved daughter. "I've heard such positive things about Viscount Simon," she continued, her tone brimming with optimism. "He is reputed to be a true gentleman, and I can't help but hold high hopes for your future together, my dearest."

The description of Viscount Simon had already sent shivers of fear down your spine, and the thought of falling in love was an entirely different realm of uncertainty. You wondered if you'd ever experience the kind of love immortalized in poetry and literature, given the enigmatic and potentially imposing nature of this match.

You decided to let the future unfold at its own pace, allowing it to chart its course without rushing or forcing any outcomes.

You held a clear standard for your future husband: he must be a respectful and considerate man, not exhibiting any sexist, disrespectful, misogynistic, or rude behavior. However, if he proved to be the all those things, then marriage would not happen. Your mother, Her Majesty, fully comprehended your stance on the matter.

You valued a man who showed genuine interest in your passions and didn't pass judgment on them. Mutual respect and shared interests were important to you in a potential partner.

While you recognized the significance of politics and manly duties in society, you weren't inclined to marry a man solely focused on these matters. A well-rounded individual who embraced a broader range of interests and pursuits was more appealing to you.

Your mother knew that.

And you prayed the Viscount lived up to to your high standards.

(…)

On the night of the ball, you stood in front of the grand mirror, the flickering candlelight casting a soft, golden glow across your reflection. Your gown, an exquisite creation of silk and lace, clung to your figure in all the right places, its color a subtle shade of pink. The delicate embroidery and beadwork shimmered in the dim light.

Your heart raced, and your gloved hands trembled as you practiced your breathing, trying to calm the storm of nerves within you. The anticipation of meeting Viscount Simon, coupled with the pressure of societal expectations, weighed heavily on your mind. The maids had spared no effort in choosing every accessory, from the intricate hairpin adorning your carefully styled hair to the elegant necklace that graced your neck.

You hoped, with each practiced breath, that tonight would be a turning point, that Viscount Simon would prove to be the gentleman your mother believed him to be, and that the evening would be the start of something meaningful in your life.

——

"Good afternoon, dearest," your father inquired, his arm linked with your mother's. "Where are your siblings?"

You look around, carefully examining the palace in attempt to look for your other siblings, and you’ve caught them. Relief washed over you.

"They are in the library room, Father," you replied. Your gaze wandered over the opulent floral arrangements that adorned the palace. Vibrant blooms graced the staircase and the grand room's tables, filling the air with a fragrant aroma. The Ton had indeed turned out in force for this event, with couples arriving, their arms elegantly linked, creating a sea of fashionable attendees, and not a single person seemed to be without a date.

Although you’re the princess of the United Kingdom, you oddly felt…out of place.

"Mother, you've done a splendid job. This place looks absolutely marvelous," you praised, appreciating the grandeur and elegance that surrounded you. Her smile radiated with warmth, and her pink dress, a few shades darker than yours, effortlessly outshone all the other gowns the ladies wore in the palace, commanding attention with its regal allure.

Diamond encrusted corset with a matching diamond necklace, and many layers underneath the dress made it seem larger.

Of course, it was your mother, the Queen, who had graced the event with her radiant presence. Her regal attire and demeanor left no room for doubt about her esteemed status in the grand ballroom.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” A man who appeared to be taller than your dad, bowed before him and shook his hand.

“Good evening, John. How is it here compared to the states?” The states? He must be American, you are sure.

“It is rather marvelous here, we don’t host balls as often as you do, but this ball is alluring.” And he is American so it seems, the accent was crisp.

“Thank you, John. I hosted this ball.” He bowed to the queen, your mother, before bowing down to you.

“Well of course, Her Majesty created the most perfect ball.” He complimented. Twirling the ends of his mustache, this was the first time you’ve ever met an American.

Your mother smiled, appreciating his sweet compliment towards her. “I must get back to Kyle, Ghost should be here any minute now Your Majesty.”

The mention of "Ghost" made your nerves prickle with unease, considering the unsettling details your maids had shared during your bath. As John reminded your father that Ghost would be arriving shortly, your stomach tightened with knots of apprehension. The looming presence of this mysterious figure cast a shadow over the otherwise glamorous evening.

“Thank you, John. I am quite cheerful in meeting him. It has been far too long.”

John bowed and left the area.

Your mother's concern deepened as she observed the horrified expression etched across your face. She gently placed a hand on your arm and whispered, "Dear, you look as if you're on the brink of fainting. Please, go to the refreshments and fetch yourself a glass of water. Take a moment to compose yourself." Your motherly care enveloped you, and you nodded, grateful for the suggestion to step away briefly from the anxiety that had gripped you.

The grand ballroom began to feel suffocating, and you yearned for a breath of fresh air, a momentary escape from the overwhelming atmosphere. The need to step outside and simply breathe because it became nearly overwhelming, and you decided it was time for a brief respite.

He will be here soon, and there is no avoiding it. This thought completely gnawed at your insides and there is no place for you to hide.

"Sister, are you feeling well?" your eldest sibling inquired, her cream-colored chemise beautifully complementing her shimmering jewelry. Her concerned gaze met yours, and you could sense that she found something amiss in your expression. The irony was not lost on you, given that you were about to meet a man who also bore the name "Ghost."

"I am feeling rather ill," you responded, fabricating a falsehood to avoid the impending meeting with "Ghost." While part of you wanted to avoid this mysterious figure, there was an even stronger desire to reunite with your dear brother. Your deception was a way to navigate the complex emotions and uncertainty of the evening.

How unfortunate. This man will haunt your dreams.

——

You made your way outside, the chilly breeze sweeping over your face as you finally found a moment to breathe. The cool air provided a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere inside, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of liberation that came with each deep breath.

As you’re breathing the cool air, a voice is heard from a distance.

"My dearest sister, always wandering," your brother chuckled warmly as he approached. You turned your head swiftly at the sound of his voice and finally laid eyes on your sibling after many long months. He appeared strikingly different, somehow taller and more muscular, and the transformation left you momentarily speechless with surprise and joy.

"Brother!" You couldn't contain your excitement and ran up to him, welcoming him with open arms. The embrace felt like it lasted an eternity, as you cherished every moment, not knowing how long he would stay. It was a precious reunion, and you wanted to make the most of it.

"How have you been? I suppose everything has been well while I was away?" he inquired, his arms crossed as he surveyed the palace grounds. It was just the two of you outside, and he seemed genuinely interested in catching up on all that had transpired during his absence.

Amid the tranquility of the palace gardens, your brother's question hung in the air, and he observed his surroundings with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity. The evening's hushed elegance enveloped both of you as you began to catch up. He looked different from when you last saw him, and you couldn't help but wonder about the experiences that had shaped him during his time away. It was a moment filled with anticipation, longing, and the joy of reconnecting with your brother.

"It has been quite well! Rather normal," you replied with a smile, acknowledging the routine and calmness that had become the norm in his absence. His head tilted as he teased, "The word you're searching for is 'boring,' isn't it? After all, the fun brother hasn't been around." His hearty chuckle filled the air, bringing a touch of lightheartedness to the conversation.

“That is true. I have missed you a ton.”

“And I have missed you more, my dear sister.”

You couldn't help but glance around, hoping against hope that Viscount Riley had not yet arrived. The idea of facing him at this moment was almost unbearable, and you found yourself anxiously searching the surroundings for any sign of his presence.

How awkward.

"Oh, I thought you arrived with a guest," you blurted out, your hope that he had an emergency and didn't come alone shining through your words. The prospect of meeting "Ghost" or Viscount Riley had filled you with apprehension, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread at the thought of encountering him in person. Your brother's response would determine whether your unease would intensify or be somewhat alleviated.

But it was not.

“He is here, in fact, he is inside speaking to our father. I highly suggest you meet him, he is a fine gentleman, though he might frighten some. I can assure you, he means well.”

Meeting him now seemed almost inevitable, and you had to prepare yourself for this encounter with the enigmatic figure.

It is time you met him, to get it over with once and for all.

(…)

Viscount Riley stood before you, his face obscured by a mask that added an aura of mystique to his presence. As you gazed into his eyes, you sensed a depth of emotions and stories waiting to be unveiled. It was a stark contrast to the fear you had felt just moments ago, and now, you found yourself admiring this enigmatic figure, eager to learn more about the man behind the mask.

"Your Highness," his voice, deep and gravely, greeted you. An unfamiliar warmth spread through your stomach, causing your cheeks to flush crimson. It was a sensation you couldn't quite understand. Why did you suddenly feel so flustered in his presence?

"Good evening, My Lord. I extend my gratitude for making the journey to attend this ball," you replied politely, determined to make a favorable first impression, despite your royal status as a princess.

Your mother's friend had not exaggerated; Viscount Riley was indeed exceptionally tall, almost appearing otherworldly. Inhumane. His muscular physique was apparent even beneath the luxurious waistcoat he wore. The choice of an all-black ensemble, combined with the white skull-like mask, added to the air of mystery and intrigue that surrounded him, making his presence all the more imposing.

As Viscount Riley closed the distance between you, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, and your heart quickened with each step he took. His hand, encased in a fine glove, reached out, and you watched in fascination, your gaze locked on his as your brows raised. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, leaving you both on the precipice of an intriguing encounter.

"Care for a dance?" Viscount Riley extended the invitation, his eyes lingering on you as he assessed your presence. His gaze felt almost intimate, as if he were undressing you with his eyes, although you quickly chastised yourself for such inappropriate thoughts. The offer to dance hung in the air, and you considered your response carefully.

You nod, “yes, My Lord.”

"Call me Simon, Your Highness," he suggested, his eyes captivating you with their natural hues in the dim light. They seemed to glisten like moonlight. You hesitated, feeling a mix of intrigue and reluctance. "I'm not sure I am comfortable calling you that," you admitted honestly, the formality of addressing him by his title still lingering between you.

"I have granted you permission, my love. Call me Simon, in private," he whispered softly into your ear, his words tinged with an intimacy that sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a heady blend of sandalwood, enveloped your senses, and the warmth of his breath against your skin caused a flush of heat to spread through your body, leaving you feeling quite overwhelmed in his presence.

My love.

"Do you know how to dance?" Viscount Simon inquired, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, eliciting a soft gasp from you. As you turned to examine the ballroom, you noticed your family watching with smiles on their faces. "I do, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the intimate moment you shared.

"How about the waltz? Are you familiar with that?" Viscount Simon's hand slipped behind your back, drawing you closer to him in an intimate embrace. Your mouth hung open in astonishment at his boldness, aware of the watchful eyes of the Ton in the ballroom. The closeness between you two, especially in such a public setting, was bound to attract attention and speculation.

"That…I do not know how to," you admitted truthfully. The waltz was indeed a dance you had never mastered, primarily because it required a partner to perform it. The admission was honest, though it left you feeling somewhat vulnerable in this moment with Viscount Simon.

As he continued to examine you, Viscount Simon couldn't deny the striking beauty that stood before him. The tension between you grew thicker, almost suffocating, and he felt a subtle but undeniable change within himself. His chest rose with each breath, and with every passing moment, he seemed to grow larger, as if the weight of the atmosphere and unspoken emotions were affecting him physically.

“I will teach you, Your Highness.” He took your right hand into his left, wrapping his other large hand behind your waist. Pulling you inches closer, if that were possible. You were practically glued to his body.

Your left hand found its place on Viscount Simon's shoulder, and as your touch made contact, you couldn't help but notice the spark in his eyes intensify, transforming into a fiery gaze. The sensation coursing between you was entirely new and left you feeling uncertain about how to navigate it. Yet, there was one undeniable truth: it felt like the pages of a romance novel coming to life, and the allure of the moment was impossible to ignore.

The world around you seemed to fade away, as he began to guide you through the graceful motions of the dance.

He leaned down to your ear, “tell me, love, have you ever done this with anyone before?” You shook your head nervously.

Viscount Simon was nothing like the enigmatic and intimidating figure you had imagined before. He had swiftly disproven your earlier apprehensions, showing himself to be a skilled and confident dance partner. However, the lingering mystery of his masked appearance still intrigued you. Why did he choose to conceal his identity in such a way? Was it a habit, a comfort, or perhaps a symbol of something deeper? As he expertly swayed you through the dance, all your earlier fears seemed to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of fascination and curiosity about this complex man.

“What is going on in that head of yours?”

"I am just trying to be focused, My Lord," you replied, a touch of nerves still present in your voice. He cleared his throat before offering words of encouragement, "You are doing great. Don't think too hard about it, or you'll make a mistake." His reassurance helped ease some of the tension, and you tried to follow his lead with more confidence, allowing the rhythm of the dance to guide your steps.

“Everyone in the room are watching us.”

"Imagine it's just us, Your Highness. Nothing to fret," Viscount Simon whispered, his words a soothing balm to your nerves. With that simple suggestion, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, allowing yourself to immerse in the moment, focusing solely on the dance and the connection you shared, the world around you fading into the background.

"Very well done," Viscount Simon praised, a touch of warmth in his voice. His encouragement and guidance continued to make the dance feel like a shared experience, and you found yourself becoming more at ease with each step, as though the world outside this dance floor had ceased to exist.

The instrumental music slowly started to fade away, as you became enchanted under his mysterious gaze.

In the mesmerizing dance with Viscount Simon, you counted each step and movement carefully. One, a step forward, followed by several backward steps. Then, you counted to two as he gracefully led you to the side, and you followed his lead with precision, completely entranced by the rhythm and grace of the waltz.

"May I ask you a few questions?" you inquired, looking up at Viscount Simon. Or should you call him simply Simon? Your curiosity about the man behind the mask had grown steadily throughout the dance, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to satisfy it.

"Yes, Your Highness," Viscount Simon replied, his tone respectful as you continued to dance in harmony.

"How long have you been in the military? I can only imagine it's been quite some time," you mused, curious about the path that had led him to his current station. Viscount Simon's physical fitness and the air of intrigue that surrounded him certainly hinted at a rich and varied history. Those eyes of his seemed to hold countless untold stories, and you couldn't help but be drawn to the mystery that shrouded his past.

"I am quite intrigued that someone has inquired about this, especially the princess. It's an honor," Viscount Simon began, a hint of appreciation in his voice. He continued, "I've served in the military for a considerable duration." His sigh hinted at a deeper story. "But I must wonder, why do you ask, Your Highness?" There was a curious and genuine note in his inquiry, as if he too was interested in the motives behind your questions.

