#i just thought it was interesting to look into how each lord uses the word sacrifice specifically | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writeroutoftime · 3 months

Text

pawns in your game

pairing: cassian x fem!reader

summary: when you get injured working a job with rhys, your mate - worried for your safety - loses it and finally lets go of his pent up anger

warnings: angst, injury towards reader, cass getting angry at rhys and also rhys kinda being a dick (look I have a lot of thoughts of conversations that never happened in acosf lol - I just hope this isn't horribly ooc)

words: 1.3k

a/n: first cassian fic! honestly, I know I said I'm in love with rhys, but it's the same for cass and az - so this one is for my fellow cassian people! wasn't sure how to wrap this up, so I left it open for a part 2. let me know if anyone is interested and/or has any ideas? but either way, please enjoy!! (also, if you could let me know what you think because I'm so nervous about posting this!)

tagging @captainsophiestark as requested! (hope you're having a lovely day!)

oOoOo

"Cassian, I need you to visit Windhaven and deal with Devlon. I'm getting reports of unrest, and I want this handled before it becomes a problem." Rhys commanded, not looking up from the papers on his desk.

Standing at attention, Cass nodded his head once, sharply. "Of course. I will go and pack, so that y/n and I may leave before the sun sets." He moved to exit the room, holding his hand out for you, but was quickly stopped before either of you got too far.

"Actually, y/n, I need you to accompany me." Rhys interrupted, directing his attention to you.

Your jaw dropped, caught off guard, and you hurried to school your features. It was not that you had to be paired with Cassian for all missions, but it had been that way for at least a century now since your mating ceremony. It served as peace of mind to you and Cass, and usually meant your missions were more successful compared to when you were separated. Surely, Rhys understood that.

"We will be leaving for the Spring Court in the morning, and I need my most trusted courtier with me."

Shock ran through your body, but you nodded your head regardless. It must be a serious matter, for you had not visited the Spring Court in many months. However, you instantly felt a sharp tug of your mating bond followed by waves of anger that poured off of Cassian.

"Spring Court?" he ground out, fists clenched at his side. "Why must you travel to the Spring Court? I thought we put that behind us?"

"Because I have official business to conduct with Tamlin that supersedes our personal desires. And I need the Night Court's courtier present for." Rhys snapped back.

You sent a soothing message down the bond, trying to calm Cass' anger you felt growing with each second that passed. "Cass, it's alright. Both of us will be fine."

"No. Rhys, you know what happened the last time any of us stepped foot there. You really want to risk it? Can't you send anyone else to go? Lucien, Mor, Feyre?"

Now it was Rhys' turn to growl. "Watch it, Cassian. I've told y/n she will accompany to Spring and that's enough."

"But can't you just-"

"I said that's enough!" Rhys shouted, his eyes darkened dangerously as the thread of his patience snapped. "I am your High Lord, and you will not push back against what I command."

A tension so thick that it threatened to choke you immediately filled the room. You kept your eyes locked on the ground, but you didn't have to look to know Cass wore a mask of despair on his face. It had been decades since Rhys had lost his temper like that.

Cassian merely bowed his head in mock respect before dragging you from the room. He did not speak for the next hour, only doing so to whisper his love and goodbye to you, before flying to Windhaven, not saying another word to Rhys.

oOoOo

The next day found yourself in the ruins of the Spring Court. What once was a beautiful court that thrived for all its citizens now lay dilapidated and lonely, a reflection of the court's high lord's own feelings. It had rattled your nerves to set foot on Tamlin's territory considering the rocky history between the Spring and Night courts, but you would not leave Rhys' side.

Now, you were utterly exhausted from mediating with two, stubborn males all day; only for no new development to transpire, meaning you simply wasted a day away from your own court and your mate. Your only relief came from the swift exit Rhys insisted on, making sure you would arrive home before the sun set.

Yet, the tension from the previous day lingered as you and Rhys traveled to the border to be able to winnow out. But as you both walked in silence, you couldn't help but feel uneasy. Like someone, or something was watching you. Before you could communicate any of this to Rhys, you caught a solider out of the corner of your eye with an arrow notched and aimed at your high lord.

"Look out!" you shouted. With such little warning, you knew Rhys wouldn't be able to deflect the arrow on his own. And with a rush of adrenaline, you pushed your body to reach Rhys.

Mere seconds before the arrow could lodge itself in its initial target, your body collided with Rhys', knocking him out of the way and safely to the ground. Instead, the arrow lodged itself deep in your shoulder, burning like a thousand fires. You let out a guttural scream, immediately dropping to the ground.

Being part of the Inner Circle - the Court of Dreams - meant you were no stranger to pain, but this was unlike anything you ever thought existed. Very briefly, you recognized that Rhys had neutralized the threat and now hovered over your body.

His face was contorted in pain and tears clouded his eyes. He moved to pull the arrow from your body, but halted the moment he touched it. Your scream reverberated in the stone courtyard.

"y/n, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he cried, never seeing you like this. Quickly, Rhys gathered you in his arms and winnowed back to Velaris and directly into the med wing. He prayed Madja could mend the wounds, and he blanched at the thought of Cassian discovering the events that had played out.

oOoOo

Meanwhile, in the Windhaven camp, Cassian was meeting with a handful of males, attempting to negotiate peace. His focus wavered, however, as a blinding wave of agony struck his heart through his bond. He froze on the spot, his heart stopped pumping blood. While on a mission, the two of you had agreed to keep the bond closed - for safety reasons. The fact that he could feel this immense pain, meant something very wrong had occurred.

"I-I have to go." Cassian mumbled, not bothering to offer any more explanation to the Illyrians - consequences be damned.

Immediately, he took to the skies and started the flight back to Velaris. The already long flight felt like it took an eternity. The wind strung at Cassian's cheeks as he soared, but the pain didn't register like the way the bond sung in pain.

Finally, Cass could see River House in his site, and when he finally entered the house, he was met with the site of his family huddled together in the sitting room. All eyes turned his way, a mixture of pity and concern as they looked at him.

"What happened? Where is y/n?" he demanded, fully stepping into his role as Lord of Bloodshed, eyes darkened and wings drawn out menacingly.

Before anyone could answer, another scream could be heard from the halls. Cassian's knees buckled, and he would have fallen to the floor if Azriel hadn't been standing by. Rhys blocked his path, unable to meet his brother's eye.

"She was attacked, brother. We were ambushed while visiting the Spring Court." Rhys whispered.

"And they attacked her?" Cass questioned, though he knew deep down that wasn't the case. When Rhys, or anyone else for that matter, refused to speak, Cassian growled. "What happened?"

Unable to speak, Rhysand gently scraped against Cassian's mental shields and projected to him the whole truth of what had happened at the Spring Court; the ambush, you pushing yourself into harm's way for the sake of Rhys, and the pain you felt from the moment the arrow struck your body.

As Rhys withdrew himself from his brother's mind, Cass drew, deep rugged breaths. The silence in the room was so thick it felt suffocating, but no one dared to move or speak first. However, instead of speaking, Cass pushed past everyone and demanded his way into your room to be by your side.

One look at your crumpled form, sent Cassian to his knees by your bedside. He reached out, hesitantly, to grasp your hand in his and allowed the tears to fall. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart." he mumbled.

Madja made herself known from the corner, approaching Cass the way one would a frightened animal. "The arrow she was shot with was laced with a terrible poison - much worse than faebane. I've done my best, but some of the poison already made it to her system."

"When will she wake up?" Cass asked, not allowing the possibility of you never waking to cross his lips.

The healer sighed deeply, looking over the famed general, now brought to his knees at the sight of his mate fighting for her life. "Only the Cauldron and Mother know. It will be up to y/n to bring herself back from the brink." Madja spoke slowly.

With a final, soothing touch to Cass's shoulder, Madja made her exit. Now off to deliver the same news to the rest of your waiting family.

"Please don't leave me. Y-you can't leave me." Cass whispered, clutching your hand. "I'm here with you every step of the way." he vowed.

oOoOo

And that was how it continued for the next four days as your body continued to try and heal itself from the inside out. Cass refused to move from the chair he had dragged to sit by your bed. Unwilling to leave your side for even a moment.

The rest of his family took turns sitting with you and Cass, bringing him meals, forcing him to at least take a bite. He knew that everyone else was suffering as well from your situation, but it felt like his heart was being torn apart, bit by bit, with each hour that passed and you still remained asleep.

He wasn't stupid. He knew the longer you went without improvement, the less likely it became you would heal. Cass heard the hushed conversations Mor and Azriel held outside your door, discussing what to do should the worst happen, Cauldron forbid.

It was on that fourth day that Cassian reached a tipping point. He heard the door creak open behind him, imagining it was Amren who would be sitting with him, based on the previous days' schedule.

What Cass had not anticipated was to see his High Lord approach the bed and pull a chair up on the opposite side of your bed. It was obvious to see the prominent dark circles that overtook Rhys's normally bright face, and the way his body and seemingly sunk into itself. But Cass could not bring himself to care for his brother's guilt or be the first to utter a word.

With a wave of his hand, Rhys summoned a tray of food for Cassian, and only sighed when he rejected the peace offering. Finally, Rhys found a sliver of courage and was the first to break the silence.

"Madja has yet to make headway on identifying the poison y/n was hit with, but she is not giving up. None of us are." he offered, unsure of how to breach the subject.

Rhysand could only imagine what Cassian was experiencing. The pain of losing Feyre had been so immense, but in a twisted sense, at least it had been quick. A blink of an eye and she was gone. Rhys didn't think he would have been strong enough to sit vigil, feeling her fade through the bond with each passing minute.

"Stop looking at me like she's already gone." Cass growled, eyes darkening towards Rhys.

"Brother, I only want to help her, and to support you."

"I think you've done quite enough. It's your fault she's even in this position to begin with." he spat, enjoying the way that Rhys flinched at his words.

"Now that's not fair, Cassian." Rhys tried to counter. "I never asked her to that for me."

Cass could only scoff at the High Lord's response. "Of course, you didn't have to ask. You're the fucking High Lord, of course she was going to risk her life for you. Isn't that we all do here?"

"All of you, y/n including, knew what you were getting into, what the dangers were, when you swore allegiance to my court. You don't get to throw that back on me. You think this doesn't hurt me just as it hurts you?"

"No, it fucking doesn't!" Cassian screamed, his blood boiling at this point. "Because you use us like your puppets to protect you and your mate-"

"Careful how you continue, Cassian." Rhysand warned, not caring for slander against his mate, even in Cass's state of grief.

"Ever since this "death bargain" you and Feyre struck, it's like the rest of us don't matter. All we do is making sure your asses aren't killed because Cauldron forbid the saviors of Prythian are stolen from us." Cassian blazed on. "Yes, you've lost your mate before, Rhys, but she came back to you, and you to her.

"Who will remake y/n if she can't fight this? You and your High Lady are so far up on your pedestal that you don't know what it's like for the rest of us. Yes, we understood what our duties would entail, but that doesn't mean we have to continue to stand for this." Cassian spat, finally allowing years of pent-up fear and anger to spill over.

With one last, murderous, glare, Cassian turned his back on Rhysand, letting his words ring out for all in the House to hear. His wings stretched out behind him, hiding both you and he from Rhys, the Night Court, and the rest of the world. If it was to only be the two of you against everyone else from that point on, so be it.

part 2

oOoOo

a/n: part 2?

#cassian x reader #cassian imagine #actoar cassian x reader #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #rita writes

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azrielsdove · 5 months

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Hello :) Can I ask for a Cassian x f!reader angst? One where, from the moment they meet, S/n really likes him and tries to get his attention, but all she gets is a Cassian who is stiff and cold with her and fun with the others, and yet she somehow keeps going after him. Then he notices her, but she gives up for a while and now it's up to him to pursue her.

Never Enough: Cassian x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Suggestive, 18+

***

The General never showed any interest in you, despite your numerous attempts to capture his attention. You trained as hard as possible to try to get any word of praise from him, becoming one of the most deadly high fae in the Night Court. You laughed at all his jokes, agreed to all his ideas, and supported any plan he put out.

All so he could mostly ignore you.

If you got lucky enough he may look at you. Not kindly, really. Usually just a sharp glare or a blank stare. You were embarrassed by how badly you wanted him to like you when he so clearly didn’t. You spent many nights drinking with Rhys, complaining about his brother.

“I don’t understand it. I’ve done nothing to him. Nothing! Why does he hate me?” You grumbled, tipping a shot back as your friend laughed.

“As i’ve said a thousand times, he doesn’t hate you. I think he’s just not used to someone being better than him at everything.” Rhys teased, pouring you another one.

“That’s ridiculous! I am not better at him in anything. And besides, if that’s his problem he has some things to work on.” You rolled your eyes, welcoming the burning feeling of the alcohol going down your throat.

“I think he’s intimidated by you. You are funnier, sneakier, and way more beautiful than he is.” You glared at the High Lord, struggling to not roll your eyes again. You plucked the bottle from his hands, abandoning your glass.

“I’m serious, Rhys.” You said, voice a little somber. “Why am I not good enough for him? I wish I could just let it go.” You stared down at the bottle in your hands, swirling the liquid slowly.

“Hey, no,” your friend replied, coming to sit next to you. “He’s a fool if he doesn’t realize what’s in front of him. What if you step back for a little, let him realize what he’s missing without your constant presence.” You nodded, willing to try anything at this point. Even if he isn’t interested, maybe backing away will allow your heart to call for someone else.

***

CASSIAN POV

He didn’t even realize he was waiting for her to show up until Azriel asked where she was. “How am I supposed to know? I’m not her keeper.” Cassian had answered gruffly, annoyed at her tardiness. He started warming up, sparring with his brother to get his blood flowing. They made it through the whole training session, and still she never showed up.

Cassian tried to pretend he didn’t care. It wasn’t his problem that she seems to have given up on training. She must think she’s too good for us now he thought, ignoring the small bit of worry creeping up in him. It was most unlike her to miss a training session.

It was then that she came strolling into the ring. Cassian looked at her, prepared to nag her for skipping out on training. He lost all train of thought as he took in how she looked in the Illyrian fighting leathers she donned. She had never worn them before, opting for simple athletic attire instead. No doubt another way to piss him off. The leather was tight on her thighs and chest, moving with each step she took. Her hair was pulled back into a simple braid that made Cassian wonder how it would feel to have it wrapped around his hand, tugging her head back as he pushed into her from behind.

He shook his head at that last image. No, he cursed himself, She’s untouchable. He watched as Rhys joined her in his matching leathers, the two of them dangerous together. She has decided to train with him now? Cassian pushed down the spurt of jealousy that ran through him, knowing Rhys didn’t know. How could he? Cassian prided himself on not reacting around her, on not exposing how desperately he wanted to bury himself between those thighs. She was not his to have, as he reminded himself constantly.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Cassian asked, gesturing between the two of them. He ignored the way Rhys’ hands were tightening the straps around her chest, fingers brushing the skin Cassian so desperately craved. His brother looked at him curiously, stepping away from her.

“We are training magic today. She asked for my help. Is that going to be a problem, General?” Rhys inquired, standing tall against his brother.

Cassian shook his head, placing his weapons back in their place. “Not at all.” He said curtly, before turning and leaving the ring.

***

The sudden change in her bothered Cassian for the next few days. She no longer laughed at his jokes or tried to get his attention, instead acting rather indifferently to him. He supposed he couldn’t be too upset, as this was how he had been treating her since they met. It was only deserved that she now threw it back at him.

He sipped a whiskey and watched her laugh and talk to Rhys, noticing the way his hand rested on her thigh. He hated the disgusted feeling that bubbled through him. No one should get to touch her like that but him. Cassian’s hand clenched on the glass as he saw her lean ever closer to his brother, whispering into his ear.

He wanted to stop them. He wanted to barge over there, pull her off of Rhys and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. He wanted to show everyone that she was made for him, and only him. Instead he took a deep breath, taking a long drink from his glass.

No one could know. Cassian saw the way his brother had looked at her from the day they all met. He refused to take away any chance Rhys had at love, knowing that no one deserved it more than he did.

Even if it meant he gave him his mate.

***

“Cass,” Rhys called, looking for the General after dinner. Cassian poked his head out of his room, gesturing for his brother to come in. “Are you okay?”

He stilled at the question, unsure how to answer. He wanted to be honest with his brother, but he was too scared to upset him. “Yea, why?” Cassian finally said, clearing his throat.

Rhys leaned against the General’s desk, crossing his arms with a sly smile on his face. “You do like her.”

“What are you talking about?” Cassian shot out far too quickly, knowing he was failing to hide his ever-growing emotions.

Rhys laughed. “Oh brother, I had a sneaking suspicion you did. Why have you been so cold to her then?” His question was earnest, his eyes bright.

Cassian was confused. “I- Well. Don’t you like her?” He asked dumbly, mind struggling to handle this new information.

“Me? No, Cass. She is just my friend. Is that why you haven’t been going after her?” Rhys seemed stunned by this realization, arms uncrossing as he stepped towards Cassian.

He felt stupid. Idiotic. This whole time he had been reading their friendship as something more. “Well, yea Rhys.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve wanted her since the day I saw her. I just assumed she was with you, and I didn’t want to interrupt that.” Saying it out loud, Cassian realized how ridiculous he had been acting.

Rhys placed a hand on his arm, squeezing reassuringly. “It’s not too late,” he said gently, “but it won’t be easy. I’ve spent far too many nights drying up her tears over you.”

The sentence felt like a stab in Cassian’s heart, a deep disappointment in himself. “Oh,” was all he said, too upset with himself to continue this discussion.

“Don’t give up, brother. Let me know if you need any help.” Rhys finished, giving his arm one last squeeze as he departed the room, leaving Cassian to figure out how to fix the mess he had created.

***

READER POV

You were reading on the balcony when you felt a presence behind you. You turned, surprised to see Cassian there. “Hello,” you greeted, turning back to your book. You were still hurt by how he constantly acted around you, tired of putting up with it.

“Hi,” he said, almost shyly. He took the lounger next to you, sitting on it sideways so he faced you. “What are you reading?”

You looked at him sideways, confused by his question. “And you care, why?” You asked back, eyes returning to the book in front of you.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking down at the ground. “I just, uh, am trying to get to know you a little better.”

You sighed, placing the bookmark in your book and looking towards him. “No offense, General, but I really do not care to get to know you right now. So please, either be quiet or leave.” You felt a little guilty as you saw the crestfallen expression on his face, but a year of treating you like shit wouldn’t be forgotten because he suddenly ‘wanted to know you’.

You picked your book back up, pretending you didn’t notice the way his footsteps fell a little too hard as he left.

***

A few days later Cassian tried again, coming up to the training ring while you were with Rhys. You were too focused on controlling your power to notice him watching you. You breathed in, allowing the power radiating from you to wash over the ring. It was then that you sensed him.

You pulled a dagger from your belt, swiftly turning and pinning him against the edge with your blade on his neck. Your power slunk back into you, vision returning to normal as you realized it was Cassian under your hold. You couldn’t hide the small smile at the sight of him, eyes wide and at your mercy. “Spying on me, General?” You asked sweetly, pressing the dagger in slightly harder.

“N-No!” He gasped out, hands raised in surrender. You slowly removed your blade, stepping back from him. “I was wondering if you wanted to weapons train, that’s all.”

You pondered his answer, ignoring Rhys’ attempt to get inside your mind. “Fine,” you said, placing your dagger back into your belt. “I could use a good sweat.” You didn’t miss Cassian’s flush at your words.

You walked over to Rhys, shaking your head at him. “Stay out of my mind, High Lord.” You whispered, not enjoying the laugh that came from him. He grabbed your arm, tugging you close so he could whisper to you.

“Go easy on him. He’s not what you think.” You sent him a glare, mouth open.

“He was the one acting like a jerk until recently! Why am I expected to get over that because he’s been a bit nicer recently.” You shot out, annoyed at your friend.

“That’s not what i’m saying! There’s more to how he acted than just him being rude.” He gave you his charming smile and clapped your arm. “Now go train, lady!”

You rolled your eyes at your friend, sticking your tongue out in a very un-ladylike way as you made your way over to Cassian. He tossed you a sword that you caught deftly, twirling it around in your hand. As much as you loved learning how to control your magic, nothing compared to holding a deadly weapon in your hand. You prepped into a fighting stance, eyeing the male in front of you.

“Give me all you got, General.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised when he did. He swung at you, moving so quick the blade was but a flash in the sky. You dodged it in the nick of time, heart beating rapidly. This was the challenge you needed. You swung back at him, his sword coming up to clash against yours. The two of your carried on, every move becoming harder and deadlier.

You pushed your anger into fighting him, blocking everything he threw your way. You made a vicious swipe, coming close to slicing his arm. He rolled out of the way, countering with his own. The blade nicked the skin on your wrist, frustration coursing through you. You needed to win.

You pulled your blade back, placing the sword into its home on the edge of the ring. You turned, unnerved to see Cassian still kneeling in the sand. He had sunk down onto his legs, his head bowed to the ground. You hated the spark of worry that shot through you. You had never seen him so small.

You walked over to him, sliding down to your knees as well. “Hey, Cass, I didn’t mean it.” You said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. It took everything in you not to jump back in shock when he looked up at you, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry.” He said hoarsely, more tears coming. “I’m so, so sorry.” You instinctively pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms tight around him. You had no idea why he was apologizing to you.

“For what? I was just teasing Cass, theres no hard feelings.” You soothed, running a hand through his hair.

The action only made him cry harder.

“I was so needlessly mean to you for no reason. I pushed you away and made you hate me. I wish I could take it all back.” He sobbed out. The words made you pull away and lean back to look at him.

“I don’t hate you.” You murmured, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. You brushed your fingers over his wet cheeks, wiping away the falling tears. “I could never hate you.”

His eyes searched yours, trying to find the truth in them. “I was horrible to you when you were only ever kind to me. I thought-“ he cut himself off, eyes casting downwards in embarrassment.

“You thought what?” You pried, running your thumbs over his cheeks again.

“I thought you were with Rhysand. I didn’t want to get in the way, so I tried to keep my feelings hidden. The only way I knew how was to push you away.” His words were quiet, ashamed.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Me and Rhys? No, Cass, no! He’s just a friend.” You took a moment to process his words. “Your feelings?”

His eyes shot back up to yours, pupils blown and tears gone. “The second I saw you I knew I had to have you. I stayed away for his sake, only to find out how terribly wrong I was.”

You smiled wide, tears beginning to prick at your own eyes. “You stupid, stupid bat.” You cursed, laughter behind your words. “You couldn’t tell I was hopelessly in love with you?”

Cassian’s eyes flashed and he pulled you onto his lap, his lips catching yours. You sighed into the kiss, letting the hands on his cheeks fall back to tangle in his hair. One of his hands held tight to your waist, the other coming to cup the back of your neck. The kiss was hurried, needy. His tongue slid between your lips, exploring your mouth in a downright sinful way.

You kissed him until you thought your lungs were going to explode, pulling away to rest your forehead against his. You were both breathing heavy, the hand on your waist now drawing small circles on your thigh. “I love you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

“I’ve always loved you.” You responded, tilting your head back and closing your eyes as his lips ran over your neck. You gave a small moan when his teeth dragged over a sensitive spot, tugging on his hair as he bit down. “Cass,” you gasped out, pulling his face back up to look at you. You took one look into his eyes and the golden rope in your heart shot out, latching onto him.

It knocked the breath out of you, eyes wide as you looked at him. You assumed the unknown tug towards Cassian was your own foolish lovesick heart, certainly not the mating bond. You blinked at him, not breathing. He brought a hand up to your face, rubbing his thumb on your cheek like you had been doing to him half an hour earlier.

“Breathe, mate. Breathe.”

Air rushed back into your lungs, gone as quickly as it came when you pressed your lips back to his.

***

I hope this was what you wanted!!!! Thank you for waiting patiently while I completed this <3. Please let me know what you think!!

Also for all my Love and Loss readers, here’s some sweet friendship Rhys to heal your hearts 🫶🏻

#acotar x reader #acotar #cassian #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #requests #never enough

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burnthoneydrops · 10 days

Text

Paper Flowers (b.b. x fem!reader)

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: classism, anxious/slightly insecure reader, use of "young lady" and feminine descriptors

a/n: the second part of Language of Flowers is here! Thank you so much for all the love on the first part and I hope you enjoy the second one just as much! I set it up to have more parts in the future so if anyone is interested in that, let me know!!

The eyes of the ton were as insufferable as ever. One would have thought that a lady in simpler attire would attract less attention than those in large adornments or hair pieces, but today appeared the opposite indeed. Sure, when you were personally delivering large floral orders to people’s estates, you had eyes on you, but you could ignore them then. Then, you knew you would not be in their line of vision for long and you could rest assured with the guarantee that no one would remember past that moment. Now, however, now you were out walking in your simple attire with a lord. A lord of one of the most illustrious families no less. You had tried to convince Benedict to take the less occupied back roads, but he insisted that his desired destination would be faster reached should you take the main road. Not wanting to make a scene in public, you were left to be made a spectacle.

The looks you were receiving were not lost on Benedict, but he chose to keep his head up high, nodding and smiling when someone was about to pull an ugly face. Perhaps the ton were weary as to why someone of his status was walking with a working class young lady, but frankly, he was too happy that he had gotten you on this walk in the first place to even consider how wild it might appear on the surface. He nearly reached out to grab your hand when he saw the Cowpers were approaching from the modiste, but realised just in time how much worse the physical affection might be and refrained, choosing to wipe some imaginary dust off of his trousers instead.

“Something else will catch their attention by morning, do not fret,” he whispered with his head tilted in your direction but looking over your head rather than at you in an effort to look less obvious.

You had been so caught up in the whirlwind of emotions that were entrapped in him appearing at the shop and your parents sending you away that you had not had the time to think about presentation at all. You had heard girls lamenting to each other about their lacklustre presentations to the Queen and you could imagine that it felt something similar to this. All eyes on you, no one truly seeing you, yet everyone so quick to make a passing judgement.

“Had I cared about the opinions of others, I would not have asked for your time. But I am here because I care not about them, but about you. Keep your head high, we are almost there,” Benedict whispered once again. While his words were nice, they did little to soothe your anxiety. Nonetheless, you raised your chin up higher, realising you had been staring at the cobblestone more than what was in front of you. You soon found yourself quickly approaching a luscious green field that left you wondering how Benedict had ever found it. It was much closer to the shops than his estate, and with the ton spending most of their months in the country, you questioned how his discovery of this place might have come about. “We have arrived,” Benedict commented with a small smile on his face, waving his arm out to the side in demonstration.

“However did you find this place?” You questioned.

“Being a child in a clan of eight means a lot of time to make daring escapes during family shopping trips,” he smiles, mischievous as you ever saw. The smile gives the impression that he looked back on those memories fondly, as you did with memories of you and your sisters. Maybe you had never had big family shopping trips into town, but the moral of the story lies in the bonds strengthened with those you were with. You started to believe you might have more in common than you previously imagined.