His question took you off guard, and you momentarily pause for a moment. Heat swept across your face, and your stomach felt like a hundred butterflies were attacking it at once.

You clear your throat, preparing yourself to speak the truth.

"Well, your physique does suggest you've had a long tenure in the British military," you stated, your words coming out more bluntly than you had intended. You looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed by your straightforward observation. It was as if the words had slipped out of their own accord, revealing your unfiltered thoughts about him.

His head tilts as you both continue the dance, the tension became thicker in the moment.

“I’m glad you’ve noticed that, you have quite the eye darling.”

"I suppose it is rather evident," Viscount Simon replied with a good-natured chuckle, acknowledging the obvious. His height and impressive physical presence were indeed difficult to overlook, and it was refreshing to engage in such candid conversation with him.

“I would like to continue this conversation another time, Your Highness.” The music stopped, and suddenly your heart ached.

The fear and apprehension you had felt before meeting Viscount Simon now seemed misplaced and misjudged. Shame washed over you as you realized that your initial impressions had been far from accurate. Emotions you had never experienced before welled up within you, and you found yourself struggling to process this newfound connection and the complex feelings it stirred within you.

"You look quite sick, Your Highness. Should I summon a doctor?" Viscount Simon's concern was evident in his voice, and he signaled his readiness to assist. However, you shook your head, declining the offer. His expression shifted, and the color of his eyes darkened noticeably. The once-bright stars in his gaze seemed to fade, leaving a shadow of concern and curiosity in their wake.

"I must retire to my bedchamber at once. It seems I may have eaten something disagreeable," you explained, offering a plausible reason for your sudden discomfort. As you made your exit, you couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected attachment you had felt during the dance. Was it the chemistry that had taken you by surprise, or the disappointment of the dance ending so soon when you had secretly wanted it to continue? The confusion within you left you with much to ponder as you retreated from the ballroom.

You heard heavy footsteps in the distance, and you face the sound. Heart beating so fast and hard that you’re afraid it’ll break your ribcage.

Your eyes widened as you glanced back, catching the intense gaze of the tall man in the distance—Viscount Simon. The burning sensation in your stomach flared once more, and your heart raced at the unexpected encounter. It seemed that your paths had crossed again, and the intrigue surrounding him deepened further.

“My Lord, you are not permitted in this area,” you stuttered, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and unease. Viscount Simon’s inhumanly towering presence had a profound effect on you, causing your knees to grow weak and your heart to race.

The unexpected encounter left you feeling both vulnerable and intrigued, uncertain of what would come next.

Viscount Simon continued to approach you, seemingly unperturbed by your protest. His voice, when he spoke, carried a darker, gravely, and husky timbre, each word rolling off his tongue with a depth that sent shivers down your spine. It was a voice that held a mysterious allure, and as he drew nearer, you found yourself captivated by the man before you.

“You are still not allowed here, My Lord. Unless are married to me or if you have permission to do—“ he interrupted you for a brief moment, your breath hitched. “Do I have your permission?”

His simple question held a weight that left you questioning your own dignity and morals. "I-I suppose you may. I don't believe you'd cause any harm," you replied tentatively, your nerves causing you to fidget with your hands.

Viscount Simon took note of your hesitation and reached out to gently take your hands in his own. His touch was surprisingly rough and calloused, yet it had a calming effect on your frayed nerves. The unexpected gesture further deepened the sense of connection between you two, leaving you both intrigued and comforted by the enigmatic man before you.

The entire experience felt like something out of a romance novel, a dream brought to life. It was something you had never been entirely sure would happen to you, yet now, it had. The enchanting dance, the mysterious encounter with Viscount Simon, and the complex emotions that had unfolded were all like a dream come true, turning the pages of a story you had never expected to live.

“Open the door, the guards are all downstairs, no need to fret.” He demanded, in a gentle manner.

You obediently opened the door, allowing Viscount Simon to enter. As he stepped into your bedroom, a breeze swept in from the open window, which you had forgotten to close before attending the ball. The cool air helped alleviate the heat on your flushed face, and you welcomed the refreshing sensation, finding comfort in the natural element that had invited itself into your bedroom.

"This is my bedroom," you announced, leading Viscount Simon on a brief tour. You observed him as he moved toward your bed and the bookshelf. His large hands gently skimmed over the rows of books, and his eyes, visible through the skull-like mask, carefully scanned the titles.

“I didn’t take you for such a romance reader, Jane Austen, Your Highness?”

You noticed his finger resting on “Pride and Prejudice” and felt compelled to explain. “Yes, most of them are by Jane Austen, but her works are more than just romance,” you informed him, eager to share your love for literature.

“Excuse me, but there’s not a single book here that is not romance.” His interest in your personal space and choice of reading material piqued your curiosity even further. “Are you an expert perhaps?”

"No, I am not," you admitted, your tone laced with a hint of shame. The vulnerability in sharing this aspect of yourself with Viscount Simon revealed a layer of your character that you hadn't expected to expose during this encounter.

"I can teach you some things from these books, unless you already possess the knowledge," Viscount Simon offered. He selected a random chapter from one of the books and began to read aloud, his gaze eventually shifting back to you.

With his arms now crossed, the buttons on his vest seemed on the verge of bursting due to the muscles that strained against it. The prospect of learning from him, coupled with the undeniable physical presence he exuded, left you intrigued and eager to explore this connection further.

"Knowledge of what?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued by his statement. As Viscount Simon approached you, his every step seemed to carry a weight of its own, and you couldn't help but notice the way his breaths grew heavier, causing his chest to rise with each intake of air.

His masked face concealed most of his expressions, but his eyes continued to hold your attention, revealing a shift in his demeanor that intrigued you even more.

"May I, Your Highness?" Viscount Simon asked softly as he gently lifted your chin with his index finger, tilting it upward until your gazes locked completely. The sudden and intimate gesture left you gasping for air, and a rush of emotions from earlier returned with a renewed intensity. In that moment, it felt as if the world outside your shared space had ceased to exist.

You nodded, still unsure of what he was asking for, and confusion clouded your thoughts. Suddenly, Viscount Simon closed the distance between the two of you, narrowing the gap until you were in close proximity, and your breaths seemed to synchronize in that intimate space.

His lips were soft, and everything you read in the books are now suddenly real.

Viscount Simon’s right hand gently cradled the back of your neck, securing you in his embrace as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was passionate, intense, and consuming, leaving you both breathless and addicted to the taste and sensation of each other. In this private room that had once held your deepest secrets, it now bore witness to your first kiss, a moment that defied propriety but felt undeniably right in that intoxicating connection between you two.

In the midst of the heated kiss, every thought and worry seemed to vanish from your mind. Viscount Simon's warm tongue ventured into your mouth, igniting a rush of desire that left you breathless. You held onto his vest with a desperate grip, the fabric of his waistcoat beneath your fingertips offering an anchor in the whirlwind of sensations that coursed through you. The world outside ceased to exist as you both lost yourselves in this intimate exchange, a forbidden connection that felt undeniably intense and irresistible.

He must’ve kept all this encased during the dance…

Viscount Simon's strong hand cupped your face, holding you tenderly as the intensity of the kiss grew. His groans of pleasure became more pronounced, and the raw desire in his sounds threatened to melt you into a puddle beneath him. The fire in your belly surged, an insatiable heat that refused to be extinguished. Every vein in your body seemed to pulse with desire as you couldn't help but wonder where he had been all this time, and why it had taken so long for your paths to cross in such an electrifying way.

"You... taste delicious," Viscount Simon murmured as he pulled away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva briefly connecting your reddened and swollen lips before breaking. Both of you were left breathless, taking moments to regain your composure as you watched Simon also catch his breath. His remark left you feeling dizzy and uncertain about what had just transpired, and the lingering question of why it had happened hung in the air between you.

“My Lord, why did you kiss me just now?” You broke the silence, and he looks up at you, still panting.

“I sincerely apologize for my actions, Your Highness, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Your voice wavered with a mix of desire and frustration as you implored, "Stop asking me such questions before I do something completely and utterly outrageous." The tension between you and Viscount Simon had reached an almost unbearable peak, and your words conveyed both the temptation and the peril of this magnetic connection that had ignited between you.

Your brows furrow, “I don’t understand what I did, My Lord.”

"Simon, Your Highness," he corrected, his tone both firm and possessive as he closed the distance between you once again. The formality mingled with intimacy in his address, emphasizing the complexity of your connection and the roles you both occupied in this uncharted territory of desire and longing.

Suddenly, Viscount Simon began to undress your chemise, leaving you with only your undergarments. Your voice quivered as you confessed, "Simon, I was told this was not allowed unless I am married..." The touch of his hands against your skin felt like lava, igniting a blazing heat that coursed through your body. The boundaries and proprieties that had once defined your world seemed to blur and fade in the face of this overwhelming desire and vulnerability.

“Do you want this?” He asked, a simple question that made you answer it in less than a second. You wanted to shout “yes” but that was deemed highly inappropriate. So you kept quiet and all you did was nod, though, Simon kept asking.

“A nod won’t do, Your Highness. I need to know if you want me to touch you, to kiss every inch of your body, to explore depths no other man has ever explored, and to tell you that you are mine. Do you want that?”

In that suspended moment, you gazed at him in awe, realizing that every description he had given you, every hint of desire and passion he had conveyed, was everything you had been longing for. It was everything you so desperately wanted. The anticipation that had built within you had finally reached its culmination, and now, in this moment, it had all become a breathtaking reality.

"I want you to do all of the above," you confessed in a breathy, fervent tone. In that intimate moment, you could discern the expression in Viscount Simon's eyes behind his mask, and the desire and hunger mirrored in his gaze confirmed the depth of the connection you both shared.

Lust.

Viscount Simon began to unbutton his vest and everything else beneath his waistcoat, gradually revealing his sculpted torso. Each chiseled muscle seemed to tell a story of years of hard work and sacrifice, with every scar etching its own narrative.

Unable to contain your fascination, you traced your fingers delicately across each scar, causing Simon to flinch at your touch. The intimacy of this moment, where you explored the physical evidence of his past, deepened the connection between you even further.

You asked in a voice tinged with sadness, “When and how have you gotten these?” Your fingers continued to trace the scars on his torso, and a part of you wished that he had never had to endure the pain and suffering that each mark represented.

“I would like to talk about these another time, I don’t want to ruin this moment, love.” You understood.

He gets up from off his knees and places both his hands besides you, you sat on the edge of the bed as he leans towards your face. “Would you like me to undress you, Your Highness?”

"You may," you breathed in response, your need for his touch growing more intense with each passing moment. Viscount Simon didn't completely undress you; instead, he lifted your petticoat all the way up to your waist, exposing your white cotton undergarments to him. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, you hid your face, unable to meet his gaze as your desire and vulnerability laid bare before him.

"In all my years of living, I've never seen someone so perfect," Viscount Simon whispered, his words of admiration sending shivers down your spine. He lowered his face to your thighs, and you gasped at the sensation of his soft lips and warm breath trailing across your bare skin. He left a trail of peppered kisses as he slowly made his way to your most sacred and intimate spot, igniting a fiery passion between you that seemed to transcend time and place.

Simon hooks his fingers on the band of your undergarment, and slid them off, leaving you completely bare in front of him. His jaw locks, looking at you like you’re the prey and he’s the predator, ready to devour his meal and fulfill his hunger.

"What are you going to do?" you questioned, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Despite your previous experiences with literature and romance, this moment was uncharted territory, and you found yourself both intrigued and apprehensive about what might come next.

He completely ignored your question, taking his finger and touching it on your most sensitive spot. You gripped the cotton sheets, it became victim to your tight hold.

“Your Highness, this spot right here, may cause some discomfort.” He warned, his rough finger circling the bud slowly.

You struggled to breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you found it difficult to form the right words. Your senses were overwhelmed, and your mind raced as you desperately tried to find your voice and articulate your thoughts in this intense and intimate moment.

Small whines and moans left your mouth, putting Simon in a haze. “Now right here,” his finger slid down your throbbing folds, “may hurt, darling.”

You balance yourself on both your elbows, seeing the intense sight in front of you. Simon’s head was in between your legs, and his fingers were on your cunt.

His middle finger enters a part of you that made you let out a scream in response, he may have warned you before, but it still hurt. “Did I hurt you, love? If you’d like me to stop, I can.”

"No, please," you assured him, your voice trembling with both desire and reassurance. "I assure you, I am fine." His hands remained firmly pressed against your thighs, and you welcomed him further into this intimate connection, surrendering to the intoxicating sensations that washed over you.

“Tell me when you’d like me to stop, my princess.”

My Princess. That alone let a moan escape your lips.

His finger began to slide in and out, and the sensations that surged through you left you breathless. It was a mix of pleasure and pain, a new and overwhelming experience that had your body tingling with desire and your mind racing with sensations you had never felt before.

"Oh, Simon..." you whimpered, your head thrashing from side to side as he continued to pay no heed to your whimpers and moans. His mouth descended to your most intimate place, and he began to explore you fully, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you surrendered to the exquisite sensations that washed over you.

“Stay still.” He ordered, ignoring your protests as his hands make their way to your waist and back to your thighs. Gripping them as if he’s scared you’re going to somehow leave his hold. His tongue laps against your entrance as his finger continued to slide inside and out, then quickly adding a second finger.

“Simon!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the room, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation that surged through you. The knots in your stomach tugged tighter, intensifying the anticipation as you neared the peak of ecstasy, the culmination of desire and longing.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, their delicate silk fabric clinging tightly as his warm breath tickles your inner thighs. With each gentle brush of his nose against your bud, a delicious shiver of anticipation courses through your body, intensifying the electric connection between you.

And there, you couldn’t take it anymore. You unraveled underneath him as he continued to devour you, his grip intensified as you thrashed your head around. Every delicate moans escaped your mouth, and you thought you’d never make these noises in your life, yet here you are.

“You are bloody delicious, my love, so sweet.” He kissed your thighs as he hovers over you. His breathe heaving and his chest covered in sweat. You couldn’t deny the attractiveness in front of you, it was almost impossible how someone could look this good in a mask.

"Thank you, Simon," you expressed your gratitude, and in his mysterious eyes, a glint of admiration shimmered like a hidden treasure in the depths of a secret world you had just begun to explore together.

“It is my honor, Your Highness. I am sure the next time we visit, it won’t be the same as this.”

"What do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity piqued, and an unspoken desire that he would stay by your side forever welled up within you. He sighed, his breath carrying the weight of unspoken truths, and his eyes held a depth of emotions that begged to be explored further.