“I figured we could sit and admire the view. Talk for a little, if it suits you,” Benedict looked over at you, gesturing to a place clear of any wandering eyes where you could lean against the sturdy tree trunk and watch the breeze create waves over the pond.

“It suits me very well,” you nodded, a small smile etching its way onto your face as he sat down first, offering his hand as to assist you in doing the same.

“I’d say the way the sun hits suits you very nicely as well,” he complimented, “you’re practically glowing”.

“A fan of flattery are we Mr. Bridgerton?” you asked, teasingly but trying not to show it.

“Only when I feel it necessary”.

Though you were promised conversation, Benedict did not want to force it, so the two of you sat in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of this hidden paradise. The silence was not uncomfortable, mind you, but rather a space in which the two of you could gather all of your thoughts. The grass waved to and fro in the light breeze, catching glimmers of sunlight in every direction. It looked as though someone had sprinkled fairy dust and every sparkle was destined to catch your eye. The tree you were leaning on had a small hole in the trunk, and you quickly caught two squirrels dashing in and out of it, dancing on the tree branches above you.

“This place is-” “I wanted to ask-” you realised you had started speaking at the same time. You nodded at Benedict, silently urging him to continue first.

“I wanted to ask why you were so adamant about disliking me upon our first visit”.

You paused. You knew this question was going to appear sooner or later and yet you did not have a precise answer. Not one that felt worthy enough of your anger anyway. It was not unlike you to get an idea stuck in your head and run with it, so unchanging that you had to apologise many a time to family members for such unwavering anger. It always felt silly a few days later, as it did now, to have held onto an unsupported emotion for so long, but you liked admitting your faults just as much as you liked giving Benedict the time of day when you first met. Surely your idea was not so drastic this time, as you had met many men of the ton and of the working class who held women in low regard, instantly annoying you, but you also knew that this time you were angered more because of his brother than because of him. You had just happened to meet him first.

You decided it would be easier to just tell Benedict as such, and he sat there quietly during your entire speech. He did not interrupt, did not interject, did not even look away while you were explaining. It made you feel even sillier that he was listening so attentively to a situation you grew more and more embarrassed about. Ending your spiel, you placed your head in your hands, leaning your elbows against your knees as to become as small as possible. Benedict was quick to remedy this, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling your arm away from your face. He looked at you with a goofy smile before reaching for an inner pocket in his jacket.

“So your problem lies not with me, but with my brother?”

“I do not believe I actually have a problem with any of you. Not a reasonable one anyway; I was merely already agitated and the situation you laid before me sounded so similar to ones I had heard before that I clumped you all together. This is not to dismiss the derogatory nature that men in the ton and of the working class have I just-”

“I believe I understand,” Benedict cut you off, but only so you would not have to repeat your feelings in order to feel that you had explained them properly. “Now that we are at least a little on the same page, I did not want you to think that I had left you out of my gifting endeavours entirely,” he pulled something out of his inner pocket and you immediately noticed a delicate pale pink ribbon tying little cards together. “I couldn’t entirely fight the urge to gift flowers, even though you work with them constantly, so I figured some longer lasting ones might be nicer”. He handed you the stack of cards and you gingerly unwrapped the bow from the front in order to get a better look. Now it was Benedict’s turn to become embarrassed, as he feared you may not like or appreciate them. You came from a family of florists, of course it was a low blow to gift you something related to your trade. This was a terrible idea and he should have never-

“These are…beautiful,” you sighed, shifting through the cards with soft eyes. He had painted multiple flowers with their meanings listed under them in the fashion of miniatures. They were incredibly detailed and gorgeous that you could not imagine the amount of effort it took not only for him to create each flower but find their meaning as well. “You are an artist, I take it”.

“I…dabble”.

“Do not be modest Mr. Bridgerton. If this is dabbling I would love to see what your proper art looks like,” you smiled up at him and felt all worry about his gift choices melt away. You liked them and that is all that mattered.

“My mother is quite well versed in the language of flowers, so I figured I would use what talent I have for you”.

“My little sister, Abigail, keeps our flower book on her shelf so it is quite nice that now I can have one of my own. No matter how versed one might be, there is always the fear that one might forget, so these will prove quite useful I think.”

Everything was going perfectly in Benedict’s mind. You liked his gift, you enjoyed the space you were in, you were smiling. You carefully tied the cards back together with the pale ribbon, turning them over and over again in your hand as if you couldn’t believe someone had taken the time to gift you such a thing. In truth you couldn’t; your family were certainly not the wealthiest in England, so gifts were small or hard to come by. They only really happened during holidays and birthdays, but half the time you ended up sharing with your sisters. Not that you were complaining, you loved your sisters dearly and were grateful for anything you received, but being able to have something to call your own was magical.

A quick glance at Benedict’s pocket watch caused the whole scene to come crashing down, however, as he jumped up and informed you that he was late for a family event. You urged him to go, thanking him for the gift and the time, assuming this would be the end of your time together indefinitely. Benedict seemed to have other ideas.

“There is a party. Two nights from now and I would love if you would come with me”.

“Should you not be worried about bringing me?”

“Whatever for?” Your question seemed lost on him.

“Bringing someone of a lower status to a ton party would surely cause scandal, would it not?”

“No, see, this is a party where everyone is invited. All types of people mingling together for an evening, doing whatever the night calls them to do. It is truly wonderful and it would be even more wonderful if you would attend. It would be after shop hours, so you would not have to worry about leaving your family to fend for themselves,” he teased and you laughed, “and I could come pick you up, make sure you arrive safely and all”.

“If you are sure,” to which Benedict nodded enthusiastically, “then I suppose I shall”.

His smile grew wide as he lightly grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it before starting the walk in the opposite direction back towards Mayfair. You were still wary of what had taken place, and the promise you just made, but you supposed if one of you was certain enough about it that it would be fine. Or at least you hoped.

people who asked to be tagged: @easybrainrot34, @imgondeletedis, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton fanfiction

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pedritomosquito · 1 year

Text

All Choked Up (Ch 1)

MINORS DNI

Summary: You're shooting a fight scene with Pedro that involves choking--you know where this is going.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

Word count: ~4.1k

Content: SMUT, Minors DNI Blog, thigh riding, choking, handy, general steaminess

You had been called in for more shooting after working for a month on The Last of Us as various clickers. You were going to be doing another fight scene, but this time as your normal human self. Wardrobe had just finished with you and one of the PA’s was escorting you to set to be approved by Craig and Jeremy. It looked like they were in between takes of a scene with Joel and Ellie. Pedro and Bella were both sitting on set pieces, laughing and sipping at water.

Craig and Jeremy are crowded around a monitor with several other producers watching the latest take. The PA introduces you and suddenly all of them turn around, examining you. Craig greets you.

“Great to see you again! Thank you for joining us.”

You have to hold in a laugh, because ‘thank you for joining us’? As if you wouldn’t have thrown yourself into fucking LA traffic to be here?

“Thank you for having me,” you smile instead.

At the sound of your voice, you see Pedro perk up out of the corner of your eye. You pretend not to notice his gaze.

“This looks great,” Craig approves. “Can I see it without the scarf?”

The PA unties your neck gaiter.

“Yes, perfect,” He nods. “Thank you Jennifer,” He dismisses the PA and sends you on your way, “See you on set!”

Interesting costuming detail for Craig to be so particular about, but whatever. The PA starts to usher you back towards the wardrobe department.

You hear Bella call your name and you turn, giving them a happy wave. Pedro gives you a wave too.

“Tomorrow–You, me?”” You playfully point between him and yourself, “we’re squarin’ up!”

“No way!” Pedro replies, looking dare you say excited to hear the news that you’d be working together.

“See you at rehearsal!” You call as you slip out the door.

—--

The next day you have stunt choreography for the fight scene in the evening. You dress in a cute matching Lululemon knock off set and report to the rehearsal studio on the lot. The three stunt coordinators are there to greet you and you stretch out until Pedro arrives.

He’s in a tight workout t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Not the gray sweatpants dear LORD.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” one of the coordinators teases, “And ten minutes late, no less!”

“Fuck off, Phillip,” Pedro laughs as he approached, “I’m old and I’m tired.”

“That’s your excuse every day,” You prod.

“Well it’s true every day,” Pedro complains.

“Ready to beat the shit out of each other?” You smirk.

His laugh makes your stomach flip flop.

“Absolutely.”

The stunt coordinators demonstrate the choreography first and you have to make sure your jaw doesn’t hit the floor.

Your character stands yielding a prop knife and his character rushes at you, grabbing your arms. You struggle like that for a beat before the knife gets knocked out of your hands. He keeps his grip on one of your arms as he punches you across the face, then shoves you back up against the wall. Both of his hands come up to your neck and you fight against him until you pass out and he drops you on the floor.

You have always been on your best behavior around Pedro. The poor guy has women thirsting after him at every turn and you don’t want to add to his suffering. You have your own private thoughts about him–many of them not PG rated. But you are there to do a job, to be a professional. You never really allow yourself to entertain any of those thoughts beyond simple fantasy.

But he is about to choke you against a wall.

That alone has you entertaining several new thoughts.

“Alright, how do you guys feel about that?” Phillip asks.

Pedro just nods with a small “great.” He does this stuff pretty much every day so you’re sure none of it phases him.

Phillip looks to you and you must be a bit too wide eyed.

“You look a little uncomfortable,” Phillip notes kindly, inviting you to speak.

Pedro’s concerned expression knocks the wind out of you.

“No, no,” You assure them, “It just looks amazing and I’m hoping I wasn’t padding my resume when I said I had stage combat experience.” You give a little giggle to sell it and god bless being an actor because they all buy it.

“No worries, you definitely got this,” Phillip assures you.

Phillip had not been lying–you pick up the sequence just fine. When it comes time to run the fight with Pedro, you are feeling confident about the choreography but not much else. You mark through it, slowly going through each motion to practice.

You’re pretty sure you black out when he slides his hands under your chin. He is slow and careful and he barely even makes contact with your throat but just the idea, the notion that he could so easily, makes your insides scream.

He eyes you closely making sure you are okay. You feel safe. Somehow that makes it even worse.

You go through some notes and run it one more time slowly before kicking it up to full speed.

The intensity of doing it in real time causes an adrenaline storm. Pedro’s hands are all over you, all power and tight gripped. You desperately hold it together so you won't forget what you’re doing.

The way your back hits the padded wall forces the air from your lungs. Before you can even get a breath in, Pedro’s inches away from your face, hands around your neck. Heat spreads across your cheeks all the way down to your chest. You are sure the shock is written all over your face and you swear Pedro’s eyebrows furrow just a fraction. You take the moment of embarrassment as a good cue to drop to the floor out of his grip.

“That looked great!” Phillip approves, “How did that feel?”

You nearly choke on your spit at the question.

“Good,” you manage to squeak.

You catch Pedro side eyeing you and force yourself to look anywhere else. You bend over and fiddle with your shoelace out of sheer desperation to hide your face.

“Yeah,” Pedro echoes, “Good.”

You can hear the smile in his voice and want to leap out the window.

“Alright, let’s go full out this time,” Phillip says, “Add the acting, the drama, I want it all. Let’s take it from the line before so we can get the timing down.”

You and Pedro square up, getting into position.

“I’m not going down easy,” You play with a quirked eyebrow.

“Bring it,” He challenges.

You both slip into character and you raise your knife.

—-

“Great work, guys!” Phillip chimes, “See you on set tomorrow.”

“You drive here?” Pedro’s voice appears next to you.

“Yep,” You reply, adjusting your bag on your shoulder and pushing open the door. The cool night air glides a chill down your arms.

“Let me walk you to your car,” He offers, “ I just need to grab my stuff.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, that’d be—that’d be great,” You stumble over the words with a smile.

It’s a short walk to his trailer

“What’s been your favorite project you’ve worked on?” He asks.

“I always thought it couldn’t get any better than Mandalorian but honestly I think this show might be my new favorite.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, everything on this show feels so… real. Mando was all soundstages and green screens. Last of Us really feels like we’ve been dropped into an apocalypse,” You explain before cautiously adding, “And I’ve gotten to work with you a lot more.”

“You like working with me, huh?” Pedro asks as he playfully bumps his shoulder into yours, the shadow of a teasing tone in his voice.

You can’t find words for a moment, pausing with your mouth parted. You might as well put all your cards on the table. “Yes,” you finally reply with a small laugh, “I do.”

You can safely toe the boundary of friendship here. You figure he wouldn’t read into it if he wasn’t interested.

Wait. Are you interested? Oh fuck. Of course you’re interested.

Pedro pauses for a fraction of a moment as you arrive at the trailer, looking at you. Before you can say anything, he pulls open the door and holds it for you. You climb inside and he brushes past you as he enters.

“When you showed up here on set,” He says, “I was really happy to see you again.” He sits down on the cream colored loveseat.

So he isn’t just ‘grabbing his stuff’ after all, you guess.

You join him, trying to remember how to sit like a normal human being.

“I thought you were lying when you said you remembered me,” you reply honestly.

“God no,” Pedro chuckles. His gaze on you intensifies, flitting down your body for a moment, his voice dropping a bit lower. “Couldn’t forget you if I tried, sweetheart.”

You suck in a quiet breath. Your mind begins to swim in the suddenly thickening air. How has he managed to make himself so clear in just a single uttered sentence?

He seems to search your face. You realize he’s looking for reciprocation . This isn’t the time to toe the limit at all–it’s the time to cross the line entirely.