"I mean, Your Highness," he began, his voice holding a note of determination, "that I will never let you go. I intend to reveal the deeper parts of myself to you, and I will slowly begin to show and teach you everything you desire to know." His words carried a promise of a journey into the unknown, an exploration of desires and emotions that lay hidden beneath the surface.

“I realized now more than ever, that I need you.”

——

NOTE: HOLY!!! This took a week (omg) and now it’s finally done. I’m actually so proud of this. Let me know if you’d like to be in the taglist. Once again, thank you all for reading my peeps! :) this was a promise made by me! Also, I may have watched Bridgerton hundreds of times and Queen Charlotte and all of those shows etc etc, but if there’s something historically incorrect, please inform me! I would love to correct it for future readers. Thanks once again!

507 notes · View notes

sepptember · 2 months

Text

𝐃𝐄𝐖𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑 :: miles morales

pairing :: miles morales x gn!reader.

content warning(s) :: none!

sypnosis :: miles is spending the evening with you, the tv playing in the background. he decides you look pretty on paper. requested here.

word count :: 0.587k

Miles loves rainy days, but he loves them more with you—the soft hum of your tv playing as your fairy lights add a soft warmth to your bedroom, the rain drumming against the window.

You look beautiful, undone for the night, wearing the matching pajamas you insisted on buying the both of you. He loves seeing you relaxed. He loves the calm you bring after a long day that he melts into. He loves you.

And maybe that's what compels him to grab his sketchbook from his backpack, taking out his pencils and markers. He takes in the details of your face, following the edges of your nose, your eyes glowing in the reflection of your lights and the tv. He copies every one of them on the paper. You occupy numerous pages in his sketchbook already—what’s wrong with another?

It's rough at first, a loose sketch of the more vague pieces of you and the window in the background. Miles takes in the different colors, the warmth of the room bouncing off your skin, and the changing colors of the scenes, and he mimics them with his pencils and markers.

Miles steals you from the world. He swiftly curls your image into his fingers and lays you flat on the paper, carefully tucking you away before the world can steal you back. He will have that peaceful picture of you forever, and Miles wants the world to be jealous of that. He wants it to envy him for being able to keep that exact moment of you forever because the world only got it for a second.

The show is a few more episodes in when he finishes—you've changed positions, your head resting on your mountain of stuffed animals and blankets, but he still managed to copy you perfectly.

“Miles,” You say, his eyes moving from his sketchbook and up to you. Your eyes are slightly droopy, your voice just slightly a grumble. “What're you drawing?”

The way you say drawing makes him feel like a kindergartener with crayons. Suddenly, his art has become a scribbled stick figure. “Just a doodle.”

“Can I see?” You ask, and it feels like it'd be illegal to say no—even though he knows you'd completely understand if you did. He hands you the open book with a hint of embarrassment. He's sketched you so many times before but rarely shows them to you. He worries you'll think they're terrible.

You grab it as if it will tear at the seams if you're not delicate, but you beam when you finally see the page. You pull it onto your lap, taking in every little detail, completely mesmerized in a way Miles wasn't expecting.

“Oh my god,” You say, the smile growing, and Miles wants to copy that onto paper, too. “This is amazing, Miles. Really.”

He can't help the way he smiles at your compliment. It's an ego booster, almost. His parents have showered him with comments about his creativity, but they've never affected him much because they're his parents. Yet when you say it, it's something completely different. He values your opinion and cradles every comment you have close to his heart. “Do you have more? Not one of me! Just more art you'd be okay with letting me see.”

“You can flip through all of it. I don't mind.” He says, scooting closer to you. You grin again, and he swears it's the prettiest thing in the world, and he knows it will look just as pretty on paper.

reblogs > likes!! thank you for reading. <3 requests are open!

#august writes.#miles morales :: august edition.#miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #atsv x y/n #miles morales x y/n #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x you #atsv x reader #atsv x you #itsv x reader #miles morales imagine

229 notes · View notes

orangeinecstasy · 8 months

Note

i need more of those 5sos thoughts!!!!

bf ashton thoughts ⋆ฺ｡*:･

a/n: ask and you shall receive!!! i swear i've been seeing so much ash content so ofc i had to do him next. he also happens to be my 5sos lane which makes it even better. fluff and smut sections included in this one!!

so so so many beach days. he loved when you record a wave he caught while surfing and it doesn't hurt that you're wearing a bathing suit either

big gift giver. always brings you fresh flowers and makes sure to keep on to know when he needs to rebuy them. picks up little trinkets that he thinks you'll like and tries so hard to package them up cutely but ends up failing. but it's the thought that counts!!

100% tries to teach you how to play the drums, even if its just a simple beat

late night spontaneous dates are a normality when being with him. could be anywhere from going to a park and stargazing to diving into the city and going to a bar

he wants to show you off 24/7. like he doesn't have one picture "this is my partner" picture, its a whole album that he's showing to people because he can't believe you're all his

meditating together

guarding together

tbh just being outside and being in nature together would be a big thing for him

not a super huge pda person but BIG on physical touch

so so so many songs written about you. if they didn't end up on a 5sos album he would totally curate his own and dedicate it to you

tons and tons of inside jokes

would 100% get a tattoo for you. i don't think it would specifically be your name, but maybe some art you produced or something that reminds him of you, etc

not a super big pet name user, but sometimes he'll sprinkle them in

smoking together>>>

smutty/suggestive thoughts below the pics

its always ass or tits, and though ashton definitely loves both i feel like he's more of a thigh guy. they way they're so plush and he can squeeze them and mark them to his liking. how they look in skirts or dressed or when they they're over his shoulders. he can't get enough of them

100% puts you're pleasure first. if he comes, great! but he's so focused on you and making sure that you're experiencing as much pleasure as possible

on that note-- he loved to eat you out. your taste, your smell, the way your hands grip at his hair and his name falls from his lips is just intoxicating for him. he also can't deny how much it boosts his ego knowing that he can make you come with just his mouth

so many suggestive comments when you're with a group of friends. he loves watching you get riled up and pressing your thighs together by his words

he's such a tease oh my god. like you know something is about to happen just by how his eyes shift and that smirk that he can't seem to wipe off his face

such a slut for you. he wants you anywhere all the time. doesn't matter who's around, before a show- after a show, he needs you.

thigh riding!!!

so much casual dominance omg. driving you guys everywhere, constantly trying to find ways to help you, helping you pick out outfits. ugh i can't stop thinking about it

don't think he's a huge lingerie guy, but he really appreciated it when you take the time to pick out a set and doll yourself up

cannot get enough of bondage and blindfolds. both using it on you or you using it on him

obsessed with marking-- he wants people to know he's yours and you're his. like i can just imagine him posting a picture on his instagram story where his hair is all messy and his lips are plump from friction, neck littered with hickeys. he would probably delete it after a couple of minutes because the pr team would actually freak out, but it was most definitely worth it in his book.

high sex

likes to take his time, but doesn’t mind a quickie

cuddles that turn into sex that end up with you two curled back together asleep

love love loves kissing. how simple it can show your affection for someone and how it can be innocent and turn into something more

sleepy sex!!! early mornings or late at night when he’s back from the studio and just needs to be as close to you as possible

254 notes · View notes

theweightofakiteofdreamsingold · 5 months

Text

Handle It — D. Wagner

Warnings: Explicit sexual content; mature themes; fingering, oral sex (fem receiving, male receiving); unprotected sex; language; MINORS DNI

A/N: Greetings and salutations! I’m trying my best to chug-a-lug through all of the Danny asks that I have neglected (but not forgotten, I SWEAR). So this one is dedicated to the lovely @yungkiszka from forever ago. 💚

Bajabule,

-Han

Background: You finally get to tag along with Danny and his band of brothers to a show, and you’re absolutely captivated by his drum solo. You soak in every detail of him from the curls in his hair to the way his hands grip the sticks, leaving you with a need that only he knows how to fulfill. 😉

After the show, as you made your way around the backstage area, you finally spotted him. You turned and slipped your arms around his back. His skin was damp with sweat. You knew that the stage lights always made him insufferably hot. You also knew that his adrenaline was always pumping hard and fast immediately after every show, and tonight, you were going to take advantage of that. You were feeling insufferably hot, yourself, but in a completely different sense than him.

You pressed your body as close to him as you could, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as he rested his hands on your hips. You brushed your lips softly against the skin of his neck until you reached his ear, gently taking the lobe between your lips and pulling it ever so slightly before letting it go; just enough to feel him shiver against you. You kept your lips to his ear and spoke so softly that no one around you could stand a chance of hearing.

Danny," you started, your voice as soft as the petals from a rose, "I need you," you whispered.

You felt his heart still pounding in his chest. His head tilted back at your words, resting against the wall behind him. He took a heavy breath and pulled the key to his dressing room out of his pocket, placing it into your palm. You turned and walked to the door, sliding the key in and turning it to unlock it. He was right behind you and closed it once you were both inside. He turned the little lock on the knob before turning around to look at you.

You had already made your way over to the couch. He paused when he got closer just to allow himself a second to take in the sight of you, sprawled out all over the cushions just for him.

"Aw, honey," he breathed, "look so good for me." He came closer to you and you sat up to meet him. He settled himself on top of you and you quickly found his lips, placing your palms on either side of his face and pulling him closer to you. You opened your mouth, letting his tongue slip inside, and you relished under it. His lips were full and soft as they pushed and pulled with yours. His tongue was hot and deliciously wet, and you could still taste the beer he'd been sipping all night long.

His body was like furnace; you figured a mixture of the adrenaline and lights, as well as his blooming arousal. You pulled back from his lips to look at him, and he looked exhausted. His eyes were unusually tired. You felt a hard pang of sympathy for him, trying his best to give you the last little bit of energy that he had left in him after putting on a show for thousands of people. You suddenly felt selfish, and you backed further away from him on the couch.

His features were incredibly soft, his eyes looking at you with a mixture of longing for you and fear for something he had done to make you back away from him. He looked painfully innocent, like a child or a puppy, craving your touch and affection. When he spoke, he was very quiet.

"You alright?"

You nodded, avoiding his eyes.

"Will you look at me?"

You took a breath and turned your eyes to him, feeling the pang of sympathy in your stomach again.

His fingers reached to graze your cheek. The tips of his fingers were rough on your soft skin, making your chest swell with warmth. It was a wild concept for you that one person could make you feel so many different ways all at the same time.

"What happened?" he asked, almost whispering. The look of concern in his eyes absolutely melting you.

"I just feel bad. You're exhausted. You need to rest. And I'm asking you for a lot right now, and–"

He shook his head, and you paused, furrowing your brows with a questioning look.

"Of course I'm tired. Shows take a lot out of people. But you're not asking anything of me that I can't handle, sweetheart," he said, inching himself closer to you.

You raised your brows at him, hoping that he would continue. He was vigorously attractive when he was talking about pleasing you, no matter how worn his features were.

"Listen," he started, a smirk on his lips, "if I didn't think I could handle you, I wouldn't have given you the key to get in here," his lips suddenly not even inches from yours. "And I sure as hell," he kissed your lips quickly before pulling back far enough to speak again, "wouldn't be putting my hands," he kissed you again, lingering a little longer this time, softly biting at your bottom lip as he pulled away again, "where I'm putting them right now."

As he spoke, you felt his warm, calloused hands moving painfully slow under your shirt and along your ribs, with the full intent of making you shiver under him. You felt the familiar feeling of warmth spread in the spot between your legs as the goosebumps formed over the expanse of your skin, so intensely that they almost hurt. The entire time his hands were moving, his eyes were on yours. Watching your expression to see if he was yielding the results that he wanted.

You huffed and pulled him back to you, craving the taste of his mouth. He lifted his hands and took your shirt over your head, discarding it in the floor beside the two of you. His lips then met your neck, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. He affixed himself there momentarily, skillfully moving one hand down your chest while the other kept a light grip on your hair. Your chest was heaving by this point, and you found yourself unconsciously squeezing your legs together.

You ran your hands up his arms and over his shoulders, feeling the tone of his muscles as he held himself up over top of you. You then proceeded to run your hands slowly down his chest, feeling how his heartbeat thudded at your fingertips. You let your eyes wander over his chest, following the sparse trail of hair down to his stomach, where it grew thicker, leading down to the only part of him that was still clothed. When your hands caught up with your eyes, you paused for a moment. You could feel his eyes on you, waiting to see what you would do.

You flicked your gaze up from his visibly hard length to meet his eyes, and found that where his irises had earlier been soft and brown, they were now almost entirely black; only a small ring of brown to separate his pupil from his sclera. Keeping your eyes trained on him, you reached for the button of his pants and unfastened it. He sat back on his heels to give you room to work. His pants practically unzipped themselves because of what they were fighting to contain. You could see the entire outline of him now, the fabric of his boxers stretched thin around his length.

You weren't in the mood for wasting time, so you reached under his waistband and took him in your hand, slowly gliding your fist down his solid cock. His head fell back and his brows furrowed. He let out a breath that neither of you had realized he was holding. After he huffed a few breaths, you brought your fist back up, twisting your hand as you reached the tip. He twitched under your hand and you smirked. You started to lower yourself to take him in your mouth, when you felt a hand grasp both sides of your jaw from under your chin. You looked up at him with your eyes wide, shocked. He looked down at you, his eyes still lust-filled, but soft.

"Whatcha doin’?" he asked, slightly grinning.

"What does it look like?" you answered.

"Hey. Hey. Listen," he chuckled. "Remember you said that you needed me though." He paused. "You still need me, honey?"

You let your mouth fall open slightly, sucking in a breath. You nodded quickly, your shock still lingering.

"Nuh-uh. Tell me."

His hand moved from your chin to your hair while the other followed suit and his lips moved to your ear. "Tell me what you need."

Your breath was heavy as you mustered up the courage to give him what he asked.

"Need– need you to make me cum," you whimpered.

"Tell me how you want it, sweetheart."

Without a single thought or second of hesitation, you breathlessly replied, "Your hands."

You felt his breath on your neck as he chuckled. "That was fast. You had anything on your mind lately?"

You laughed and rolled your eyes at him.

He lowered his head and peppered your neck with kisses again, taking a little more time and creating a little more suction, making your breath heavier with every one. Once he reached the base of your neck, he trailed his lips over to the space between your collarbones, flattened his tongue a bit, and dragged it up the entirety of your throat, eliciting a string of moans to escape from the depths of your chest. All you wanted in that moment was him between your legs.