The line between colleagues is drawn for good reason, you try to remind yourself. But all logic dissolves in the simmering heat of how he watches you from the other end of the couch.

Fuck the line. What line? Never heard of one.

You switch on a new part of yourself, cocking your head.

“You aren’t too forgettable yourself,” You reply with a soft smirk, making sure to regard every inch of him.

That is all it takes from him to start closing the gap between you, stopping just inches away. He reaches out and slides your bag off your shoulder in slow motion. You stay frozen as it thuds to the floor. The way his eyes never leave you makes your breathing pick up.

“You can leave right now, I won’t hold it against you,” He says quietly, “We can go back to before and I will never try this again.”

You can’t imagine a worse fate. You shake your head desperately.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, eyes glued to yours.

“I want you ,” You whisper.

His lips easily find yours as you feel a hand lace into your hair and another around your waist. The softness of his lips makes you forget to set yourself into motion, too busy melting into it. You finally remember to reach for him, placing a hand on his chest and the other on the side of his neck. You splay your fingers over his bare skin, brushing a thumb against the stubble on his jaw.

His fingers graze over your scalp as he gently grips a handful of your hair. It makes your jaw fall open and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth. You grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him closer.

His hand travels up the center of your chest, curving over your collarbone and back down your side.

He is either being a tease or far too respectful.

You take his wrist and guide him to the bottom hem of your tank top, sliding his hand underneath until his fingers come to the elastic of your sports bra. You pull the spandex up out of the way.

His fingertips skate lightly over the bare skin before he cups you, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

You whine against his mouth, arching into his touch. Your head tips back and he kisses down your neck before returning to your mouth. His lips become more insistent, the pressure of his hands roaming your body more firm. You shift to pull your leg up under you on the couch, needing to get closer to him. He untangles his hand from your hair and does you one better, reaching down, grabbing your ass and pulling you into his lap until he has you hovering over him, his knee between yours.

You pull off your tank top and your sports bra.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Pedro murmurs breathlessly as he attaches his mouth to your nipple.

“Fuck,” The word punches out of you and your hands fly into his hair. His mouth is all heat, tongue working in circles and flicks. You imagine his face between your legs doing the same and you shudder at the mere thought.

He grabs your hips and speaks against the skin of your chest.

“Sit.”

He pulls you down firmly onto his thigh.

“Good girl.”

A gasp helplessly escapes your lips and he has you all figured out. He fails to suppress a smirk and you have half the mind to admonish him, but any attempt is interrupted by his mouth returning to your tit.

He guides your hips to grind against him. The feeling of your wet leggings sliding over his sweatpants drags against your clit just right. You whimper against his temple. He tugs your hips forward again as he flexes his thigh into you and your whimper becomes open mouthed, a moan buried in his hair.

Your hips start to roll on their own accord, chasing down the friction.

“That’s it,” He says softly, licking up your chest, “Make yourself feel good, pretty girl.”

You let out a stilted sigh, dropping your head and sucking the skin beneath his jaw. You reach your hand down and press over the crotch of his sweats. You inhale sharply when you feel him already hard underneath your palm.

“You know how hard it was to control myself, hm?” He questions, voice strained as he pushes himself up against your hand, “Keeping everyone from seeing how much I loved having you pinned up against that wall?”

“ God , that was good acting,” you moan.

“Yours needs some work,” he taunts, “‘Could see it all over your face, querida. Bet you were wet for me, weren’t you?”

“Whole time,” you nod desperately.

He drags his fingers up your chest and wraps his hand around your throat.

“Oh fuck,” tumbles from your mouth.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart? My hand wrapped around your throat like this?”

“Yes,” you whimper. “Fuck, keep talking,” you beg, moving faster in his lap.

“You like the sound of my voice, huh?” He prods, “Like it when I tell you how good you are while you fuck yourself on my thigh?”

You only nod with a whine, reaching under his waistband and taking his cock in your hand. You nearly whine again when you feel how thick he is.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hand tightening just a bit around your throat.

The squeak he receives from you in response is equal parts innocent and filthy.

He uses his free hand to shove his pants and boxers down his hips, exposing his cock in your fist.

You pump him slowly, watching the precum leak from his slit. You release him, pausing your own movement to dip your hand into your panties. You slide two fingers into yourself, gathering your wetness, and return to his length.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, his words trapped in the back of his throat as you wrap your slick hand around him. His hand tightens on your neck and he thrusts up into your hand, jolting you back into your own rhythm.

Your free hand is slipped under the neckline of his shirt, placed on his chest to steady yourself. The skin there is firm and radiating heat. You can feel his heart beating as fast as yours against your palm.

“You gonna cum like this?” He asks, “Such a needy girl, making a mess on my thigh?”

“Yes, fuck, yes, god yes,” you babble. You’d say yes to practically anything he could ask of you right now, anything to stay in this moment.

Every word he speaks, every shift in his touch drives your fist around him faster.

“ Fuck you feel so good,” He says through gritted teeth, hand now trailing down your throat, curling his fingers to skim his nails over your delicate skin, “Doing so good for me.”

“Please, please, Pedro–” you blindly plead.

He squeezes his hand, tightening the grip on your neck. It’s hardly enough to affect your breathing, but it fuels the tension growing in your hips all the same. Your motions begin to stutter.

“That’s it, querida,” He hums, “That’s it.”

“I’m gonna–” your stutter, “I’m gonna cum.”

He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and every bit of air deserts your lungs.

“I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

Pure heat sparks and sets you ablaze, flames rolling down your body as you cum, cries forced from you.

“ Good girl , there it is. That’s a good girl,” He grinds out the words, pushing himself harder up into your fist. “Fuck, that’s it, fuck ,” A strangled noise catches in his throat, stripes of white painting your hand and his shirt as you ride out your high.

You lean forward to collapse against him, pressing your head to his shoulder, and you both try to catch your breath. He wraps his arms around you, fingers absently tracing over you back.

“Thank you,” you sigh.

“ Thank you ?” He nearly giggles, “Jesus Christ, all I did was sit here!”

“Then you’re welcome,” you breathe, “Like, very, incredibly, definitely welcome literally any time.”

His laughter bounces against your chest.

“Don’t go making offers that are too good to be true, now,” he warns, and you can feel his grin against the side of your neck, “I can’t take the heartbreak.”

So you’re not the only one who wants this to be more than a one time thing. Fuck yeah.

“Any. Time.” You repeat, whispering in his ear.

——-

Coco is setting up her station next to Stephanie and Jess for the afternoon. The hair and make up department is an integral part of The Last of Us because of the extensive clicker-fication process. Coco always jokes with Pedro that she has the easiest job out of everyone–make a man, who is already gorgeous, gorgeous. Not much to do there, just upkeep on Pedro’s gray hair and ensuring he’s grimy enough for an apocalypse.

You walk into the room bundled in a scarf and find Jess’s chair, greeting her. You had never met before and you were a little nervous. Coco, on the other hand, you’d talked to a few times.

“Okay, so, I might have screwed up a little ,” You admit to Jess, immediately piquing the curiosity of the women around you. You were about to make Jess’s job a bit harder.

“Oh?” Jess says.

“So, um, I get uh–strangled, in the scene we’re shooting today so there’s going to be a lot of focus on… my neck…” You preface hesitantly.

Coco whirls around.

“You didn’t,” She gasps, scandalized.

You grimace apologetically as you unwrap your scarf.

“I did.”

There’s no way they could possibly know that Pedro put the hickey blooming dark purple on your throat unless they’re mind readers, but still. You’re paranoid that somehow everyone will know what you did last night with Pedro.

Could see it all over your face, querida.

“You have girl bossed too close to the sun,” Coco shakes her head while Jess and Stephanie giggle.

You cover your face with your hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jess laughs, “You’re hardly the first actor to need some hickey cover up. Happens all the time–we’ll get you fixed up.”

Jess does an excellent job as promised and your neck looks pristine.

You thank her endlessly and slip out the door to go to wardrobe.

Just a moment later, Pedro speeds into hair and make-up, greeting Coco and plopping down in her chair.

“I need a bruise covered up,” he says simply.

“How’d you hurt yourself this time, old man?” Coco asks.

“Uh, it’s not exactly that kind of bruise,” he replies sheepishly. He pulls down the turtle neck he’s wearing, revealing the hickeys he’s sporting up his neck.

Coco, Stephanie and Jess all exchange a look. Stephanie is desperately trying to suppress a smirk and Jess has to turn away to contain herself.

You and Pedro are none the wiser that you’re totally busted.

“ Pedro ,” Coco scolds him playfully.

“I know, I know,” he sighs.

“Pass me that concealer, Jess?” Coco asks, “We’d better get started. This might take a while since someone decided to sell his body last night.”

“Oh shut up,” Pedro waved her off with a bashful chuckle, “Vete a la chingada.”

“Pedge, I’m immune to your spanish insults. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Allow me to translate: fuck. off.”

“Never.”

—————-

You're sitting on the sidelines of the set, absently going over your script and blocking.

“Hello you,” a low voice rings next to you.

A smile climbs onto your lips and you keep your attention on the pages.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you chime.

“Come here often?”

You giggle, finally looking up at him, but your breath is stolen. God , he looked so good as Joel.

“Querida, your face,” he chuckles, “we talked about this.”

You pause for a moment and realize what he’s implying. You must be blushing. Or drooling.

“I have no idea how I have an acting career,” you murmur.

He’s laughing and you can’t help but be reminded of a ray of light. He’s like a bright beam, reflected and refracted into a spectrum of color, streaking boldly across a sunlit room. Maybe you didn’t understand how someone could be ‘beaming’ until now.

He looks like he almost starts to reach out to touch you, maybe tuck a stray hair behind your ear or place a hand on your waist, but he aborts the movement.

Phillip approaches you and you break from your trance.

“Hey guys!” He greets, “how about a quick dry run fight before shooting?”

“Sounds good,” Pedro nods as you agree.

Someone from the props department appears with your fake knife and you thank them.

You do a slow motion run through, making sure the spacing and blocking is perfected for the set pieces around you.

The full speed run is just as intense as the first time you had tried it the night before. You’re panting on the floor by the end, and Pedro extends a hand to help you to your feet. You look up at him from underneath the fan of your lashes and he stares down at you all the same.

“Alright you definitely have the choreography down!” Phillip sings his praises and declares you both ready for filming.

“We’re going to start shooting in just a minute here,” Craig informs the room.

Jess is there, coming over to touch up your make up one last time and the guy from props reappears, returning the discarded knife back to you.

“You and Pedro have us sharing the good setting powder,” Jess laughs to herself, taking some onto her brush before Coco steals the container with a smile as she passes by.

It hits you all at once.

You left hickeys all over Pedro last night, didn’t you? You look over and see Coco brushing the powder over the side of his throat.

“ Jess, ” Your eyes are blown wide.

She pauses, regarding you with confusion for a moment until the realization appears on her face.

“Oh! Don’t worry, we’ll never tell. Makeup artists take an oath of secrecy,” She explains. “ However ,” She adds, “I am living vicariously through you. Just full transparency.”

“Fair,” you reply a bit distantly, still watching Pedro.

—-

Coco goes over to Pedro and starts on her final touch ups.

“You know,” she says quietly after a moment, “The weirdest thing happened earlier.”

“Yeah?” Pedro asks, suspicious of her playful tone.

“Yeah,” she replies, “A minute before you came in asking us to cover up your hickeys, your scene partner came in needing the same thing.”

“That is… quite a coincidence…” He agreed slowly.

“I’m glad one of us had sexcapades last night,” she assured him, “all I did was watch tv.”

“Please never say ‘sexcapade’ ever again,” Pedro muttered.

“Look, if you’re going for subtlety–tone it down,” She advises, “You look like you’re about to jump each other’s bones, not kill each other.”

“Fuck, it’s that obvious?” He asks.

She just replies with raised eyebrows and a smirk. “But–hey,” she says sincerely, “Good for you, Pedge. You deserve it.”

“Stop–” He swats her away with an embarrassed smile, “Making me blush. Joel doesn’t blush.”

“Go get ‘em tiger,” She pats him on the back before leaving.

A/N: Tell me what you liked most! I wanna know what my beloved slutty lil readers enjoy!

Chapter 2

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal smut #fanfiction #tlou

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g3l3mb · 1 year

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how to generate creative ideas:

(i need to get this out of my brain)

Make moodboards, playlists, keep a list of people who inspire you. Before starting a project think about the general vibe you want it to embody. Ask questions like “What would this concept sound like if it was a song?” ,“What would this concept be like if it was a person?”. Create a shirt that looks like a building you like, literally anything can be combined.

Take unrelated things or concepts and mix them together. Let’s take Addams Family as an example. “What if it was a story about a typical suburban family…but GOTH!”. It basically flips everything upside down. Or “What outfit would someone wear, who’s personality is the mix of the vibes of these two songs?” Random word generators are amazing for this if you don’t know where to start from.

Try making something truly BAD and then add a twist to it. It’s a great way for your brain to let go of expectations and then think outside of the box. But you can also use this to find out what you do not wanna do under any circumstances.

Think without worrying about the limits of what you can do and when it’s time for excecution, find a way around what’s impossible. It births more creativity and adds uniqueness.

Consider what your idea is NOT before considering what it is. Limits are the best way to avoid getting overwhelmed and giving up. Don’t ALWAYS do this though (unless you wanna…), it’s just something to try out when you feel like you’re seeing too many possibilities to the point that they’re contradicting each other. Unless your goal is to make something full of contradictions, you’re a Free Man, do whatever you want.

Keep a list of random ideas you have throughout the day in your notes app or something and then at some point actually review them. Keep what you think is worth exploring and then act on it.