As if sensing your needy frustration, he cupped your heat with his hand, over top of your underwear. Your hips reflexively bucked into him, and he smirked.

His hands slid to your hips, and he hooked his index fingers into your underwear, pulling them down your legs and tossing them in the floor with the rest of your clothes. He slid his fingers inside your folds, collecting all the warm wetness you'd been accumulating all night, taking his time to thoroughly spread it around.

The feeling of his calloused fingers against your bare heat sent you into a spiral, creating the perfect amount of friction to stir up your arousal. Your legs moved together, inadvertently attempting to get him closer to your entrance, desperate to feel him inside of you.

His middle and ring fingers traveled to either side of your clit, pointed down toward your entrance. Applying downward pressure, while bringing his fingers together, he moved the bundle of nerves in short circles, and you immediately yelped at the sensation. You'd had stimulation there more than once before, but never like this. You felt your pleasure burning in the lower part of your belly, like a dam just waiting to burst wide open. Your hand shot to his wrist and your eyes searched for his, silently pleading with him.

He was smirking again, proud of the effect that he had on you. Proud of the fact that he'd found the quickest way to reduce you to a whimpering, begging mess just for him. It was as though he had guessed the correct combination to a safe full of treasure on his first try. But he wasn't greedy. That wasn't his style.

His eyes met yours, and he gave you a look of sympathy while simultaneously and effortlessly plunging his fingers into you as far as he could reach, his fingers deliciously stretching you out. Your back arched completely off the couch, and you groaned loud enough that you were absolutely sure that anyone and everyone outside of that dressing room could hear you. Normally, you would have made a conscious effort to be quiet for fear of being embarrassed, but you'd been fantasizing about Danny’s hands bringing you to release for entirely too long tonight to care. He put his arm across your chest and gently laid you back down on the couch, and your muscles strained against him. He moved his face just inches from yours, his eyes staring into you with such intense longing that you were afraid you would cum just looking at him.

He steadily increased the rate at which his fingers pumped in and out of you, continually drawing more and more slickness from your core. After he was satisfied with how lubricated his fingers had become, he steadied his pace and curled his fingers to press against your g-spot. Between ragged gasps, you whimpered his name.

"Oh–oh fuck, Danny," you gasped, as his callouses, again, created the perfect friction inside your walls. "Oh my God."

He inched his face closer to you and met your mouth hard and hungry, taking in and swallowing all of your moans and praises. He pulled back just enough to release your lips from being entwined with his, but kept himself close enough for his lips to brush yours as he spoke.

"Cum for me, sugar. Cum for me, let me put you in my mouth, huh?"

His words were like gasoline for the fire you felt in the lowest pit of your stomach. Your hips bucked and rolled against his fingers, begging for just the smallest bit more to push you over your edge. He responded by curling his fingers even tighter and speeding up his pace. You moved your hips in sync with the thrust of his fingers and each time the two of you met, a moan escaped from your chest.

"Shit. Shitshitshit right there. Right there right there. I'm cumming. I'm fucking cumming. Don't stop. Fuuuck don't stop, Danny. Please."

You felt the dam break and consequently felt the proverbial flood that followed. The fire that had started in your belly quickly worked its way through every vein in your body. You looked at him as you felt your walls contracting around his fingers and noticed that he had proactively lowered himself to be eye level with your entrance, eager to clean up the mess he'd worked so hard to make.

As you began your descent from your climax, he slowed the pace of his fingers and began to lap up your warm arousal. Your hips instinctively twinged simply from all the extra stimulation, that of which he did not heed. He proceeded to remove his fingers from you and replace them with his tongue, delving deep into your core, and making the already sloppy sounds that emerged from between your legs even more obscene. He reached for your hips and pulled you down the couch against him, angling them upward and moving your legs to rest on his bare shoulders.

You threaded your hands into his hair, gripping it firmly between your fingers, and trying impossibly hard to get his tongue deeper inside of you than it already was. You basked in the warm tingling sensation that was radiating through your body as he simultaneously elicited and consumed your pleasure.

You felt the familiar slow burn of a climax begin to build back in your stomach and you groaned, tugging on his hair.

He pulled his head back slightly to catch his breath as he spoke. "Taste so goddamn good for me, baby." His voice was raspy, his throat coated with the remnants of your orgasm, his lips practically dripping. The sound of his voice continued to build the fire in your belly, and you gently rolled your hips against him. He grinned and took you back into his mouth, making use of his fingers again as well.

Your breath heaved as he diligently worked, curling his fingers and sucking your clit at the same time, and you found yourself on the cusp of your second release of the night. You tugged at his hair, rolled your hips to him, and pulled him closer to you, desperate to feel more of him.

Suddenly, he completely removed himself from you and gently slid your legs off of his shoulders, moving himself across the couch to lay his head back against the opposite armrest.

He beckoned to you with his index finger. "Come here, sweet girl."

You crawled up his body until you straddled his hips, feeling a tinge of nervousness about your legs' ability to hold you up in any capacity in the near future. He must have seen the slight panic in your eyes because he sat up and reached for you, pulling you into a firm, but incredibly sweet kiss. The way he held you when he kissed you this time made you feel cozy and safe, as if being wrapped in a big warm blanket.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, why?"

"You looked a little scared for a second. I just wanted to check in," he winked.

"Well. You might have to hold me up. Since you can 'handle me' so well," you teased.

"Aww," he teased back, "you weak in the knees for me now? Is that what it is?"

"Something like that," you said, laughing softly.

"Well, I hate to tell you, but I think it's about to get worse."

"Oh yeah?" you said, raising your eyebrows.

"Mhm," he said, laying back. He gently nudged your hips, signaling for you to lift them.

You placed a hand on his chest to steady yourself, still not trusting your legs to do their job, as you lifted your hips, taking him in your other hand. You lined him up with your entrance and slowly sank yourself down on his length.

As he entered you, you both simultaneously groaned. You felt your legs shake underneath you, and his hands instinctively moved to your hips, steadying you. The way that his hands wrapped around you made you feel small and fragile, while also increasing the warmth you felt in your core.

You eventually sank down to the hilt of his cock, and you shuddered as you bottomed out. He moaned and squeezed your hips, almost kneading them. You returned a moan in response and rolled your hips against him, testing the waters.

You raised your hips again and then dropped them back down, taking about half his length. You kept a decent pace, and watched his face twist with pleasure. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips sat slightly parted. His brown eyes drank in the sight of you while you loomed over him, watching you work. He slid his hands up your sides and cupped both of your breasts, thumbing over your hardened nipples. You felt the warmth beneath you increase yet again, just from the feeling of him holding essentially the entirety of your breasts in each of his hands.

You gradually felt your legs weakening, but you still tried to push through, for his sake. You were able to lift your hips less and less as time went on, and eventually, you struggled harder than you had so far, and you stilled, your breathing heavy, placing both of your hands on his chest.

"Fuck I can't– I–," you started.

"Shhhh, baby. You're okay," he said, soothing you. He removed himself from you and sat up, pulling you to him. You avoided his eyes, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice almost imperceptible.

"Aw honey," he said, drawing his words out, still comforting you, "you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. He gently turned your head to look at him. "Lemme help, huh?"

You nodded, feeling the slight sting of tears in your eyes. You knew they were red now; that he would be able to tell that you were fighting them back. You tried to blink them away, but despite your efforts, one escaped and snuck down your cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb and kissed your forehead.

He placed one hand behind your head and one behind your back as he moved you to rest underneath him.

"You just relax and let me make you feel good one more time, sugar."

You nodded, swimming in the intoxicating sensation that his voice and choice of words were giving you.

He reached between the two of you, taking himself in his hand and teasing your folds with his tip. You sighed, tilting your head back.

"Open your legs for me, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and soft. "Let me stretch you out and fill you up so fuckin good."

You mustered up what minuscule lower-body strength you had left and rested your knees on either side of his hips, allowing him just enough access to do what he needed.

He slowly pushed himself into you, taking his time to let you adjust to his girth. Once he'd gotten as far as he could, he stilled, waiting for you to signal to him that you were ready for him to move. Once you did so, he slowly pulled out and thrust himself back into you, keeping a rather languid pace to start. You felt yourself moan each time his hips met yours, and you reached out to put your hands in his curly hair. He then quickened his pace and the intensity of his thrusts, which consequently increased the frequency of the sounds that came from you. You did your best to squeeze around his cock as it plunged in and out of you, and you felt him throbbing inside you as a result.

"Ahh fuck. Feel so goddamn good," he managed, punctuating every other word with a thrust. "Gimme one more, baby."

You involuntarily squeezed around him harder than you had the entire night, and you felt his hips stutter against you, a deep groan escaping from the depths of his chest.

You felt yourself reaching your climax, and your moans turned into whimpers. He kept an impressively steady pace, his cock seamlessly gliding in and out of you, hurtling you toward your edge. Your back arched as you reached your peak, and you held onto him as though your life was hanging in the balance. His pace never faltered, and he kept your climax steady for longer than anyone had ever managed before, causing you to absolutely writhe underneath him, every inch of your body positively burning with pleasure. He moved himself down your chest while his thrusts slowed, facilitating your come-down. He used a combination of his hands, lips, and tongue to occupy your breasts as you recovered. Your chest heaved into his mouth as he continued to satisfy you.

Once you had regained control of your breathing, you focused your attention on him. You lifted his head from your chest with your fingers tangled in his hair. His jaw sat slack, and he was panting. His eyes drooped and his expression was that of exhaustion, even more than it had been earlier.

You moved your hips, and his cock slipped out of you, sliding up; its tip resting on your stomach. You took him in your hand, steadily gliding it up and down. He closed his eyes at the feeling and sighed.

"Sit up and let me take care of you. You need it," you said, shocked at the firmness in your own voice. You'd never been one to be even remotely dominant in an encounter like this, but you'd somehow found the reigns and held onto them tightly.

You gathered that he must have had the same reaction as you, because his eyes opened and looked at you, first with a small look of surprise, followed by a smug, yet satisfied grin.

He did as you asked, sitting up and moving his knees apart for you. You kept a hold on his length as you made your way into the floor in front of him. You sat on your heels and leaned over him, your mouth just inches from the tip of his cock. You gathered your spit and spat it into your palm, then proceeded to spread it around until you were satisfied. As your hand worked his length, you moved slowly at first, making a conscious effort to squeeze just a little tighter around the head of his cock as your fist moved up and down.

You watched him lay his head back against the couch cushion, his breaths heavy and his eyes shut.

"God look at you," you said, your voice low.

His head remained on the cushion, but his eyes opened and peered down at you.

"You look so fucking good. So hard for me."

He swallowed thickly, panting harder now, his eyes still glued to you. He clung to every syllable that passed your lips.

"You think I can 'handle' it?" you asked, a smirk threatening your features.

He let out an airy laugh, "God I fuckin' hope so," he said between breaths.

You grinned and tightened your grip on him just slightly, still fisting him steadily. "Tell me."

"Whaddaya wanna hear?" he asked, successfully attempting to keep an even tone of voice.

"Want you to tell me what you need."

"Mmm," he nodded, "gimme a taste of my own medicine, huh?" he laughed.

You raised your eyebrows at him, waiting for his response. As you did so, you pulled the trick from earlier and twisted your wrist each time your hand moved upward. You felt his hips twinge as he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Fuuuck, honey," he panted, "Want you to suck my cock so goddamn good. Finish me off."

You wasted no time, taking him in your mouth while continuing to work him with your hand. His hands found your hair, and he gently tugged at it periodically, making you moan while you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock. He groaned and his head fell back against the couch again. You glanced up at him, watching him through your lashes. His face was flushed a deep red, and his forehead gleamed with a layer of sweat. His brows were knitted together and his eyes were closed. The rhinestones that adorned the outer parts of his eyes were still perfectly intact, along with his eyeliner, and you marveled at him.

You closed your eyes, gradually working your way down until you had taken his length to the hilt. You stilled there, holding your breath, working up the control of your reflexes enough to make yourself swallow around his cock. As soon as you did, you felt his leg and stomach muscles stiffen, and his grip on your hair tightened significantly. He let out a guttural moan, and you swallowed again. This time, his hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth, pressing the tip of his cock deeper and even more firmly into the back wall of your throat, eliciting the gag reflex you'd been working hard to suppress. You lifted your head and popped off of him, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes, swallow the massive accumulation of spit from your gag reflex, and regulate your breathing at the same time.

You huffed a few breaths, keeping your eyes down, afraid to look at him. You didn't have much experience in this area, and you were afraid that your efforts would be subpar.

As if hearing your thoughts aloud, he spoke, and brought you back out of the depths of your mind.

"Hey," he said, softly.

You looked up at him, your nerves visible in your expression.

"Take your time, sweetheart," he said, as he gathered your hair up into one of his hands. His other hand wiped the tears that had formed in the corners of your eyes from earlier. "Handling me a hell of a lot better than you think you are. Keep doing what you're doing and I'm fucking done for, I promise you."

You let out a soft laugh at his comforting words, your doubt still etched into the back of your mind. His eyes were tired, but soft. Encouraging. You felt safe with him.

You started with his tip and worked your way back down to his base again, trying your absolute hardest to keep control of your reflexes. When you swallowed again, you felt his cock twitch in your throat. He grunted and tugged at your hair. You raised your head slightly and sank back down, building up a quicker pace, bobbing and swallowing at the same time.

"Mmm fuck, baby," he panted, "That's it, right there."

He gently pushed his hips further into you, testing the waters. When he saw that you were able to take it this time, he brought them to your mouth more firmly, his cock gently stretching the depths of your throat. You lifted your head and popped off of him again, this time only to catch your breath. As you lifted your head, you replaced your mouth with your hand, not wanting to break the stimulation that he was getting.

Once you caught your breath, you got right back to work. When you'd taken him entirely for a third time, he instantly began to rock his hips again. This time was faster and even more firm than before, and you found it difficult to suppress the urge to gag. You thought about the night and how exhausted he was. You thought about how you could feel with every inch of him in your mouth just how badly he needed you to make him finish. You tried with everything in you to keep going, to take every single thing that he was giving. You waited for the right moment, and began to swallow him in sync with the movement of his hips. His muscles immediately tightened and you felt his cock straining to hold out for just a moment longer, just trying to revel in the feeling of you taking him in as far as he could possibly go. His hips rolled into you desperately while the head of his cock continually rubbed against the back of your throat.