Find out how something works very throughoutly so you know which aspect can be changed to create something new.

Take a concept and break it down into smaller concepts, ideas, questions, key elements and then also break those ideas down etc. This will naturally lead to associations, unique ideas you wouldn’t think of without doing this. I found that this is a great way of coming up with metaphors.

This one is similar to the last two: take a piece of art you really love and try to find out the thought process behind. What’s the story, where did the artist get inspiration from, how did they incorporate those ideas in their work. How did an artist combine their personal interests and knowledge into one big thing. For example: Tolkien was an erudite linguist, so much so that he created entire functional languages in his work, such as Elvish in Lord of the Rings. Hirohiko Araki loves 80’s music so much he named characters in Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure after music references. This is why no knowledge is useless knowledge.

Think about the times you’ve been the most creative before. What were the specific circumstances? For me my best ideas always come when I have a strict deadline for something unrelated, like school (which I’m way too willing to sacrifice), or when I’m doing something mindless like walking and listening to music, or playing a game that requires no thinking. Most of the time after 10p.m. This doesn’t mean I can’t “force” myself to be creative (tips above), it just means these are the times ideas come most naturally. For some people this might be being out in nature or experiencing high emotions, maybe having their life on the line idk, to each their own.

You can’t just create. You also need to consume. The more information you absorb, the more possibilities you have with your ideas. So if you’re not feeling that creative, that’s fine, it’s the perfect opportunity to learn something new.

If you don’t already do these things and you’re looking to get more creative my advice is to ACTUALLY TRY THESE OUT. You’ll best understand them in action.

#creative #writing #creative writing #art #artist #creativity #entp #enfp #infp #intp #art tips #writing tips #writing advice #art block #writers block #creative ideas

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achaoticeternal · 1 year

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you matter to me.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x READER

summary: they all told you it would be difficult to love him. word count: 0.9k a/n: listen to you matter to me - sara bareilles warnings: sweet, sweet fluff; not proof reader; afab reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"I thought I would find you here," Aemond turned his head to see you approaching him, your figure descending from the stairs.

He had just seen his strong nephews observe his training sessions with Ser Criston. At least until they ran back under the protective gaze of their mother, Rhaenyra.

"My lady," He looked at you with a slight smirk, setting his sword down on the table of the armory. A part of him wished you had arrived earlier so that you could see another one of his victories in sparring against the Kingsmen, "How might I be of service?"

You offered him a warm smile with your simple response, "I just wanted to see you..."

Your relationship with the prince was... interesting. With your family being in direct service to the Throne, you had practically grown up in the Keep with the Targaryen children. Though you had been close friends with Aemond for years, things had only recently shifted. Every time his brother or nephews tormented him, his studies or training frustrated him, and even when he lost his eye... you were there to comfort him. It shouldn't have been that shocking when nearly three moons ago, the Queen and your Lord Father announced the betrothal between you and the prince.

"Do you think you have time to take a walk with me through the gardens?" You asked politely.

Aemond reflected for a moment before offering a curt nod, "As long as you do not mind walking with me after I've trained."

"I never mind walking with you, my prince," You smiled to him, looking at him with a loving look that he hadn't quite expected, "I find myself quite lucky to have the chance to have your company as often as I do."

The corners of his lips tipped upwards for just a moment before settling back into their typical half-smirk. Aemond offered out his arm to you which you willingly accepted. Upon tucking yourself into his side, you wiped off a patch of dirt on the sleeve of his shirt that must've gotten there during his sparring.

As you walk through the fine gardens of the Keep, you passed by plenty of other nobles who were there to hear the trial that would occur the next day. They would bow their heads to both of you, but very few sparred any words to the pair. Yet as soon as they were passed you both, their faint whispers could be heard.

To be betrothed to a Targaryen prince used to be an honor... That poor girl, I do hope he treats her decently, at least... Such a beauty, wasted on such a beast...

With each encounter and following remark, Aemond grew more tense. His jaw was clenched and his posture had stiffened up, making him isolated from you despite your close proximity.

But as soon as you saw him wince slightly, no doubt due to the pain his scar would cause him, you suggested you both return inside.

"Are you tired of the gardens?" He snipped at you, "Or tired of being seen with the One-Eyed Prince?"

Though he had sparked quite the attitude, you replied calmly, "My prince, I know when you are in pain and I do not wish for it to turn into a headache from the noise and bustle of the Keep. Please, allow me to help you... let me take care of you..."

Aemond begrudgingly allowed you to return with him to his private chambers, though a maid also accompanied the pair of you. Just because you were betrothed did not mean you were allowed to be completely unchaperoned. After unbuckling his eye patch, you gingerly pressed the cool, damp cloth on the edges of the scar.

"If it hurts too much, I can have Milk of the Poppy sent for," You told him so that he may consider it.

"No, no," He shook his head slightly, "I've seen what it has done to my father and I do not wish for that."

When he waved your hand away from his face, you instead took to sitting beside him as he rested. You grabbed the eyepatch from his nightstand and gently began to clean the fine leather.

Aemond watchfully observed as your cleaned his patch. He watched as you carefully wiped each crevice and even the strap that rested around his head. The kind gestures caused a warmth to spread through his chest.

Suddenly, he felt guilty once more for snapping at you in the gardens earlier that hour, "My lady, you are too considerate for helping me."

"I do not mind it, my prince," You shrugged off the words as you returned the patch and cloth to their spots on the dresser.

"It is too much, more than I deserve, I'm afraid," He shook his head, his eye refusing to meet yours.

Softly, you rested your hand atop of his, "It is not too much. I do it because I lo—"

You stopped yourself, not wanting to burden him with words he was not quite prepared to hear. Then, you intertwined your fingers with his before speaking once more, "I do it because you matter to me, which is never too much to ask from someone who truly cares for you."

Aemond did not respond with his words. Instead, he simply looked to you. But it was a look that said a thousand words, as he gently squeezed your intertwined hands three times.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

#mattie writes #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen imagine #house targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd imagine #fluff #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd fluff

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pinkkittysaw · 8 months

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BUT I CAN’T STOP STARING IN THOSE EVIL EYES

title is based off a lyric in lady gaga’s MONSTER

my halloween night of horrors masterlist can be found here!

pairing: plaga leon s. kennedy x plaga f!reader

summary: while wandering through an ill kept factory, you and leon grow closer in unimaginable ways due to unforeseen circumstances

word count: 5,648

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI you will be blocked!) minor dub-con (in the beginning), slightly rough leon, mind control, notes of voyuerism, fingering, male masturbation, boot humping, minor breast/nipple play, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding, degradation, praise, petnames (baby, princess, sweetie) leon steps on you, reader is wearing a skirt

*some things to note: though saddler is willing leon and reader into having sex, they both want to sleep with each other of their own volition regardless of the plaga’s influence, it’s the circumstances surrounding it that makes them apprehensive

there are lines of dialogue from RE4R used in paragraphs 12, 14-15, 18, 23 & 39. i do not claim to own these lines or any media from Capcom

a/n: first time writing for leon so please be kind!!! i am just a simple mouse girl :( i thought it’d be interesting to write the plaga “overtaking” him and reader in a sense, watching his mood change drastically much like how it does in the OG RE 4 in this scene with ada (choking cw)

divider by @/benkeibear

You stare at the huge chunk of amber in front of you; it's pretty. The reflecting light gives it a soft orange hue, brightening the dull room it inhabits. After closer inspection, you notice what appears to be hundreds, if not thousands, of Las Plagas encased in the resin. You were almost too scared to be looking at them for so long, fearful that the parasites would jump out at you from their confinement once you crossed a certain threshold.

Cocking your head to the side, you think aloud, "I wonder if this is where they extract the plaga."

Leon, who's rummaging around the room looking for any spare supplies, pipes up, "Who knows? I certainly don't feel like waiting around to find out. Come on." He waves you over, walking toward the exit after determining that none of the scrap in the room was worth taking.

"Alright," you agree, beginning to move towards him.

Then, all of a sudden, your movements are halted, unable to continue forward. "Fuck, no no no,” you think to yourself. Leon looks behind his shoulder, noticing that you haven't moved from your position.

"What are you doing? Let's go." You can barely speak, clenching your teeth together as you force the words out.

"I can't fucking move." You demonstrate your lack of mobility as you attempt to force your body forward, but the most that happens is the slight twitching of your arm and legs.

"What?" Leon's about to stride over to you when the door opens behind him. He's quick on his feet, his gun in the air, aiming his pistol at the tall figure and a group of robed cultists that soon follow him into the room.

"Welcome, my children," he states as the two followers remove the hood of his purple robe, the rest filing around the two of you.

"I am Osmund Saddler. The speaker for our Lord."

Leon, obviously fed up with all the loony bullshit, shoots Saddler straight in the eye. "Tell someone who gives a shit."

Saddler reels back from the shot but doesn't die, staying hunched over due to the impact. "Foolish lambs," he scoffs. "Why do you deny grace?" The volume of his voice rises, and all at once, Leon keels over, taking a knee as he almost completely falls to the floor in front of you, now frozen in place while his gun falls from his hands.

You try to reach out to him, but your movements are stunted.

"Now, abandon your body." Your body is not your own.

"Obey, obey the voice of our lord," Saddler commands as your forced motions bring you closer to Leon. There's a ringing in your ears as he gives you orders; the noise is so piercing that you're ready to stuff your ears full of cotton just to make it stop.

Leon's now back on his feet, his veins turning black against his skin as his arm reaches out to you. His body trembles as he extends forward. You're compelled to move onward slowly, reaching down for Leon's pistol.

"Stop, please," you plead, your wrist swaying back and forth as the gun locks onto Leon. "No," you grit, resisting with everything you have while your arm continues to wobble. Tears stream down your face as you're forced to pull the trigger, shooting one of the cultists to Leon's side, watching them drop dead to the floor.

"Sweet child, do not resist." His commands turn into scolding. The ringing in your ears gets louder as your arm moves again. "Please," you wail into the open air, willing to give anything as long as it meant that he stayed alive. The trigger is pulled again, and the other masked figure drops to the ground.

Leon's face coils up, and his body jerks, trying to reach you, but to no avail.

"I'm sorry," you whisper as you pull the trigger for the final time, scrunching up your eyes, not wanting to witness his lifeless body drop to the floor. The gun clicks and falls in front of you while you collapse onto your knees, sobbing onto the floor beneath, your tears staining the dark concrete floors.

Leon is released from his own entrapment and rushes over to comfort you, placing both his hands on your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

It's funny, you think, in a twisted sort of way. You almost killed him, and here he was, asking if you were alright.

"Pray forgive these wicked sinners," Saddler exhales while shaking his head. Leon's about to lunge for his gun when you're both halted once more.

"Injecting one's blood with the plaga isn't the only way to diffuse it among the populous."

Both you and Leon are manipulated until you're standing in front of each other, his hand reaching out to grab at your hip.

"What are you doing?"

"It's not me, I-"

He gets cut off by Saddler. "The plaga can reproduce sexually as well as through implantation." And it's all of a sudden that you feel a certain heat growing inside you—desire, a sort of carnality—and if the crimson on Leon's cheeks is anything to go by, he's feeling it too. There's a certain glint in his eyes now, a hunger that wasn't there before. Both his and your irises turn a bright vermillion as the plaga fully takes control. It's overwhelming. All of your senses are heightened, now very much cognizant of Leon's hand on your hip, the warmth of his skin permeating through your skirt. All you want now is for him to bend you over and take you.

You shake your head in the hopes of clearing your mind. God, when did you start harboring such intense feelings for him like this? This can't be okay, can it? He saved your life. He's a government agent simply doing his job to rescue you from this hell hole. That's what these feelings are—just misplaced appreciation. You try to reason with yourself as the growing need between your legs calls more and more for your attention.

"What the hell's going on?" Your voice is harsh as it cuts through the air. Leon's grip tightens on your hip, almost as if he's holding himself back.

"Is it not obvious, sweet child? You two have perfect compatibility as sexual mates, and since you're both able to resist killing each other, I'll just have to change my line of thinking and make things easier for you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Leon grunts.

"Why deny it? It's quite clear that you're attracted to each other."

"I barely even needed to coax the plaga into doing anything."

As fucked up as this entire situation was, Saddler wasn't wrong, at least in regard to your side of things. You were intrigued by Leon from the moment he found you, rescuing you after being hog-tied and thrown into one of the wardrobes of an abandoned cabin. He was still incredibly handsome, even if you didn't trust him at first. From the subtle bounce of his soft ashen hair when he jogged to the bulge of his biceps whenever he slicked his fingers through the silky strands and how he was so protective over you, so kind. You could go on and on listing the things you found attractive about him. How he looked suplexing zealots, the slope of his nose bridge, his little smirk after roundhousing ganados, the thickness of his thighs, the swell of his **very** defined chest, and god, his ass. His cute, full-pert ass that you could just-

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

This isn't right. You shouldn't be thinking of him this way, but no matter how much you try to resist, you're always coaxed back into these feelings of sensuality. You'd be lying if you said you didn't think of him fucking you against one of the crumbling walls in the village, holding you so tightly against him while he tugs on your tits. Arousal pools in your panties as heat rushes to your face at the thought.

"Fuck," you murmur, and Leon looks over at you, his breath more labored than before.

"Submit your bodies and release yourself from fear!" Saddler booms, waving his staff around in the air. It's then that you feel Leon's hand underneath your skirt, cupping your mound through your tights, his other hand still gripping at your waist.