"Right. Fuckin'. There," he choked. You felt his hips stutter against your face. "C'mon, sugar. Takin' me so goddamn good."

His muscles tensed again and he pushed his hips into you while simultaneously pulling you to him. You felt him release, coating the entirety of your throat as he continued his push and pull, essentially fucking your throat while you swallowed his cum.

When he was finished, you lifted yourself from him, a trail of spit and cum still connecting the two of you. You caught your breath and sank back down to finish cleaning up the mess you'd made. Once you were satisfied, you sat back on your heels and looked at him.

His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed. His breathing was deep, slow, and even. Deciding not to disturb him, you gathered your clothes from the floor and carried them to the counter in front of the vanity mirror on the wall behind the couch. You couldn't blame him one bit for falling asleep so quickly. As you looked down to grab your bra from the counter, you felt his arms snake themselves around you as he cupped your breasts in his hands. His lips brushed your neck, just under your ear as he spoke.

"Where ya goin’?" he pressed his lips into your neck and licked the spot when he was finished. You felt intense warmth spread between your legs yet again, melting under his touch.

"I thought you were asleep," you answered.

He looked at you in the mirror, his face full of playful disbelief. "So you were just gonna leave me here?"

You laughed, struggling to find an excuse, "I–,"

He reached and turned your head to him, pulling you into a soft, warm kiss. You turned to face him, threading your fingers through his hair. He pulled back and looked at you. "Well I was hoping you'd at least stick around for the night. I've got a top-floor hotel room across the street. Really good view."

You took your turn to pass off a disbelieving look. "You mean to tell me that we just did all that on the couch of your dressing room, and you had a penthouse suite across the street this entire time?"

He paused, his eyes wide. After a beat of thick silence, he said, "I– uh, I figured you'd be able ta handle it."

You laughed and pushed him playfully. He kissed you again and helped you finish getting dressed. Then he dressed himself and gathered his things, proceeding to escort you across the street to settle in for the night.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @sunandthemoontwinflames

#greta van fleet #greta van smut #gvf #starcatcher #greta van fic #danny wagner fic #danny wagner smut #danny gvf #danny wagner

166 notes · View notes

drgenius-reid · 5 months

Text

In the Quiet

A/N: Happy New Year! I wrote this short little piece for the wonderful @foxy-eva. I hope you like it, friend! 🤎

Summary: After partying at Rossi’s, you and Spencer are in bed together talking about the family you have at work.

Word Count: 1320

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol. I think that’s it, honestly.

It was in the quiet, when it was just you and Spencer in bed, recounting the day you’d had with the only light coming from the moon outside, that you loved the most. It was when Spencer pulled you lovingly into his arms and held you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple mumbling, ‘You’re allowed to rest, my love,’ against your skin.

It was when your mind was far from quiet, still reeling from a gruelling case that had well and truly taken everything out of you, and you didn’t want to relax but tried anyway. It was in your fiancé’s arms, your head on his chest and his heart beating against your cheek where you were almost able to forget everything you had seen and calm down from a busy evening out with friends.

After getting home from a rather demanding time in Ohio that took more out of you than normal, you’d gotten to the office to find Penelope dancing around the office to try and forget about the gruesome details you’d had to feed her during the case. The second she saw you all walk through the doors to the bullpen she lit up even further, rushing over to you with a tray of drinks.

‘I thought we could have a little BAU party!’ She beamed, holding the tray for you all to take a drink from it. You knew that she was trying to ignore the pain that rushed through her in the only way she knew how, by showering everyone with love and positivity. And fun drinks. ‘These ones have no alcohol but if we go to the bar we can absolutely get alcoholic ones.’

Unlike everyone else, Rossi found the idea of going to the bar less than appealing. Not when he had perfectly good alcohol and floors and tables that weren’t sticky at his place. Everyone was more than willing to take him up on the offer, knowing that he had the good stuff that you didn’t have to pay for.

Within minutes of finishing your drink and JJ putting the empty glasses in the kitchenette to clean the following day, you all headed down to the parking garage so that you could head to Dave’s house. You and Spencer, who had gotten to work the previous week on public transport, climbed into the back of Derek’s car where Spencer rested his hand on your thigh instantly.

Neither of you were huge fans of PDA but in the quiet moments where he put his hand on your body and held you close were some of your favourites. The warmth of his hand radiated through your body and made you forget about the cold Virginia weather momentarily.

‘Do we think that Emily and Derek decided to go to a club after like they said they would in the car?’

Spencer’s nose was buried in your neck and you sighed happily as he snuggled into you. Despite him not showing huge amounts of physical affection while you were out of the house, the second you were in your own space he was all over you. His hands roamed your body any time they could, and he loved to hide his face in your neck with his lips trailing over your skin.

‘There is a ninety nine point nine percent chance that they are currently in a club somewhere being one another’s wing…person.’

Emily and Derek, though happy to be going to Rossi’s house for the evening, had spent the entire car ride talking about whether they had it in them to go partying after the party.

‘Our very own two person after party!’ Emily had laughed as Derek pulled up to a stop sign. ‘We can be each other’s wing person. Think of all the ladies, Morgan. Think of the ladies.’

Derek turned to face Emily and tilted his head. Even in the dim light of the car you knew that he was smirking. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the light turned to green and he accelerated once more.

‘Well if it’s for the ladies.’

‘And the point one percent?’ You asked Spencer, gripping his hand that sat at your middle tightly, needing to be as close to him as physically possible.

‘They’re passed out somewhere in Rossi’s house.’

You breathed a laugh and made a mental note to text Emily before bed and find out what she wound up getting up to after you and Spencer had left Rossi’s.

‘If we’d have stayed there any longer we would have passed out on his couch too. Well I would have anyway. You slept on the jet for most of the flight. Even through turbulence!’

Spencer hummed against your neck, trailing his lips across the soft skin. The heat from his breath and the softness of his kisses had your eyes falling closed on their own accord. You relaxed yourself into his touch, physically feeling the stress leave your body. He ran his tongue across the bottom of your neck before pecking his way up to your cheek.

You twisted around in his arms and pressed your lips to his softly. Even after years together it felt surreal kissing Spencer. He was still just as gentle as he had been when you first started dating, taking his time with you as he held you close. When he ran his tongue along your bottom lip, begging you for the access he desired the most, your heart fluttered deep in your chest.

Your hands pushed through his hair until they settled at the nape of his neck where you held him close as you kissed him back, granting him the access he craved. He tasted like fruit juice–sweet and sticky, and oh so intoxicating. His chest heaved against yours when he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours.

‘Tonight was fun,’ he whispered against the silence of the room. ‘Thank you for not letting me get out of it.’

You laughed softly and cupped his cheeks delicately. ‘You’re welcome, handsome. It was really nice getting to share that with you. And with everyone else.’

‘It was,’ Spencer whispered, capturing your lips in a small peck. ‘Did Penelope send you those photos yet?’

Reaching over Spencer you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and settled back into his arms, shifting until you could use both hands. As promised, Penelope had sent you the photos she had taken that night. There was no denying that they were some of your favourite photos ever.

They all so perfectly highlighted the fun that you’d all had together–Derek and Emily dancing around Dave in the kitchen as he tried to pour everyone a drink; Penelope and JJ dancing in the living room with Hotch in the background laughing at their dance moves; and one of you and Spencer curled up on the sofa, one of Spencer’s hands on your thigh as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

Out of them all, your favourite photo by far was one that you were all in. You all huddled in the living room while Penelope set her camera on a timer on the mantel, telling you all to get ready because she wasn’t willing to take more than one photo.

Something got lost in translation though because when she looked at the photo she bowed her head in shame. Emily had turned to flick Derek’s ear, JJ was staring at them telling them to stop acting like children, Hotch and Rossi were staring at the camera with rigid smiles, Spencer’s eyes were closed and you looked cross eyed.

All the while Penelope had the biggest grin on her face. It was the worst photo that could have ever been taken but it was also your favourite because it showed everyone so perfectly.

‘I like that one.’

‘It’s just…us,’ you smiled. ‘It’s-’

‘Family,’ Spencer finished for you. ‘It’s a family.’

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid writing #my writing #criminal minds fanfics #foxy-eva

167 notes · View notes

aphroditesmoon · 1 year

Note

hello! i have a request for you, but first i wanted to say i’ve enjoyed reading your wednesday/wenclair works :)

may i please have gn reader x gwen relationship details? like cute things you notice about her, how she shows affection, or anything else you want to include? thank you in advance!

gwen stacy x reader fluff hcs #2

a/n: omgggg tysm for reading my wenclair works🥹 I've found that writing is one of the only ways i could express myself as a queer person in a very hom0phobic country, im glad other people also find enjoyment in them!

warnings: none, fluff.

♤♤♤♤

- she was very awkward having you come yo her band practise at first, at least in the early stages of your relationship.

- she ended up playing badly because she couldn't focus with you around.

- it all gets better when she realizes you can't tell the difference anyways and still tell her you think she did great💀

- cuddling with her is never really a "whos the big spoon" question, she prefers to have her face buried in the crook of your neck, so if she's hugging you from behind, or from the front, it doesn't matter.

- when she's feeling protective of you in some days, she'll definitely have your face planted on her chest, trying to hide your body in her arms.

- bad cook gwen !! 🗣🗣 she can make a neat instant noodle though, take it or leave it.

- you took on to learning how to make simple recipe foods when your started dating her, banana pancakes, a decent omelette, and a good ol' fashion pasta. she really loves how much you love making her food, like it's your love language.

-she has a picture of you in her wallet, from your first date. hobie absolutely destroys her with embarrassment while announcing to everyone that gwendy has a special someone she's hiding

- you two lovw thrifting together, theres a pretty crowded and known city in her universe with lots of tourism spots and cool trinket shops, and yet the two of you will always find yourselves in a thrift shop there, choosing clothes for eachother.

- teaching you to play drums (you lasted a week and gave up, neither of you ever mention it again)

- her first tattoo is on the back of her neck, a lyric from a song in the playlist you made for her.

- you have a spider tattoo on your back too, something to remind you of her.

- late night burger dates at the same burger stall by the corner of her apartment, the dude already memories yalls orders too.

- she always loses her jacket or hoodie but never worrying bcs soon enough she'll see that you're wearing it.

- she likes to buy you random things she thinks you'd like, like a sun shaped keychain, a book you've mentioned once, a cat mug that costed her 70$

- she also likes it when you'll randomly intertwine your hands together, you'll be walking together or simply talking and sitting, and you'll have the urge to hold her hands, she'll immediately leane into your touch.

#gwen stacy #gwen stacy x reader #ghost spider x reader #ghost spider #atsv x reader #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #hobie brown x reader

378 notes · View notes

f10werfae · 1 year

Note

Shy!Reader being an absolute clingiest baby ever.

She tightly holds onto Lumberjack! Henry's Tshirt while she's asleep, never lets him go away even in deep sleep 🥹

Mine, Mine and Mine

pairing: Lumberjack!Henry x pregnant!Reader

- - -

“Baby bun what’s wrong? Wanna tell daddy what’s wrong?” Henry cooed using his newfound nickname, ever since he managed to knock his wife up, with twins. His hand settled underneath the white vest she was wearing, drumming gently on top of her enlarged stomach as she whined and whimpered; nuzzling her head into his big burly chest.

Turning her body sideways, she cuddled into her husband as best as possible, his hand moving from her stomach to gently rubbing over her ass after-all her lower half was completely bare. Bar a pair of blue fluffy Christmas socks from months ago. Henry absolutely loved when his sugar cube would turn to mush, wanting nothing more than to be held and smothered with love and affection, just like him sometimes

“I-I missed y-you” She whined kissing up his neck, even sucking a few small love-bites on all her favourite places on his neck, her eyes all big and her lips puckered already begging him for one of their routine kissies. Henry could already feel his cock twitch at the mere desperation she was showing, her hands fisting his shirt tightly, her legs intertwined with his as she tried her best to reach up and kiss his lips. “Aww is my baby butt, feeling all whiney and needy, God pregnancy just makes you that much more adorable”

“J-just kiss me already, p-please?” She wiggled frustratingly before humming in satisfaction as Henry leant down and fully planted his lips on hers, his thick wet tongue parting her lips and mingling with hers, their kiss turning slobbery and wet within seconds. Y/n’s giggles filled the room as she squealed each time he’d nibble on her lips, clearly enjoying the attention she was getting from her grump of a husband, who undeniably loved her attention too.

“Mm so tasty honey” Henry teased pecking her lips one more time before pulling away with a large smacking sound, Y/n’s eyes all dazed and hazy as she laid she head back onto her pillow happily; nuzzling her head into it cutely as her body shuffled closer to Henry’s (if that was even possible from how close they already were)

“S-sorry if i’m a bit n-needy Hen” She whispered tracing his nose bridge, smiling gently as he playfully bit her finger and wouldn’t let it go like a wild animal. “Don’t you ever apologise for makin’ me feel loved sugar butt, I need you as much as you need me, and these mini sugar cubes in here is proof of that” He replied kissing two fingers before pressing it onto the top of her stomach affectionately; Y/n’s heart instantly warmed and she swore she felt literal butterflies at the pit of her stomach, or was that just the twins giggling for her?

“Now come on it’s nearly two am, if you wanna sunbathe at the beach I told ya about, then get to sleep mama” He chuckled watching as her eyelids started to blink more, a sign her fatigue was starting to catch up to her, her fists still holding onto his shirt, not letting him go once through the night. He was her anchor and he was her home 🫶

—————- The Next day

“W-wait I need you t-to do my back” Y/n smiled passing Henry her coconut scented sunscreen, feeling him undo the knot of her bikini top, without worry as this was a private beach Henry had discovered himself a while ago on one of his trips out of town.

“You sure the girls don’t need any sunscreen too sweetheart?” Henry smirked nodding towards her larger breasts as he peeked over her shoulder, his hands settled under the triangles of the bikini as he kneaded at the soft warm flesh of his precious wife. Who could do nothing but lean back into his chest, succumbing to his touch and love, while the warm sun shone down on them both.

“H-hey now they need some, d-daddy” Y/n laughed pushing his hands down to her stomach, letting his hands massage over the stretched skin lovingly while he kissed her shoulders and her temple. A few more weeks and his daughter and son would arrive, the new additions to the Cavill family

Now that Y/n was nearing the end of her pregnancy, sex for the extremely active couple had become more uncomfortable, for Y/n’s end; for Henry on the other hand that man could have fucked her for weeks straight, but of course her comfort and happiness always comes first. Slowly he inched his hand down towards her bikini bottoms, watching her reaction from the side as she did nothing to stop him, simply letting her head lawl back onto his shoulder as if she was simply resting her eyes under their umbrella.

He held back a growl feeling the nestle of pubes surrounded her pussy lips which were slick, puffy and warm; practically his favourite place in the world. With one arm wrapped around the underneath of her stomach, he shifted her up a bit onto his chest, letting his fingers run up and down through her folds collecting her wetness onto his fingers. “Need this don’t you mama? Need daddy’s fingers” He whispered kissing the shell of her ear as he found her stimulated little clit, rubbing gentle slow circles; her breath deepened and she held a strong grip onto the arm that was supporting her. “Mhmm need you so bad Henry, wanna make my p-pregnant pussy cum all over your hand?”

She stuttered, making Henry smile proudly, these past few weeks she had tried her hand at dirty talking her husband in bed; clearly doing well enough that right now Henry’s cock was resting hard, right between her ass cheeks. “Oh sugar if a’ could i’d knock ya up, right here right now”

—

PSA: Hope this short drabble made you all smile even just a tiny bit! I got a few messages about how people missed lumberjack!Henry so I thought i’d write a lil sum sum in my free time

Library blog: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

taglist: @helenaellie @k3ira13 @shecamedowninabubble @ridingthehotmessexpress @heyitsme-2 @animez96 @namjoons-t1ddies @ameliascreampuffs @angelic-dreams13 @respectmyprivacys-blog @squishyturtle @awhore4moree @sorayasworld @loki-s-wife @pandaxnienke @thereisa8ella @kimhtoo17 @beck07990 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @madebylilly @kebabgirl67 @marvelgurl @uwiuwi @girl-of-multi-fandoms @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @nikkitc0703 @mischiefsemimanaged @oliviah-25 @aerangi @alina02 @alexxavicry @hp-hogwartsexpress @angelmather1 @acornacre @ggmimitf @thebaileybugle @p4st3lst4rs @kzhlvlysstuff @thoughtsofreid @cilliansangel @theekyliepage @cookielovesbook-akie @elenavampire21 @hoya122 @esposadomd @meyocoko @severewobblerlightdragon @kemillyfreitas @adoreyouusugar

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x wife!reader #henry cavill x pregnant!reader #lumberjack!henry cavill #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill oneshot #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #rpf #henry cavill x shy!reader #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill smut

992 notes · View notes

intimidating-fettuccine · 7 months

Note

I absolutely live for lighthearted fluff, so I just gotta ask- do you think there are any funny/cute habits/things the creeps have? (obvi u don’t have to do all of them, maybe just some that jump out at you) Like grabbing onto people when they’re scared, having a funny/infectious giggle (or one of those ridiculous laughs that makes other people laugh), having a high pitched girly scream, etc?

I feel like the last one def applies to Jeff because it’s like he’s got the hottest, most charming voice you’ll ever hear and then as soon as he screams he breaks the goddamn sound barrier😭😭

One lighthearted thing for every creep because I want soft hours:

Jeff: He WOULD have a high-pitched scream, but as for my own little habit headcanon for him, I think he runs in place when bored and standing. If he's waiting in line, he just starts quickly jogging in place to keep himself occupied, and it's very funny to just see him waiting in line to check out with his groceries and he's just standing there running in place with an intense look on his face.

BEN: Hacks into everyone's phones to see what items they're liking/saving to buy for themselves and he gets them those items for Christmas and birthdays.

EJ: Narrows his eyes, pins his ears back, and swishes his tail back and forth angrily whenever he's pouting or mildly annoyed. He looks exactly like an annoyed cat and it's the cutest thing. He even crosses his arms when he does it to look intimidating and it does the opposite.

LJ: Jack rarely does his actual laugh due to his depression/general facade, BUT, when you get him to fully let loose and laugh he has the most infectious, amazing laugh you'll ever hear. Eyes closed, grabbing his stomach, tears rolling down his face, and so happy and adorable.

Toby: Does a little dance every time he eats ice cream. He'll shimmy his body back and forth when he takes his first bite, close his eyes, and smile real big, humming to himself in happiness.

Tim: He's gotten into the habit of drumming on the counter with his fingers when he's cooking and waiting for things to cook. He'll thump his index fingers on the counter and bop his head along with whatever beat he's following.

Brian: Gives people bunny ears in every picture. If he's taking a photo with someone (unless Slender tells him not to for family photos) Brian will put his two fingers behind someone's head in every picture, no matter who he's taking a photo with.

Slender: Thinks aloud to himself. Normally it's not a problem because he just speaks to people through their minds, so when he's alone nobody notices. However, sometimes you'll walk past him and he's just standing there or sitting there having a full conversation or tangent to himself. It's very entertaining, and he doesn't realize he's doing it.

Liu: Whenever he gets really stressed the first thing he does is find Jeff and give him a big hug. Liu might be the older brother, but when they were little Liu would always cling to Jeff when he got stressed or anxious, and that has carried into adulthood.

Jane: Dances whenever she hears music. It's purely subconscious, but if music is playing around her, she'll do a little dance where she bounces back and forth on her feet and sways her hips, and sometimes she doesn't even notice she's doing it.

Natalie: Taps people she likes randomly. She does it to show affection, but if she's just ever hanging out with someone she likes she'll subconsciously reach out and softly, quickly tap them a bunch of times to say "I love you and I'm glad you're here."

Helen: Has the cutest sneezes. He tries SO HARD not to sneeze around people because he has really cute high-pitched sneezes, like the really adorable and cute kind. He hates it so fucking much but he's always been that way so he just tries to hide it.

Smiley: Sighs in a really funny manner. It comes out very dramatic and over the top, but his natural sigh is very high-pitched and pouty sounding, so people often teach him for his dramatics, but that's just how he sighs.

Sally: Has gotten into the habit of collecting metal pop bottle caps, so the creeps will always give her theirs for her collection. She has a special box that she keeps them in, and she always gets excited when she gets a new cap.

Offender: Cannot dab or floss correctly. He often tries to tease the younger human creeps by trying to dab or floss but no matter how many times they try to teach him how to do it, he just can't do it correctly. They always call him Dad or Grandpa when he does that to make fun of him for being old and unable to do it right.

Trender: Since tailoring is his full-time job, he has a lot of pins he often has to use, and he's gotten into the habit of collecting a bunch of different types of pin cushions. His current favorite is one that looks like a hedgehog.

Splendor: Paints new Christmas ornaments every year with him and his siblings on them to hang on his tree each year, and he makes an extra for every sibling too.

Jason: To try and improve on his trauma involving children and continue his tailoring work, he sometimes makes and donates clothing to various orphanages in the Underworld and delivers it to them himself.

Puppeteer: Jumps rope with his strings. When he's bored and by himself if he has some energy he wants to burn off he'll use his strings to jump rope with. Nobody has caught him doing this and he thinks it's a bit embarrassing, so he's never told anyone.

Zalgo: Stretches when he's getting tired. He often has to work through exhaustion a lot, so when he gets sleepy he'll do some stretches to get his blood flowing and let his muscles get stretched out so he's not tense and sitting in the same position all day.

Candy: Hums to himself a lot. Whenever he's bored or spaced out he'll hum or sing to himself to occupy his mind. If he's around his partner or one of his friends, he might even pull them in for a little dance while he hums and sings, all with a big peaceful smile on his face.

Hobo: When he gets started he poofs his wings up really big like a bird and he jumps a bit into the air, eyes wide and arms clutched to himself. It's very adorable, but make sure he's not near any valuable items or he might accidentally whack them with his wings.

Nina: Has a habit of checking in on Zalgo. She's the only official creep I've got working under him, and she worries over how much he overworks himself. Whenever she has a second of free time she's always poking into his office to make sure he's not overworking himself, and she often brings him snacks or drinks to make sure he's eating and drinking stuff since he often works around the clock.

Kate: Falls asleep in the weirdest places. She's got some sleeping problems, and she will fall asleep anywhere. The dining table, curled up in an odd position in a chair, sprawled across the couch, on the floor. She'll just plop down somewhere and she's out within minutes.

159 notes · View notes

vera-deville · 1 year

Note

Hi! Could you please write Luka Couffaine x fem. reader who has trouble talking about their feelings? Writes him letters, love poems or plays the drums for him because it's easier for her to show her feelings like that? Sorry for my English it is not my first language.

02/28/2023 - 03/29/2023

Pairing: Luka Couffaine x Reader

Word Count: 867

Warnings: Nothing that I can think of!

Gender: AFAB

In which Luka has a significant other who has a hard time expressing her feelings.

Luka Couffaine absolutely adored Y/N. The girl had captured his heart, mind, and soul, and he had no trouble expressing it. However, the same could not be said the other way around.

Other people labeled Y/N as someone cold and uncaring, but only a select few knew of her true nature - she simply could not express herself in the ways others would. And Luka understood completely.

Y/N had a small group of friends (most of whom had never even met each other, but knew the existence of). She wasn't one to stick to one particular friend group after all. A good friend was a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

And two of her very good friends were Juleka and Rose. Originally, Y/N had only Juleka (since she went to the same school as Luka), but quickly became acquainted with Rose as well. And for that, Y/N thanked whatever lucky stars she had.

The whole process of confessing to Luka was already gut-wrenchingly terrifying, seeing as she had no idea how to go about it, whether Luka would return her affections (even though Juleka said he would), and if she was actually dateable material.

But after the confession, a lot of her worries were put to rest. Luka was the sweetest boyfriend she could have asked for, and she was extremely grateful for having met him.

Luka was someone who was fairly affectionate (not like some of the couples she's seen walking in Paris being overly lovey-dovey), but he also never shied away from letting her know what was on his mind.

If there was a particular moment where Y/N was caught up doing something and was quite focused on it (such as homework), Luka would find himself simply staring at the girl, absolutely in awe of the work of art he had the honor of calling his girlfriend. (Yes, he's tried sneaking some photos of her when she wasn't looking).

And when he was caught, Y/N would ask, "what're you staring at?"

Only to be met with, "just caught up in the ethereal masterpiece in front me."

To which Y/N would feel her face heat up and a warm sort of buzz envelope her whole being. She'd become a little flustered and brush off his oh so charming and teasing self, but looking at him once more, she realizes every time that Luka wasn't teasing at that moment. He meant every word.

So when others meet her and find out she's in a relationship with Luka, they wonder how on Earth the relationship works. Luka was pretty well known and well-liked. But Y/N wasn't like that. She stayed to herself for the most part, and she'd never initiate any sort of PDA with her boyfriend.

And some of these people would take to whispering about this behind (or so they thought) Y/N's back.

She'd feel bad about it, but not to the point where she'd find herself spiraling down a rabbit hole of self-hate and whatnot. But that didn't stop her from wanting to improve. And what better way to improve than by asking two of her best friends?

"Aww, it's so cute that you want to be more lovey-dovey with Luka!" Rose gushed. Juleka had a slight smile on her face, finding the situation slightly humorous. The involved parties were her brother and one of her closest friends. How could she not be entertained? Especially when said close friend was going on a tirade vaguely reminiscent of Marinette's tirades about Adrien.

Rose suggested making a perfume for Luka, and Y/N thought that it was such a good idea that she'd probably do that for his birthday. "What if you write him a letter?" Juleka asked. Pondering over the idea, Y/N decided that it indeed was a good idea.

But what to write?

And so some amount of days passed, and Y/N finally ended up finishing her letter to Luka. It wasn't anything elegant or pretty or anything of the sort. It was goofy, filled with her typical sarcasm, and most importantly, it was heartfelt. Now, the only thing left was to actually give the letter to Luka.

Which was still quite hard surprisingly.

Y/N assumed that once the letter was finished, she'd just hand it over to the turquoise-haired boy and bada-bing bada-boom, romance!

Apparently it doesn't work like that.

Apparently you pour your heart out into the letter, but then you feel nervous to actually give the letter to your oh so accepting boyfriend.

But somehow Y/N pushed down her anxiety and gave the letter to Luka when they sat down after getting their ice cream. Opening it, Luka's face gradually morphed into one of extreme joy (and if Y/N didn't know any better, smugness), before he pressed a chaste kiss onto Y/N's cheek.

And from that day onwards, Y/N would (every once in a while) gift Luka letters, love poems, and even play the drums for him as means of physically showing her affection for him. It was their own little dynamic and some may have found it odd, but to them, it was perfect.

Author's Note: Once again, I'm really sorry for taking so long to complete this fic. I hope you enjoy it (if not, feel free to request again, since I honestly don't feel like I did my very best with this one).

I'm still in the middle of trying to find a specific fic format to stick to. I've tried looking at a bunch of other fanfic writers' profiles and the format they use to write their fics, but I'm still not 100% sure if what I'm doing right now is what I want to continue doing.

#miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous ladybug oneshots #mlb oneshots #miraculous ladybug fluff #mlb fluff #fluff #romance #cute #love letters #luka couffaine #juleka couffaine #rose lavillant #luka couffaine x reader #luka x reader #reader #y/n #vera deville #the marchioness

443 notes · View notes

bruisedboys · 1 year

Note

shy!reader being embarrassed to ask eddie if he wants to make-out😭and he’s just completely in awe when she whispers under her breath what she wants… because OF COURSE he does how could he not kiss the sweetest girl in the world

this is such a cute idea pls I love him. not proofread!! & def too long to be a blurb lol

shy!fem!reader 1.3k words

Eddie always kisses you when he picks you up from work. Always. He waits for you to get in, grins at you like you’re the best thing in his life, says something along the lines of “hi, pretty girl,” and then leans across his seat to give you a sweet kiss, seatbelt pulled taut across his chest.

So you should be used to it. Used to his smiling mouth on yours and his hand on your shoulder or cupping your jaw. You aren’t.

As expected, you slide in the passenger seat and Eddie’s beaming.

“Hey, pretty,” he says.

You smile back, much more shy than him but no less fond. “Hi, Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile grows somehow wider and, as always, leans across to kiss you. One hand cups your face while the other spreads over your thigh. His hand placement results in you being a flustered mess before he’s even kissed you. It gets worse when he does kiss you, when it feels longer than usual, more firm. Something about the whole thing sets your skin on fire and has your stomach rolling.