"Leon-" you say exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry, I just..." he leans into you, inhaling your scent. "I'm sorry." His lips press into the side of your neck, slowly moving against the sensitive skin. It's so gentle and kind, and if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend that you're somewhere else, not in a dusty room of an old factory, being coerced to have sex through the means of a parasite.

"You're so soft...smell so good," he mumbles into your ear. Even if you're forced to fuck in front of Saddler and his devotees, Leon at least wants his words of care and fondness to be private—to be yours.

You can't help but moan out loud at his ministrations on your neck, feeling your skin crawl with a newfound heat. Your nipples pebble in your bra, and how desperately you want his hands to be on your breasts, kneading them. You wrap your arms around his neck, curling your fingers into the smooth, pale tresses at his nape.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he confesses over and over. He knows this is wrong. He should have a stronger will than this. He shouldn't be sleeping with the hostage he was tasked with saving. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, if at all. He probably wouldn't have confronted his feelings in any other circumstances, seeing how wildly inappropriate they were. He would've rather taken you somewhere nice—maybe a fancy hotel—and do all the sappy, romantic shit you deserve—the candles, the music, the mood lighting. It'd be sweet and kind, but no. Instead, you get this, being made to breed like cattle. The only comfort he can offer is through his words, his mind trying to fight against the plaga, but you smell too good, your skin so supple and warm against his mouth; it's almost as if he can feel the blood pulsing through your jugular vein. He gently grazes his teeth over the area, biting and pulling the skin taught.

"Don't apologize. You feel good too," you exhale, pushing your chest against his.

"I shouldn't let this sick bastard have so much control over me, but god, you feel so good against me," he groans, worming his hand under the band of your tights and underwear. You loll your head back as his assault on your neck continues. He sucks the skin gently as the worn leather of his gloves makes its presence known against your mound. His finger swipes between your slit, gathering the wetness leaking from your entrance to rub soft circles on your clit.

"Christ, you're already so wet for me, baby," he groans against your neck, your breath hitching at his words.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" An amused tilt now present in his voice, the soft circles on your clit continuing as he speaks against your throat. "You like me calling you baby?"

"Yeah," you mewl, your hand reaching down to grip his forearm.

"That's it. Just focus on me making you feel good." Your cute noises cause blood to rush to his cock, making it stiffen in his pants. Your head rests against his chest as he continues to play with you.

"You want my fingers, baby?"

"Yes," you pant, pressing your face into the middle of his chest. He lets out a lighthearted chuckle, his digit circling your entrance before sinking into your warm cunt. "Oooh, you're so tight, sweetie. Squeezing my finger real nice."

"I can't wait til you're on my cock." he mumbles against your throat once again, smirking. His finger curls deep into your soaked pussy, thrusting in and out as you grind against his palm.

"Yes, yes, yes," you gasp, his lips resuming the suckling of your skin as he adds another finger, stuffing your cunt with their thickness, the leather of his gloves wet with your slick as it glides against your clit. You look down from his chest to see his hardened cock starting to poke through his utility pants. Your hand wriggling down to slowly palm him through the fabric, a soft moan rearing from his throat at your touch.

Through feeling him against your palm, he seems to be an impressive size, definitely girthy from what you can make out.

You slide your hand back and forth against the crotch of his pants, his hips lightly bucking into you as a grumbled "fuck" falls from his lips. He sounds so hot when he moans, and you want to hear more.

"I need you to come for me, sweetheart. I need your pussy on my cock so bad." He curls his fingers some more, hitting that soft, spongey spot that makes you see stars. A few more thrusts from his digits and nudges from his palm have you arching into him, his mouth swooping down to swallow your moans through a kiss. He's the only one that gets to hear you cum, despite the audience you both have.

He keeps his fingers stuffed in your cunt as you ride out your orgasm, the sensation of your pussy squeezing down on him making his head whirl in anticipation.

"That's it. That's a good girl," he murmurs, guiding you through the waves.

Despite having just came, you're still just as eager, if not more so, to palm him through his black cargos.

"Easy, easy. You'll have me soon enough," he coos in an attempt to pacify you, removing your hand from his erection while you whine and grumble in response to the loss of touch, wanting him to mount you already.

He guides you onto the floor, laying you flat on the chilled concrete. The cold seeps into your clothes and skin, causing you to shiver almost uncomfortably so as you arch your back, spreading your legs as far as they'll go in your tight skirt. You take to palming your tits through your top, desperate for any kind of prolonged pleasure.

"Someone's needy," he chuckles to himself while he looms over you, his broad shoulders casting a large shadow over your form.

"Come on, you'll be a good girl for me, won't you?" He moves to remove both of his belts, unbuckling them and letting them drop to the floor. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest decision to leave himself so exposed, but neither of you could be bothered enough to care.

The next thing to come off was his shoulder holster, the leather straps meeting the other discarded materials on the floor. It's only after his confines are removed that he begins pleasuring himself, reveling in your position on the floor, legs spread deliciously while the rest of you becomes utterly debauched, your expression filled with nothing other than need and want.

You whine out a little, desperate for his touch even after the fact. He smirks while walking toward you, his heavy boots echoing throughout the room with loud thuds til he stops just short of your cunt and sneers. Something about him is different.

He plants his foot atop your mound, grinding the sole into your folds. There's no real force behind it, but it's oppressive and demeaning. He's not the same Leon. The Leon who told dumb jokes at every opportune moment, who ate multicolored herbs, both raw eggs and fish WHOLE, yet looked at you as if you were the crazy one for refusing, choosing not to believe him when he said they'd "mend your wounds." This was not the same Leon who pulled you aside after you ran off scared, giving you words of reassurance and encouragement just as he had throughout this whole endeavor. No, this Leon was more sinister.

Your whines and mewls get a little more pathetic, rolling your hips and grinding yourself on his boot in a desperate attempt for any friction that he'd give you—which wasn't much, but still, anything was better than nothing!

In the midst of your pouting, you catch Saddler's eye. His expression is blank, almost as if he were watching paint dry. His attendants were dismissed by this point, as they had no need to witness the impregnation take place. You can't help but stare at him, his eyes oddly captivating, unable to help but wonder what he thinks of this. Surely he’s the one controlling you both, but is this a last effort of sorts? Making two "subjects" fuck like rabbits just for the sake of spreading his message, his word, and his so-called "vision" Was sex something that he looked down on? Something shameful?

You're pulled out of your thoughts when Leon whistles at you. "Would you rather fuck him instead, princess?" He jeers in a mocking tone. You frown and furrow your brows, glaring at him as you deliver a bratty "no" in response.

"Then keep your eyes on me, yeah?" He sneers as he grinds his heel into you some more, swiping his foot from side to side, knocking the grooves into your clit. He laughs as you continuously mewl into the air, squeezing your tits through your clothes, begging for more attention. Instead of aiding you in your frustrated disposition, he decides to be a little crueler, reaching down to palm his cock through his pants. His head lolls back as he lets out a soft groan, the sound causing more arousal to flood in between your legs.

You moan, your eyes scanning his features—the bob of his Adam's apple, the softness of his jaw, the way his teeth dig into the plush of his bottom lip.

Deciding to prod further, he pulls out his leaking cock from his pants, and you can't help the gasp that escapes you at the sight. He has an adorable ash-blonde happy trail running down his navel that fans into darker, coarse curls at the base of his cock. It has a slight left curve to it and a pretty pink tip. The look of it is tantalizing and mouth-watering. Your mind is flooded with every memory you’ve had of wanting Leon to fuck you silly during this godforsaken nightmare. Now you have a visual to go along with your many fantasies—a pretty cock for an equally pretty man.

You expected him to be in a hurry to fuck you, but he does something unexpected. He keeps his foot on your cunt. You attempt to sit up, your abdomen contracting as you begin to move upward, when he plants his boot on your chest instead, right on your sternum, effectively pushing you flat on your back again.

"Did I give you permission to move?" He stares, cocking his head and quirking a brow, looking down at you as if he were scolding a misbehaving puppy. His carmine irises meet yours as you attempt to shove off his foot by his ankle, though soon finding it pointless as the boot remains firm and steady against you.

You shake your head with a petulant "no," grumbling as his foot takes hold of your chest, pressing lightly on your rib cage, making it somewhat difficult to breathe.

"Then don't get greedy," he chastises, moving his boot back to its previous position on your cunt, leaving a muddy footprint in its wake. Instead of providing you with the friction you wanted, his limb now lays idle against you.

You frown at the brown stain left on your top, glaring at him once more. "You ruined my shirt!"

"I'll tell you what: when this is all said and done, I'll get you a new top. How bout that princess?"

You roll your eyes, grumbling as his hand moves toward his mouth, yanking off his fingerless gloves with his teeth and tossing them among the pile of his other forgotten items.

Warm palms slither down his torso, making their way to his cock, where he squeezes the base, shaking it in the air a tad, teasing you with it.

It's well-known at this point how much you desire him. The plaga floods both of you with nothing but thoughts of you two fucking each other. He watches you eye his cock thoroughly, gnawing at your bottom lip with how badly you wanted him to fill you up.

He languidly begins to pump his hand up and down, precum leaking from his pretty tip all the way down his shaft, creating all the slip he needs. You start to buck your hips against his boot, desperate for your own pleasure, which he still refuses to give you. His hand continues to move along his cock; the rough callouses on his palm are a stark contrast to the glisten of his slick-covered dick.

You huff and puff as he continues to jerk off, growing tired of being teased and tormented. His thumb glides along the slit of his cock head, causing his hips to buck and shudder. You were like a rabbit on a treadmill, his cock being the carrot on the string you were being teased with, so close yet so far...

"Leon, you're being mean," you scowl, feeling grumpy and grouchy, tired of his damn games, your panties soaked through with your arousal, craving any sort of attention.

"Mean?" he asks, pressing his foot further into you, pumping himself a smidgen faster while his pectoral muscle begins to bounce with his quickened pace.

"If I were mean, I'd make you cum just like this while you watch me jack off."

"And since you want to act like such a little brat, maybe that's exactly what I'll do." He speeds up again, twirling his wrist as he fucks his fist, his grunts and groans filling the air among your whines.

"No, no, no, no," you cry, watching him buck into his hand as the slick makes his cock even more slippery.

A pink hue floods his cheeks as heat builds in his body, sweat gathering on the threads of his clothes.

"No?" he mocks with a feigned pout. "You want my cock that badly, huh? Want it to fill you up? Stuff you full?"

"Mhm," you nod incessantly, heat flooding your own face as well, the arousal so overwhelming that you feel as if you’ll burst.

"Why don't you beg for it? Beg for my cock."

You look at him apprehensively. Was he really gonna make you beg for him like a cock-hungry fool?

"I'm not joking about finishing you off with my boot. You'll get no dick and no cum." His efforts hastened, his hips twitching every so often. He’s serious, and so are you, so despite your "strong-willed bratty nature," you beg and you plead for his cock like a good girl.

"Please gimme your cock, Leon. Need it so bad. Need you to fuck me dumb; turn my brain into mush."

"I think you can do better than that princess," he smirks down at you, huffing slightly from the continued pleasure.

Your words turn into a slew of pleas and jumbled moans varying from saying you'll "die without his dick," "how badly you need it," and "how desperate you are for it," all of which boil down to you whining please over and over and over. When he's finally decided that you've made your case, he staves off his release, gripping the base of his cock so as not to finish right in his hand.

He drops to his knees, grabbing and pulling you towards him by your hips, your thighs settling on either side of his while he hovers over you. All his movements are quick and hasty in nature as he hikes up the bottom of your skirt over your pelvis, allowing you to spread your legs further and welcome him into the warmth between your thighs.

He stares down at your black tights below him, now transparent enough to see through to your pale-colored underwear from the fabric being stretched so far. He wastes no time in grabbing the crotch of your tights at the seam and effectively tearing a huge hole in them, his biceps bulging as he rips the fabric from your body. He stares down at the cute design of your panties as your tights lay in shreds against your leg, his eyes settling on the front of the fabric, the wet splotch soaking through from your previous orgasm.

He moves his hand over to your cunt, running his middle and ring fingers through your slit. He settles on your clit, rubbing the sticky fabric against you as he swirls the bundle of nerves in slow circles.

"I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I'm surprised that I held out as long as I did without fucking you."

"Leon," you groan. "No more… I wanna feel you, please," you mumble, reaching out to him as a final stand to get what you desperately crave.

He finally gives in, tugging down the waistband of his pants, landing on the swell of his thighs and below the curve of his ass, exposing the stretch marks that litter his hips and upper thighs.

"See something you like, princess?" he teases, pumping his cock a few times in preparation.

"Mhm, mhm," you nod eagerly as he begins to move toward you. Luckily, your panties are spared from his strength as he chooses to simply pull them aside instead of tearing them apart. He mumbles a grumbly "fuck" as he gets a look at your sweet cunt for the first time. The hair covering your mound shines as your arousal spreads throughout your folds. He doesn’t stop himself from running a finger in between the seam of your pussy, gathering the slick on the pad of his digit and sticking it in his mouth, groaning at the taste of your sweetness.

"Delicious," he mutters as he lays his cock against the warm heat of your sex, giving you a closer look at just how big he is.

He lines himself up at your entrance, and without so much as a warning, he thrusts into you down to the base. You arch into him, your breasts pressing into his chest as your back curves in his direction, a hearty moan coming from both of you. He stretches you out better than in your fantasies, your warm, wet walls clenching down on him as he twitches inside.

"Let's take care of this, yeah?" He asks, lifting your upper half into the air and placing you on your elbows. He lifts your top over the peak of your breasts, ogling the sight of your tits filling out your bra, trapped within their confinement, before he's reaching behind you to fumble with the clasp of the garment. A part of you is amused while watching him struggle, but it's not long after that the cups are falling from your body, your breasts free to Leon’s eyes and the open air as he pulls the straps down your shoulders, flinging the undergarment toward the pile of other forgotten items. He decides to keep your shirt on, enjoying the disheveled, fucked-out look you have with your clothes half on and half off, letting the top stay wrinkled above your tits.

"Perfect," he mumbles, moving his head toward your chest to mouth at it, planting open-mouth kisses along the swell of your breast as his hips begin to roll languidly. He gives you a few slow strokes, just to get acquainted with each other's bodies, before it quickly turns into a hurried fucking.

His hips knock into yours in quick succession, his girth smoothing over every ridge and groove in your tight cunt, leaving you panting into the air as he grunts and groans against your breast. His body pressed so tightly against yours.

His lips find your nipple, his tongue swirling around the areola before pulling the nub into his mouth. The roll of his hips and the suckling of your nipple add to your growing pleasure. You buck your hips in tandem with his, desperate to feel every bit of pleasure you can.

"So greedy, huh, princess? Just need your cute cunt, fucked huh? Anything goes as long as you feel good, right?"

You whine, clenching down on him, squeezing his cock tight as he fucks you thoroughly. He pulls away from your chest, grabbing your hips tight in his grasp, his fingers digging deep into your skin.

"God, you’re perfect for me," he mumbles, leaning back so he's standing straight on his knees, his hands pulling you down on his cock as he brutally thrusts back into you. "So perfect for me to breed." You swear you can see a glint in his eyes as he says that, and your pussy pulsates around him even more.

"You like that, huh?" he teases, punctuating every word in the sentence with a brutal thrust. "You like the thought of being all mine? being claimed by me? Me fucking my kids into you? Knocking you up?"

You mewl and wail, nodding and gasping and heaving; the only thing you care about at this moment is him fucking you full of his seed.

The snap of his hips continues to get quicker, your soft breasts bouncing so pretty as you lay beneath him, your worn and fucked-out expression giving him nothing but joy. His rhythm gets so quick that he manages to slip out of your vice-like grip, causing a low and extended whine to draw out from your lips. He chuckles, enjoying how desperate you are for his body, and leans himself into you once more while he guides his cock back into you, his thrusts regaining their previous speed.

His hand pushes one of your thighs toward your chest, rolling his hips deeper so he can more easily hit the spot that makes your eyes cross, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter as he fucks into you with more vigor. You can’t stop your hands from wandering as you grab the plush of his ass, squeezing the fat while you writhe underneath him. You pant into his mouth, trying to signal him for a kiss, to which he happily obliges, meeting your lips with his as he continues to drive you further and further to the edge.

"Gonna cum for me, princess?"

"Gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?"

"Want it so bad, please?" You moan, sneaking your hand down to the front of your body and rubbing quick circles to your clit.

"Go ahead, princess, cum for me," he mumbles, nestling his head in the crux of your neck, sucking on your pulse point. As his hips continue to thrust into you, you arch intensely into him, moaning loudly as you reach your climax, your eyes rolling into the recesses of your mind as your nails claw into the meat of his ass, leaving pretty, red crescent-shaped divots in his porcelain skin.

You run your hand through his silky blonde strands as you position yourself next to his ear. "Cum with me, Leon," you mutter, still reeling from the aftereffects of your high, the additional thrusting adding to the lingering pleasure still felt. "Cum in me, please. Wanna be stuffed full of you." You lick a stripe up his neck, the salt from his sweat lingering on your tastebuds.

It's a few short and sloppy thrusts later that he's grunting loudly into your skin while he cums, ropes of his seed traveling to your womb.

The door can be heard shutting behind you as Saddler makes his exit, Leon's hips slowing to a full stop once he’s left. With the impregnation going through, he no longer needs to bother himself with whatever the two of you do from here on out.

It’s a few minutes later that the both of you begin to feel normal again, or as normal as you can be given the dire situation. It doesn’t take long for Leon to recover, his baby blues greeting you once more as he snaps to attention, getting himself situated as he puts on his gear and adjusts his clothes, keeping a watchful eye on you as you start to do the same, picking up your bra from his things on the floor.

After getting dressed, he’s immediately at your side. "I'm so sorry. I-"

You cut him off with a finger placed on his lips and a shake of your head. Your face is tired and weary, and your voice a little strained as you tell him, "It's alright."

He’s not willing to argue with you on the ethics of what went down, at least not here, so he decides to put off the conversation til you’re both safe back home, hopefully having figured out some sort of plan by then.

"Are you good enough to move? We shouldn't linger around."

You nod, moving to fully take off your tights before making your departure, seeing as you have no more use for the tattered fabric. The torn material catches his eye, causing embarrassment to rise throughout his face, his cheeks taking on the same rosy hue as before.

"I'll make good on my word, I promise. I’ll get you a new shirt and some tights when we get back. For now…" He walks towards the exit. "We need to get rid of these damn things," he says, pointing to his chest. He checks his jammed gun, ejecting the magazine and resetting the casing before gesturing you over toward him, readying the weapon in front of him before the two of you begin to make your way out of the factory.

Needless to say, this would NOT be going in his incident report.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil 4 x reader #resident evil 4 smut #x reader #x reader smut #smut #✰ミ angel writes #✰ミ angel’s halloween night of horrors

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myheadhurtscutely · 4 months

Note

i'm craving some fluff with sam monroe rn. sharing my thoughts and curious for yours?? just rambling lol ❤️❤️❤️

listening to music in sam's room with him, maybe getting ready for something? a concert? and fixing his makeup, his hands unable to leave your hips as you work. ofc his eyes are glued to your lips (and occasionally drift down to your tits) and there's just a soft, unspoken connection between you two. i'm imagining he listens to The Cure (idk if it's really his type of music i'm not all into that culture ngl) and it's just a gentle scene. ofc later on after the concert is over (or whatever event) he can't help but wanna make out with you, maybe you're sitting on his lap in his car. maybe there's a bit of tension- but you two make out until the sun comes up, and return to your respective houses with the both of your makeup messed up. i also feel like he's the type to either be too nervous to hold onto you in public when he's sober, but if he's had anything at all he's all grabby and aggressive with it. I think he'd get jealous a lot when he's not sober too. Definitely the type to get into a fight if he thinks some guy is looking at you too much.

idk if it's too in character but i love my emo bf💋

friends to lovers?Sam Monroe x Reader

wc' 878

Warnings! mention of a tiny bit of violence, marijuana use, sexual implications but nothing crazy. crazy amounts of fluff tbh.

LORD HAVE MERCY THANK YOU

i love this.

you and sam are best buds, like comfortable silence type close. You have always gone to concerts together and what not. You were both the social rejects, and that was okay. Because you had each other.

whilst the friendship was cute and close, it was extremely abnormal in some ways like you laying on his chest after school in his room while he showed you some underground pierce the veil and souxie and the banshees. He knew you liked them so he would do everything he could to peak your interest. His odd fixation with your body, lips, and face was not a friend kind of normal either.

You and sam had eagerly been waiting for months. concert tickets ready. and outfits picked and packed. It was your guys favorite band and some how you had snagged tickets a couple months back for a birthday gift to sam. He obviously was overjoyed when you surprised him with this. it gave him a reason to be delusional. he'd often lie awake, listening to your breathing on the other end of the phone whilst you slept, practicing his confession.

Today was the day. Sam came over with his pre rolls, tickets, and his dingy old eyeliner stick. He tried to fix his hair up a bit so he could look good for you guys wouldn't have to loose anymore time getting ready.

You opened the door to your room, guiding him to your bed to sit where he's sat countless times before. "go ahead and light one while i get my stuff ready." Sam might as well been in a trance, not listening to a word you said. you looked perfect. You were already ready to go, make up, hair, outfit, all perfect in everyway.

Sam fumbled with his joint and lighter after finally coming back down to earth and recalling what you told him. You and him both took drags of it as you put your pallets near you on the bed, sitting yourself on sams lap. His head leaned back against the pillow to look at your pretty face hanging over him.

sams hands naturally rested on your hips, like every other time you did his makeup but this time was different. His hands drug up your sides, his mind falling between his imagination and reality. He had done this a million times in his head, though he'd never admit it. He couldn't fathom how soft and beautiful you were sat on his waist like that. He hoped you didn't notice the prodding object growing underneath you. He had always told you it just does that when he's high. You shrugged it off.

His lips were mere inches from yours as you gently smudged his liner, looking up closely to make sure your work was perfect. He couldn't do anything but smile. even with his eyes closed he felt your divine prescence warming up his insides.

Your lips quickly brushed his cheek as you excitedly praised your handy work, urging him to look at the mirror. His face was beat red, almost as if you smacked the fuck out of him and left the imprint of you. He smiled the whole way to the concert.

"have you ever shot gunned before?" you asked him in the back of the taxi with a plotting grin, joint slowly burning in your hand.

the ride back home after the concert was quiet. you and sam had gotten the both of you kicked out.

Some guy had tried to dance with you, and eventually went as far as to borderline grope you. In no world would sam let that happen, so in response, he busted him in the face. you were quick to follow with a swift kick to his gut as he was knelt at your feet. so now here you were. back in the taxi, already on the way back home

Neither of you knew what to say. You felt bad cause it was sams birthday gift, and he felt bad cause he couldn't imagine how distressing that must've been.. and did you see him differently?

your hand slowly slid over to his in the backseat. you both knew peace in that moment. everything was ok. tired eyes met the others as you both give crooked smiles, to further affirm your feelings.

you and sam took turns, brushing each others thumbs the rest of the way.

You and sam didn't wanna go home yet. The taxi driver dropped you off at your car in the lot near home, and you both escaped the frigid air by climbing inside. The backseat was pretty empty except for some blankets and a couple of sams clothes from the last sleepover.

The both of you climbed to the back, seeing as neither of you planned on getting home for the rest of the night, feeling too weary and disoriented to travel any longer, much less separate for the night.

A cold chill shook you against sam as your body laid in between his, propped up against the passenger door. "Cold?" Sam asked, rubbing his hands up your arms, sliding over your goosebumps.

Sam adjusted himself sliding off his oversized jacket, opting to make it a blanket for you instead. As the hum of cars passed you both by, and the rain pattered on the windows of the car, he pressed soft kisses to the crown of your head.

note' i know this wasnt exactly what you had in mind but i loved this idea and i kinda ran with it, tysm!

#sam monroe x reader #sam monroe #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen #sam monroe x you #sam monroe fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 3 months

Note

hello seth! i don’t think my tumblr works with anon so i’ll just send it like this! i’m a huge fan of your writing and i absolutely adore it. whenever i am in the need for a good story and writing inspiration i go to your blog. so i was hoping if you could write a sally face fic! i haven’t seen too many on here and willing to write for m reader or ftm.

i like the thought of being with sally and just having time with him, soft domestic type stuff. then he starts asking you how you really feel about his face and you smile and take off his mask with permission and kiss him saying he’s beautiful and to not worry. you kiss him and hold him. he then sits up but keeps your lips locked and you begin to explore each other sexually but in a such intimate way you both are crying almost. if you want could be m reader but i would love a ftm reader! can we also have reader be bottom but still be guiding sally and affirming him. i know this is a big ask and you’re always working so hard so please take liberty with this ask! take what you want from it and remove what you don’t like. i just love you’re writing. take your time as well! writing can be draining sometimes and you really need to find that inspiration so i want to make sure you feel no pressure!

have a good day/night/evening!!<3

❝ I'll show you how we're supposed to feel (when we meet at Orion's belt) ❞

warnings: mentions of facial dysphoria, self-deprecating thoughts (Sal), unprotected sex, praise (a lot of it), minor hair pulling, creampies, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like cunt and boypussy are used)

masterlist ;

authors note: thank you so much for your kind words! hearing that you use my writing as writing inspiration made me feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside oh lord 😭 you're too kind! This request was the softest one I've ever worked on, thank you so much for gracing me with the opportunity to write this~

*song on repeat: Orion's Belt by Sabrina Claudio / Baby Girl by SMNM

"Cold, cold, cold," Sal lifts his head from the couch. The sight of you rushing down the wooden stairs in nothing but a towel makes him lift himself to sit. "Fuck! Sal, you should put carpet in here!" Grinning, he leans forward and folds himself in half to stare at you furiously lifting the towel up to wrap around your shoulders instead.

"You hate carpet. B'sides, it'll get that weird moldy smell in here. I told you to get those fuzzy slippers," Gizmo meows in agreement from his corner of the couch. "Traitor!" you exclaim and he simply meows once again, lifting a leg to lick his stomach and Sal reaches over to give his head a good scratch.

"See? Even Gizmo agrees."

"Gizmo has in-built fuzzy socks. He has no say in this," your huffing and puffing simply makes Sal roll his eye, lifting Gizmo up to place the large cat right on his stomach while he props his head onto the armrest of the couch. Gizmo stretches out onto his torso, unbothered by the change in position while he presses his nose into Sal's chest and twists until he's nearly full on his back; the action makes Sal secure the old cat on him. His olive-toned arm loosely wrapped across Gizmo's purring body.

You're still rambling but it's all background noise to Sal. The sight of your bare legs and backside calls for his attention and despite how guilty he feels, he can't help but drag his sight all the way up to your — now — bare shoulders. The towel is now limply draped over the towel rack, and your muscles and bones are moving seamlessly underneath the fabric of your skin.

Everything about you can make him feel like he's going to explode. In a good way, if you can believe it. He sure as hell didn't. Sal remembers the first time he saw you, thinking you looked cool and that it was nice your interests lined with his. Somehow you managed to become more than that.