Eddie seems no less affected than usual. He pulls back with his charming smile and starts the van. Meanwhile, you’re trying not to stare too hard at his hands, their weight having left what feels like scorch marks on your skin, or his mouth, all kiss-bitten. You want him to kiss you again so badly it makes your heart race.

“Y/N? Did you hear what I said?”

You blink. Eddie’s talking to you, you realise. “Sorry, what?”

Eddie chuckles softly. “I asked how your day was,” He says patiently, thankfully forgoing any teasing related to your daydreaming.

“Oh.” You smile and try to look more casual than you feel. Your mind is still spinning from the kiss, mouth tingling with want for more. “It was okay.”

“Yeah?” Eddie drums his fingers on the steering wheel. The wind gushing throw the window makes his wild curls dance. “Any grumpy old ladies to deal with?”

You giggle. Yesterday, you’d told Eddie all about an elderly woman who’d got angry at you for the library not having the book she wanted. As if it was your fault.

“No,” you say, huffing amusedly. “What about you?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “No grumpy old ladies, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You snort. “That’s not what I meant!” You say, though you’re sure he knows.

Eddie laughs loud and it’s music to your ears. He’s got such a nice laugh. It only makes the flame in your chest grow.

“Sorry, babe,” he says. He reaches over and pats your thigh, his eyes on the road. “My day was good, thanks.” He sneaks a glance at you and you know what’s coming before he says it, “Better now you’re here.”

You huff like he’s insufferable. He isn’t, of course, but you like to pretend he is. The rest of the short ride to Eddie’s trailer is spent with Eddie drumming along to the radio, and you trying not to show how badly you want to kiss him.

It doesn’t get any easier when you arrive at the trailer. You sit on Eddie’s bed while he picks away at his guitar, his back against the edge of the bed. He’s shed his jacket and tossed it over the bed post. Underneath he’s wearing a sleeveless band tee that makes his arms look so good you think you might scream.

“What does that look mean?” Eddie asks casually.

You start and realise he can see you watching him in the mirror across from his bed. You meet his reflection’s eyes and your cheeks go warm. Well, warm-er.

“What look?”

“You look like you’re bursting to say something,” Eddie says. He sets down his guitar gently and gets up on his knees, twisting so he can face you. “What’s up, honey?”

“Nothing,” you say. I just want to kiss you til you can’t breathe.

Eddie squints at you like he doesn’t believe you. Before you can fix your features to look like you’re not lying he’s climbing onto the bed and plonking down in front of you.

“You’re a bad liar,” he says, a cheeky smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what’s wrong, hm? Are you hungry? Tired? Do you want a hug?”

You think it’s sweet how worried he is about you. You’d be endeared but it if you weren’t so embarrassed about what you actually want. A hug does sound nice, though. Maybe it will put out the flame that’s burning in your chest.

“A hug would be nice,” you say, and hold your arms out. You’re past being too shy for hugs. You’re yet to conquer being too shy for kisses.

Eddie falls into your arms heavily, his chin hooking over your shoulder while his arms go around your middle. It’s a nice kind of heavy, though. His scent washes over you. Something woody, something metallic. His cologne, a little musky and a lot attractive.

You’re disappointed to realise the hug does nothing to get rid of your problem. In fact, it makes it worse. Having him this close makes you dizzy. Having him this close also makes you think about how he’s near enough to kiss, to take his face in your hands and press your mouth to his until he’s as dizzy as you feel.

You think your thoughts are showing on your face because when Eddie pulls away, he takes one look at you and frowns.

“I don’t think that worked,” he says, half joking but half serious, too. “That wasn’t what was wrong, was it, baby?”

Baby. You don’t have it in you to lie to him again. You shake your head silently.

Eddie grins. “I knew it!” He declares. He bridges the gap between you again to take your face in his hands. You’re already hot as a furnace and you’re sure your skin burns like wildfire under his touch. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t acknowledge it, only stares at you so intensely you think you might melt. “Tell me what’s wrong, angel.”

You swallow. He’s very convincing when he wants to be.

“Um,” you say. “It’s embarrassing.”

Eddie’s eyes lose their fire and go soft. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he says, earnest and soft at the same time. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

You know he won’t laugh. In fact, he’ll probably indulge you on the spot. Still, you’re embarrassed.

“I, um. Do you …?” You stop halfway, unsure how to say it, unsure how to ask. Unsure if you should ask.

Eddie’s hands slide to your shoulders and squeeze. “Do I what, angel?”

You stare at his chest when you say it, your voice barely a whisper. “Do you … want to make out?”

You cringe as soon as you say it. Pull away from Eddie and hide your hands in your face, your heartbeat like a drum in your ears.

Eddie protests. “Hey, where are you going?” He asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Come back out, sweet girl, please.”

You do not come back out. You hide and wish the floor would swallow you up. Your heart jumps to your throat when Eddie’s hands find your thighs and pull, pull until you’re half in his lap and he can get his fingers around your wrists.

“Come out,” he begs, tugging at your wrists with much less force than he’s capable of. “Please, angel.”

You let him pry your hands from your face but refuse to look him in the eye, staring at a point over his shoulder instead. Eddie huffs and gets his hand on your jaw to tilt your head until you’re forced to look at him properly. You grumble something incoherent.

“Y/N,” Eddie says. He’s grinning like mad. “Of course I want to make out with you. Are you kidding?”

You gawp. You’d expected teasing, at the very least. “You do?”

Eddie chuckles like he can’t believe you. “Is that hard to believe?” He asks, amused. “Of course I do.”

“Oh.”

Eddie grins. The fire in your chest rises to your throat.

“Yeah. Oh,” he says, and leans in to kiss you.

Your heart pounds. And it doesn’t stop pounding for the next half hour.

#sorry if this sucks I didn’t proofread it that well lolzies #★ mal writes!#ღ eds #eddie munson #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x shy!reader #✉️

1K notes · View notes

ikkosu · 4 months

Note

Megatron angst, you say?? Megatron is ashamed of the kindness the reader shows him and even more ashamed of the love that developed from that kindness. He remembers keenly how little he thought of organics, the devastation he caused to Earth. The billions of organic lives across the universe that were snuffed out on his command. He can barely stand to look at himself in the mirror. He buries himself in his duties to hide from that vicious guilt, but it doesn't help, not really. Megatron feels he doesn't deserve your affection. He doesn't realize his distance hurts you, if only he would open up to you.

IT'LL PASS

Megatron x gn!scientist!human reader

a/n : ooooh I love these kind of angst! so yummy and gobble-able. I stayed up late writing this. megatron angst be upon ye (if that's how the saying goes, anyways). hope you won’t mind me using this Au, SSAU, in case confused of the size difference.

warnings : little bit of fluff on first half, angst on the second (yipeee) 💀 this is so long, god help me.

[i]

He remembered the first time he met you.

Your hands clinched over his larger ones, tugging it down so you could peer on your toes to get a better look at his face, It took him a moment to register you, first it was the pliant flesh curled over his digits like vines, warm and soft then his head swiveled down with a jolt to meet your curious, wide unblinking eyes.

"Is this...Megatron?" Your eyes narrowed, focused — words, innocent yet simple, came off as almost dumfounded.

He doesn't know what to say.

A raise of his brows and the purse of his lips were all he could muster in response. You’re the walking embodiment of the species he sought to eradicate. To destroy. And yet, here you are, unfazed. Jumping on your toes, drumming your hands over his digits, pawing at his broad, mettalic arms like he was a specimen. Before he could reply, Ratchet grabs the scruff of your collar and yanks you away.

“Wha— hey! I was about to introduce myself!"

“That can wait until the actual debrief. Which is due time. Sorry about this, this one’s a bit of a loiterer.” He grumbles, then yanks you away to fall in step with his pace. “Stir up another problem in the lab and make it count. If Rodimus asks, I am not dealing with his moping about whether or not the body gets decimated or cremated.”

"Oh, come on! " You’re now half-way across the hallway, disappearing. Voices muffled. “It’s like, the size of my palm, Ratty. It’s real cute too, with the puffed out fur and all. We should keep it!”

“I don’t care if it’s the size of your brain. Drift thinks it’s some kind of miracle. Like spiritual miracle or something.” Ratchet grunts out. “Dispose it before someone like you could be infected and you’ve got bad allergies, remember?"

"But—"

“Don't fight me on this. Earth is miles away and I am not comm-ing the Liason Department with a petty issue like that!”

Your altercation disappeared, much the same as your figures, through the sliding door, where the squabble continued into what’s possible the lab the medic mentioned.

Megatron stares, slightly dumfounded as it swishes close and Magnus, for a large mech he’s incredibly a silent walker, teeters behind him, shuffling on his pedes.

“I see you’ve met the organic scientist. An interesting subject to behold, no?”

Rodimus is somewhere behind the duly appointed, a few steps back, moping with a scowl.

With a small wolfish grin, he managed. “I wasn’t aware you’re keeping pets.”

“Excuse me?” The sports car bristled, fists clenched, now already close. “Who’re you calling pets you—“

“Rodimus, please.” His tirade of a decent chewing out is halted by Magnus, whose arm is a barrier between the two, “ Ease down and stay in that corner until I’m done.”

"You're gonna let him say that?" A digit jabbed his way. “But he!—“

“Is trying to a rise out of you.” The bigger mech lays a terse hand over his shoulder. “You of all people should know that. Now, go.”

He’s surprised the younger mech even complied, given his role as the ‘co-captain’, Megatron assumed Magnus would be the one subverscient to his commands. With a scowl he whirled around, stomping away to whatever room deemed worthy of another tantrum. Magnus, however, swivels back with a firmer look, determined not to be swayed by his prodding.

“Discrimination is an offense.” He begins with a finger wag. The grey mech sags. Oh, not this again. ‘’ Any more remarks like that will terminate your stay here. The human you’ve met is the only one residing here in the Lost Light. I expect you to treat them with the same respect they'll have for you."

"Only?" He drawls.

"Many are still not fond of us. Take it a small step towards peace between organics, if you will. " Magnus said, craning his neck over the warlord’s shoulder in time for the med-bay doors to slide open again.

Ambulon steps out, First-aid beside him, and in that split second, he gets a glimpse of you haggling Ratchet at his desk. On your palms were the rat they encountered earlier. He could only assume you're fighting for it's refuge here with how you're assaulting ratchet with desperate puppy eyes and coddling the little rodent to your cheek.

Then the doors slide shut again.

“ In your habsuite are several books on Organic history. Optimus encourages amending tension between Organics and Cybertrinians. So, you can start there. And, while that may prove a bit difficult I hope it isn't an obstacle towards your..."

He struggled, not able to to find the word. Perhaps, repenting is too much of a long stretch so he settles on, “Your stay here.”

"I'll manage just fine." He says gruffly and turns on his heels.

There was something brimming inside his chest. A familiar tinge of energy, much the same when he used to regard Orion with the same kind of fondness.

It'll pass. He reminds himself. It's just a fleeting feeling. It'll pass.

[ii]

You’re like a shadow.

Quick to come, quick to leave — a passing blur.

From the corners to the hallways, you were always there, except he never had a chance to properly introduce himself. Why? He doesn't know why. After all, you were the first person who greeted him with enthusiasm.

The next time he met you was evening, if it was even considered that way, space was in a constant plunge of darkness, anyways. Magnus's caution not to dwell at the bar was indeed taken into consideration as well as disregarded with much care — since drinking is naturally prohibited during 'work hours', according to Magnus, a notion that is an always for him.

Swerve's was fondly quiet.

The rest had gone to ogle another 'off-world chick flick' Rewind proposed. One of those action packed, cheesy films mechs these days are so sodden for. Obviously, he turned it down, ignoring Whirl's attempt to provoke him for being a 'buzz-kill' (he dodged another blaster to the head in doing so) and slumped by a cubicle , nursing a drink he kept swivelling aimlessly in his servo. He watches the purple curl then crest, sloshing about, caking the rims dry. His mind, plagued.

Too caught up in the voices in his head, the swift yet gentle pitter patter of footsteps prodding towards the counter was unheard. It was only when you slid into the empty seat in front of him that he blinked, jolting much as he did when he first met you.

He eyed the datapads and pens cluttering on the surface, following your tandem, gloved hands gently pushing the cup of engex aside. A barrier no longer. You laced your fingers and leaned over, nose close to touching. When it appeared you've caught his attention, your eyes creased, much like a half moon and he finds himself faltering at the sight of the sun.

Though, he stood his ground by holding a firm gaze.

"I hope I'm not bothering you?" Your voice is low, like you're half-expecting Ratchet to pop out again and drag you away.

"Well..." Megatron swivels to his half opened book of the Autobot Code on the table. He still has, much to his chagrin, a thousand more chapters to go through and might as well spare himself from this heinous task and deal with Magnus's preaching.

"Not at the worst time you found me." He folds the book primly and sets it aside.

"Splendid! Is that, ah, how you say it there?"

"What?"

"How’s it going buddy! Or, what's got you up in a twist pal! Something like that. Magnus is always haggling me about 'conforming' to certain ranks with the way I speak. So, what does it?"

He stares at you for a moment, more accurately, staring down, brows pinched. You're awfully small. And not in a 'teeny, tiny, precious little pet' kind of way. His gladiator instincts overruled his prior thoughts and the heigh difference is so explicitly stark he could crush you with a mere swing of a fist. Why are you here? I could kill you. He's not so sure what to think of that. Though, his lower region can preach otherwise.

He should really stop drinking.

"You're not suppose to be here."

"Not quite."

The smile turns into a wolfish grin. It's only now he noticed you've plopped a black satchel on the table.

" Actually, to tell you the truth I'm old enough to be drinking. Hell, even mingling with the lot of you. It's just that, ah, the chemicals! Chemicals, am I right? It hurts the human brain. Makes it woozy. Real, woozy. Can’t think well. I don't know about you bots, cons, uh, there's more gosh, but you see I'm—"

"Referring to your presence." He crosses his arms, leaning back.

"Rodimus doesn't like you here."

The satchel flaps open with a click. You shrug. "Hm. That's a lot less fun, no? Guess he'll have to suck it up. Can’t keep me in a cage forever. I need my own breath of fresh air.”

He looks off to the side, forcing back an imperceptible smile. " Is that so? Whatever happened to conforming to ranks?"

"Ah, apologies, he'll have to handle shoving a stick up his tailpipe."

"You would prefer mingling with me than—"

" Obviously. It's a perfect time for our interview to start!"

.Megatron shifted slightly away, fighting the urge to frown. His digits drum the service, irritated.

"You're interested about the war." He states plainly.

"It's not much about the war, you see. It's, well more about the performers. No, wait not performers, the ah—“ You wag the pen in front of him, struggling to find the words, other hand fumbling to open the book. When you're unable to muster a coherent explanation, you settle on, "Short story, I’m a researcher. Journalist, even. Half-scientist? You get the gist."

Your eyes flicker down to the clutter of datapads by his side, an amused grin this time, " What's the point? I suppose you're already aware of my name, then?"

He feels his faceplates burn. The many datapads you caught contained the ship's dwellers and one, sticking out from the others, is your profile. It was a harmless dive, but with how blatant his stylus circled your picture a deep red, he knew he was in too deep. He clears his throat, a swift digit nudged the rim aside and it's hidden under the others.

"A bit of curiosity isn't too much of a harm these days." He doesn't shake your outstretched hand but taps your palm with his digits. "What would you like to know?"

The touch lingered. You smiled.

"You."

[iii]

He's not sure what to think.

Several weeks after the incident at the bar there's been a routine he's now accustomed to. Wake up, have a cup of energon, haggle both Magnus and Rodimus before making his rounds around the ship. (Succumb to dirty looks from mechs, as well). Then, it's only then he's able to spend time with you in the confines of his habsuite.

The first time was very uncomfortable. He's twiddling his thumb like a schoolboy as he’s perched on the edge of his birth, glaring at the floor while you're sprawled on the couch, scribbling whatever he uttered onto the paper like it's a holy scripture.

He needs to say something.

Anything to keep the conversations aflow. The sessions were about two hours long — three if it became a little more in depth — and he finds himself short circuiting when you’d throw in an ‘joke’ or two. Apparently, he missed the joke. It flew right over his head. When the rest of the conversation fell off awkwardly, it's only then he realize how inept at casual conversation he is.

"I suppose you can say the commodities there were made were satis-factory." He pauses for a moment, letting it simmer.

You blink a little, the one in your hand twirls for a moment before your palms clutched your mouth, hunching over the chair, shoulders heaving. There was a pleasant sound from your lips. Is that—

"Are you laughing?" He asks, strangely offended.

"Sorry, it's just— mhmaha, eheahag. Hehehnskslk,” You gathered yourself but the cheeks still twitched. “. Is— is that, like, a pun. Are you punning?"

He gave in, looking away. “…Magnus urged me to be a lot less ‘stiff’ with how I deliver certain….statements. ”

“So, you went with puns.” The pen nudges his cheek, playful.

He swats it away with a chuff. “We were discussing about industrial propaganda during the early courses of the war, it’s only appropriate that I put that in.”

“How many more have you got under your sleeve, megs?"

From his faceplate, a small smile cracks. “If you have enough time to spare.”

[iv]

When he looks at you, he's reminded of Orion.

Compassionate yet strong-willed. Accepting yet firm. Perhaps it's because you're as youthful as the first conjure of a star or perhaps he likes to believe that you are. You innate curiosity for knowledge, your naive recklessness for danger; determined to be the hero, despite lacking — it worries him.

In what way does it so?

Sometimes, he half expects you to emerge as a different person. One day, a bright smile on your face, the other, a facade. Your true self. He finds himself dawdling towards the mirror, scrutinizing his faceplate. The creases and wrinkles that amass his grimace, they eased into a gentle smile when he thinks about you.

It’s the little things that gets him.

Your hand on his arm when you speak, the focused adoration in your eyes when he goes on another tirade about his poems, or when he’s particularly feeling a bit sour, you’re always there with your own two cents which breaks a smile out of his face — it makes him feel something he doesn’t want to prod.

“Energon?”

He stares at the outstretched cup, his other servo is cradling his temple, migraine induced. He’s at his desk, hunched over a datapad, stylus working with abandon when you came in, the brief respite of luminescent light flaring his room stark before it shrouds dim again. Everyone had clocked in for the night. Magnus left a few hours earlier. You, on the other hand….

“How…how did you make this?” He’s dumbfounded, watching as the purple swirls around his reflection.

You declare proudly with a puff of your chest. “Being a scientist, you can pull off a few strings or two to get it. Though, I did almost combust a ‘certain’ contraption trying to filter off raw energon. Brainstorm's instructions aren't easy to read. I should really stop trying to crank up the generator to max….”

“Please, i implore you — don’t do that again.”

You shrug, a little grin.He vents. Guess he’ll have to tolerate you for the time being. You set the cup of energon on his desk and peered over a little.

“What’re you up to?”

He feels his face burn. “Annotating the next poem you requested. For our next session. You…wanted to see my earlier poems and their possible significance."

There was a bright twinkle in your eye — too bright he swiveled away for a moment.

“May I?”

“If you have time…”

[v]

It appears interviewing isn't your only vice.

Off you go to expeditions outside the Lost Light, floating about on meteors, wrangling native plants from native planets, returning to med-bay, sometimes, with parched gloves that're burnt at the tips and hair a different color from the chemical abrasions.

Megatron sometimes finds himself on the gurney instead with how much pressure his spark is taking its toll.

Once, he's startled off his armor when you tapped the window from the outside, mouthing about how Brainstorm probably started another fire in the east wing.Safe to say it wasn’t long before the fire reached him. And, you’re the one chipping off the burnt metal parts from his arm, gently cradling his servos.

It's just a little brain worm, he tells himself. Another delusion he conjures because he's so desperate to feel something — anything to contradict his guilt. Your touch is nothing but miniscule and yet he finds himself in front of laboratory often, and he'd look lost when you're greeted at the sight of the warlord dawdling in front of the lab, another excuse concocted on the spot to deter you from the possible reason.

"Isn't he a little too keen on experiments like these?" Perceptor mutters. "I didn't realize he's fond of...whatever new shenanigans they've made. If anything, I surmise an ulterior motive."

"Oh, let him be." Brainstorm waves him off dismissively. " There's no harm in finding new hobbies. He's an ex-warlord let 'im live. Besides, I heard he wanted to be a medic once, can you believe that?"

"Until the day I die, no."

"Oh, Percy, you bore."

"Please, don't even go there "

Megatron blinks as you set down a pink vial on the desk, your own hands gripped his own with a vice, tugging him along to your experiments. Your scruffed up lab coat is half-burnt at the sleeves and the bubbling beaker by your side is driving him up the wall. Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation, whatsoever?

"So, I was working on the prospect of dying acids, right? Not, die die, as in, well, dying. Die as in coloring. Trying so that when they explode it explodes a certain type of color. Neon, too! And here, take a look at this—"

You're ranting. Mouth moving, not stopping. He can't seem to focus. You're so much smaller. Just below his torso, fun-sized, easy to hold and when he's touching your soft parts —you guide his hand to pry open whatever contraption-lock you're making, he finds himself flinching.

You're so...soft.

"I'm what?" You say, yelling over Brainstorm's loud generator resounding across the room.

You're squinting, straining to hear. He wants to peel the goggles away. He wants to see your eyes.Wants to the see the way the luminescent lights freckles off the white like sparkles. He clears his throat, jabbing a finger to whatever contraption he can set your mind on, not at how his faceplate is burning much as the generator is.

"That doesn't look safe."

"That's because it's a bomb." Perceptor emerges behind you both, a scowl on his face, and paid no mind to his startled expression as he makes a beeline towards the other scientist, struggling to hold the generator together. There's a distance muffled yelling and shuffling. You both stare at them, unmoving.

"You build bombs."

"Unethical, I know."

He whirls to look at you; you're focused elsewhere. "That's not what I meant."

"Okay, okay. I might've lied a bit on that Journalism thing. But hey, I've got to make meet ends right? Hm? Megs?” You look around. “Where’d he go?”

[vi]

"What's this?" He's snapped out of his tirade, swivelling his gaze from the dome-ish greenhouse he's been ogling at to you crouched near the pot, gloved hands shoved inside the soil.

He remarks bitterly. "I pour my heart out and you're pulling out weeds?"

"Yup. Wanna help?"

They're in your personal laboratory for today. Given the amount of flora and fauna strewn about the room, Ratchet remarked it was like a greenhouse of some sort. Megatron vents, lumbering from the chair and towards your form. He snagged the recording pen from the table, clicked it and dropped it into the satchel

So much for a moment of heart to heart.

"What's this?" His digits curls out, prodding the petal of the bud, clutched between your palms.

Even when he's crouching, he's still towering over you like a building.

You smile up to him, child-like. "A new kind of flower I made."

"Really, now."

"Oh, come on hear me out."

"If it's complete and utter jargon to mess with my circuits — don't even try."

"Fine, fine, fine. I'll keep it simple."

With a snap of your finger the room became dim and from a pot, you plucked out a flower. It wasn't, however, a normal visage of one. Megatron slowly extends his palm, cradling the plant like it was crystal. The petals are glass like; it sparkled blue, frolicking purple. Against his chassis it glew, a faded tinge of color on the gunmetal grey. His face eased into a smile.

"This is....fascinating. How did you make this? Don't answer that. You'll only give me a headache." He tries to clamp a servo over your lips but you duck away. "Even so, I have no words to conjure... how much I feel about this. What implored you to create such a remarkable plant?"

" Your poem."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"The one where you compared sparks to flowers. In a way, I do see that too." You gestured around. "My own world is like a garden. And i like to keep my garden clean. Weed out the bad stuff, put in the good stuff. But sometimes, new flowers grow amongst the old, and when they do..."

You look up to him with a small smile. "They bloom into something beautiful."

It took him a moment to understand.And when he does, his spark thrummed for a desperate plea for touch. Without thinking, his digits find your chin and reels you close.

He thinks about this often. Your kindness wasn't because you were simply kind. It's because you believed everyone had a chance.

He doesn't deserve one.

It's like everything clicked together. The sullen memories strung itself into shape, now etching across his processors. Limb, lifeless bodies across barren land. Blood smeared the soil dark crimson. What is he doing? This is shameful. Shameful of him. The very species he sought to kill, to snuff out, to eradicate. The wide, spanning field of flowers. Blue, hauntingly beautiful. Those were the lives lost.

You could’ve bloomed amongst them

He shoved you away, not to harshly but in a manner of surprise, jolting much as he did when he first met you. His shoulders grazed the pot on the table as he stood and it toppled to the ground. The shards crackled, breaking on impact. Soil a barrier, sprawled between you both.

His own anger flared, fists clenching.

“Woah, there. Something wrong? Did you get pricked?”

Megatron says nothing as you clean up the mess. Hands plucking the shards off the ground, rambling again. "Man, your shoulders are really wide. Not as big as Mangus's but still, they're like a whole wall of—"

"You should hate me."

You freeze, the shards paused halfway down into the duster, tipping a little over the edge.

Megatron kept his gaze to the floor. He needed to tell you this. He needed to remind you now. He's not what you think he is, and just because he's had his moment of respite with you, he's still, and will always be the Megatron who sought domination through means of violence, ethical or not.

"I know."

Your face smoothens out a moment before it eases back into a smile. The gentle kind.

"I killed your people. Eradicated thousands of them. Torn through vibrant planets, decimated floras, faunas, and life that teemed in those regions. I hurt nature. I hurt it's mother."

"I know."

"Then, why are you so subverscient to your own compassion? Why not take your anger out on me?" He takes a domineering step forward. "I don't understand. A person can't be this forgiving."

"Because it's wrong." You say simply. "Because it won't do anything. Look, just because you think I'm nice to you doesn't mean Im not aware of what you did.Even if I get to break several joints off your sockets, would that get me anywhere? If anything, it'll make me more miserable."

”You’re naive.’’

The flower no longer crackled. No longer bright. Like the broken pot, it lay shattered on the ground, glinting.

"If that’s how you see it..." You trail off, eyes creasing into a frown. "Is this about the poem? I didn't mean to overstep—"

He whirled away without a word. "I need to go."

[vii]

He can't get you out of his mind.

Day by day passes. From night to morning to dawn, he finds himself plagued with thought hes not able to comprehend.

Everytime he wakes up, there's this urge. He finds himself wanting to see you. He steeled himself, however, walking past you when you approach. Answering in clip tones when you ask. Magnus notices he's in his office a lot more recently, pouring through the mountains of datapad like he's on a grip.

"You should rest, Megatron." He tells the captain once.

What returned however is a grunt. Neither affirming nor denying. The enforcer frowns. He'll have to ask you about it. And yet a quick look to the scientist deters his thoughts. You're less bright and while you still have the amiable streak it appears as though you're forcing a grin through it all. Something must've happened. A fight, more preferably. That led to him confronting Rung about it, and the psychiatrist confronting Megatron — in a less subtle way, of course.

The warlord tells him it's just a brain worm, something eating at him for a while.

Something passing,

"I do think that is something quite more." He mutters, stylus crossing another scribbles on the datapad. "Given your nature with the former it's only normal to feel shame to such sentiments. Inter-species relationships dwell on that complication a lot. I get questions regarding guilt, betrayal of their own race and the unethicalities of it all. The only significant point here, however, is how you're willing to approach this problem.”

Rung, straightens his goggles. “How would you like to look at it?"

Megatron ponders. He thinks. Gears churning, scheming. Silent. He wants it to be something more yet he wants it to be nothing beyond what they are. How can he, a warlord whose actions eradicated almost half the cosmos, bring himself to feel even a minuscule hint of happiness? No, he can’t. He doesn’t deserve any of this. It's not like you feel the same.

"Nothing. It's just a fleeting feeling. It'll pass.

"Surely it can't be that easy to put aside."

Megatron frowns. "What, you don't think I can do it?"

Rung pulls a terse smile, folding his fingers over his lap.

"t’s not a matter of whether or not you can do it…" he trails off, unsure. It appeared as though he wanted to say more with how his lips part for a second. "But if that's how you would like to proceed, I am not forcing you. After all, your feelings wouldn’t fare better if I do. The choice is yours."

."I think it's best I keep my distance.

Rung seems a little distraught at that. "Perhaps it's better that you don't. Your feelings, they’re not something you can toy around with such ease. And while they're indeed very complicate, avoiding them is—"

"Don’t pretend to understand how I feel.” Rung flinches at the sudden venom in his tone. “I know how to deal with this. I just need time. Time…time is all I need.

It'll pass. He tells himself.

It never does.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #megatron x reader #idw megatron #transformers idw #ikkosuwrites #mtmte megatron #lost light

118 notes · View notes