More always scared Sal. It was greedy and selfish. He wasn't religious but there was a sense of anxiety that came from wanting and needing more than you were given. Some sort of divine guilt was planted within him through passing by churches and reading the signs of worship plastered on billboards. Needing more is frightening, especially from other people.

More time spent with you two. More hours of listening to you speaking. More days spent with you in his home, bare skin and bare soul all for him and only him.

It frightened him!

Because, as self-centered as it sounds, he'd have to give you more. Don't take this the wrong way, he wants to — God, he wants to — but...but...

What if you don't like all that he has?

The fabric of his skin is spoiled. Marred. One of his eyes is artificial, his jaw asymmetrical, bone blown to bits, nose cut off and skin grafts stitched together and spliced.

His heart hammers in his chest, and his breathing is shaky as he squeezes Gizmo. The patch-furred critter mews, twisting once again and crawling up. His weight on Sal's chest is comforting. The pressure across it squeezed down on him, reminding his body that it was real and he was safe.

"In conclusion, I propose we buy a heater! That way we can — "

You're dressed in Sal's pajama pants, hands in the middle of pulling down the oversized band shirt when you notice Sal squeezing his eyes shut.

"Sal? Baby? What's wrong?" You sit by his legs, placing a hand on his knee and pressing your hands on it to ease him back down. "You're okay, baby. You're okay." It's not often Sal gets like this. You've known him ever since he came to Nockfell County; you know he's the type of person to withdraw within himself when his anxieties get the best of him. He's certainly gotten better with time and as your friendship — and eventual relationship — got stronger, the both of you worked on ways to lean on each other when things get tough.

Sal inhales deeply, Gizmo raising with the motion, and exhales. You don't pry more, giving him room to find the words and tether back to you. Gizmo's purrs muffle the silence.

"Sorry, just, the sight of your ass gave me a heart attack, Jesus," the joke is met with a loose grin but Sal knows you better than that. Still. He's grateful you snort at his jesting. Gizmo stands — Sal grimaces as he puts all his weight on his sternum — then walks over to your lap instead. The sight makes him calm down.

The faded grey of the once-black band shirt and his pajama pants do too. It's silly but the sight of you in everything that's his comforts a part of him. You're here. You're in love with him. Your gaze holds nothing but patience and adoration and a tinge of worry.

But you're here, in his clothes, in his room, his cat in your lap, and your hands on his body.

"You feeling better, Sal?" He nods, pushing to sit. "Do you wanna talk about it, baby?" Gizmo gives your chin one more bump before he jumps on the floor and meanders his way to his food bowl. Taking the chance, you inch closer to Sal and he's grateful for it.

You're not scared of the cold prosthetic on his face. The iron bolts that secure the straps to his face and head, the glass eye that shines humourlessly in any situation.

"Do you ever want...more from this? From me?" That line of questioning made your brows furrow and mouth frown. "What do you mean?" You reach for him and Sal reciprocates by holding your hand in his lap.

"I was joking about seducing Mr Smith from the electronics store for a heater," he scoffs at your lame joke but continues. "I don't mean that, I'll get us a heater. Just..."

"You've never seen...all of me." His grip loosens but you don't let it. "So?" he looks at you, his face angled low and the shape of his prosthesis mimics his brow bone. Sal is pinching his face, confused at your indignant tone.

"So?" He whispers. You lift his hand up, inching in closer and placing his knuckles over your clavicle.

"So?"

"Doesn't it freak you out? We've been together for so long and you've never seen my face," he murmurs. Since you're so close, speaking above a whisper would ruin this moment. Sal's heart is racing again though this time the anxiety is laced with his love for yours. It's a confusing emotion but he relishes the way you press your forehead to his, nose bumping with the bump on his prosthesis.

"Do you want me to see your face?" He inhales sharply, glancing away.

"...I do. But..."

"Mm?" you spread his fingers out, guiding them to your neck and the calloused pads of Sal's fingers make gooseflesh spread. The hairs on the back of your neck standing in applause; because that's what he does to you.

He makes your pupils expand, makes your heart race, makes your brain produce dopamine; your body lights up like a goddamn firework when he so much as looks your way. You can be yourself with him without fear because you know you do the same to him.

"...I've only ever let you kiss me when it's dark. The first time we had sex, I couldn't even take off the mask...I just...I'm..."

Your frown deepens when Sal sighs, his shoulders dropping.

"Be honest. Does it bother you?"

He's glad you don't reply immediately. A part of him always worries your love for him overtakes everything else. That, if something ever happens between the two of you and it tears you apart, you'll feel regret once the love is gone. You brush his hair behind his ear, cupping his jaw as you shake your head.

"No. It doesn't. Because it's you, Sal. I love you. Even the parts you aren't ready for me to see." He exhales and his breath escapes through the slits of his mouth. You feel it on your thumb and it makes you grin.

There's a twitch in his eye and your grin falters for a moment before it reappears when he locks eyes with you.

"...Do you want me to see your face, baby?"

His jaw is set. His tongue is made of lead. So Sal simply closes his eyes and gives you a minuscule nod. If it weren't for your hand on his jaw, you probably would've mistaken it for a twitch.

"Can I take off your prosthetic?"

Another nod.

"Are you sure, baby? I won't do it if you're not — "

"I'm sure." He says in one breath. "I'm sure."

A moment of silence was shared and you leaned forward to press your lips in the molding of his. The cool material does not pulse or pump with life but it's your Sal's and you cherish it deeply; he exhales shakily and you grin as your fingers dance through the locks of blue to find the straps that hold the prosthetic in place.

It's secure, it's meant to be, and you can feel the wear and tear of the years in the material. The scratches and indents weaved into every fiber. You unbuckle the lower end first and Sal tightens his hold on you, so you pause and press another kiss to his porcelain cheek.

When he nods, you continue, cupping the mask in one hand to steady it while you undo the upper buckle.

Sal would be statue-like if it weren't for the nervous tremors in his fingers. The mask loosens and its weight drops into your hand. His breath does not come through the slits anymore and you can feel it breeze through the fine hairs on your fingers.

He says nothing and neither do you. Still, you place one more kiss on the forehead of his prosthetic and lower it from view.

Sal has his eyes cast away, but he faces you. There's a large scar across the right side of his mouth, splitting his lips and exposing his teeth. There's a dent on the right side of his lower jaw that leaves his bone structure slightly unbalanced, and the cartilage of his nose is completely missing. The skin has healed, stretching his eye and tugging on the rest. It's pinkish still, never quite settling into the rest of his olive-toned skin, and Sal understands why it's jarring.

It's like peeling back the layers of what makes humans...humans.

The skin. The sight of his face makes people unnerved. Teeth and gums and muscles and the lack of a nose. One side of his face was a plain canvas and the other was a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting of horror.

Your touch on his bare skin shocks him. The pads of your fingers drag across his cheekbones. "Does it hurt?" You ask with your eyes lidded.

"No, no, it...it doesn't." You smile and your thumb rests just under his eyes, sweeping fondly while your palm holds his face preciously within your hand. There's a flush to his skin — it's not unusual with how the prosthetic held over his face nearly 24/7.

There's a feeling of nakedness that comes without the even pressure across his visage but your hands are an amazing substitute.

"You don't have to be nice," he says. "It takes a lot to get used to — "

"I know I can't completely convince you to not think of yourself as 'something to get used to' but you're not. Not to me." Sal's eye water and he wills himself to finally look at you.

There's a pinch to your brows, it makes your eyebrows cast this shadow across your eyes and highlight the colours of your eyes. You're frowning at his self-deprecation, though beyond that he can see you mean well.

"I would gladly sit on your face, Sal."

He scoffs, groaning as he slips away from your hand to toss his head back and flop right onto the couch again. "You're fuckin' impossible, (Y/N)," he mumbled as his hands covered his face. You place the prosthetic down on the makeshift coffee table near the couch and chuckle as you swing one leg over his hips and rest your crotch over his.

"What? I'm being honest here!" Bracing your weight on your elbows, Sal finds the comfort of your body across his similar to Gizmo's. "You're fucking beautiful," he squirms at that and you huff, nuzzling your face into his neck while he peeks from over his fingers.

"You don't have to say that," you huff once again. "I'm not saying that because I have to, I'm saying it because I want to. You're fucking beautiful, me being your boyfriend is just a coincidence."

He feels you shifting and instinctively, his hands rest on your hips and there he is again. You know you shouldn't stare, so you don't, but the shy glances at his face are less than secretive. His eyes are blue, cobalt almost, and his eyebrows are a darker shade of his hair. The shape of his eyes is rounded, with a deep crease and heavy eyelids just like his father's. Lifting your head, you gaze down at him and your hands are once again gingerly ghosting on his skin. This time, they're tracing his collarbones, feeling up the protruding muscle of his neck and halting at his jaw.

"Can I kiss you, baby?" He has a quirk. A lip twitch that he does when he's excited; you've been dating him for years and you're still finding out new things about your boyfriend. It makes your heart race and it only triples in speed when he nods. Hovering, the peak of your lips ghost his. He had always envied how you kiss his prosthetic. It was an extension of himself but he hated how badly he wanted to feel you on him.

They press to his and Sal slips his eyes closed. It's nothing more than a peck. Innocent, chaste. But then he's tightening his grip and pulling you in; tilting his head like he's always seen other people do and you're grinning into it. He knows because he can feel it.

He can feel it.

How your lips spread, the hint of teeth that slide over his bottom ones, and the crinkling of your nose that's brushing over his cheek.

"You taste so good, pretty boy," your words make his ears red. "I'm sure anything is better than kissing porcelain," he replies with a breathless tone, leaning forward again as if unwilling to part from you even if just to talk.

"No, don't disrespect yourself like that. What did we say about making those jokes." "Hah, I'll stop when you do."

Giggling, you're leaning in again. Sal wonders if kissing you is the only reason he's not completely in tears. The first time he'd accidentally showed Larry his face, he'd cried because Larry didn't look away from him. You taste tears on your lips and Sal curses softly as he tucks himself under your jaw, groaning. You shush him comfortingly, threading your fingers through his hair as he takes a few deep inhales.

"I love you." Those words are followed by more tears and you squeeze him again. "I love you, Sal," he nods against your — his — shirt. He can feel the grin you have from the crown of his head.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

Because you did. Sal was the man you wanted to be with until the Earth decided to throw in the towel; it didn't matter how buried your love for each other would be, because when your bones are dug up, or his guitar, or the treasure trove of things you've called yours; in the future, when you whisper to those archeologists: "Do you know?" they'd nod and reply, "We know you loved him."

Sal has never felt love like this. One that felt overwhelming at first, the same way entering a body would be for the first time in your life, but once he embraced the feeling? It was so...fulfilling.

How lucky was he?

Sal pulls away to cup your face and he leans in. You meet him halfway.

The feeling of your breath, your heart thudding against his own chest, the pulse beating under his thumb as he holds your neck — Sal isn't sure if he'd ever get into heaven but he doubts it ever compares to you.

His jaw moves and your lips part as you press closer. Fuck, kissing him felt like drinking in sunlight. There's a freedom that follows it, leaves you floaty and blissful.

"I love you," he replies between the friction, teeth biting down on your lower lip if only to hear if you'd gasp. You do.

"I love you so fuckin' much, (Y/N)." There's a feverish desperation in his words. But it makes your heart swell. There's no doubt in his eye, nothing but the truth and the truth is he'd worship you.

You're kissing again. Eager to show him the explosions he sets off within you. Between desperate lip locking and messy tangles of tongues, his hands move down and up your — his —shirt.

Squeezing your sides as he drags his digits across your skin. It spreads fire across your planes, has your already uneven breath shuddering as he memorizes the shape of your body again.

There's a growing hardness between his legs. You can feel it — twitching below your crotch as he tilts his head and tastes the lust that perspires from your neck.

He's greedy with his mouth. How could he not be? Sal has been wanting to taste you the second he realised how badly he wished you were his.

"Fuck, Sal." You groan, chewing on your lower lip as he experiments with this unmarked territory. His tongue is warm, his teeth brushes over pumping arteries with an air of amusement; when he finds the sweet spot? The spot where your breath hitched as he kissed it?

Sal makes your blood vessels explode. It isn't enough that the hairs on your neck stand in attention because of him, or how your blood rushes to your head when he so much as looks your way. He's determined to show you he can worship you in more ways than one.

You're gripping onto his shirt and your hips grind down. The moan he lets out makes your cunt wetter than before.

"I need you," you tell him as he sinks his teeth in. Just to test it out, to see if you'd like it. You do. His back feels cold as you lift his shirt but he grips at your wrist, panting as he moves his head away so you can see him.

"Can I...Can I keep it on?" He already felt a touch too exposed. You nod, reassuring him with a chaste peck.

"I'm gonna take of my shirt. You've made me all warm," he smiles a bit too smugly. He's handsome that way. When he gets a bit cocky — it's a sure fire way to make your head dizzy with desire.

"My shirt," he mumbles.

But when your bare torso is revealed the sass is pushed away. Sal presses kisses on your chest, teasing your perk buds with his too-warm hands and relishing in the way you toss your head back when he takes one in his mouth.

"Sal, holy fuck." He kneads at your ass, making your hips move back and forth. Rocking your clothed cunt over his boner as he leaves hickeys and bitemarks.

Here is where I plant my love, he thinks as he feels your heart pound against your ribcage, here is proof that he's mine.

Your pants are pulled below your waist and Sal moves back, making you yelp at the loss of balance. One second you're over him and the next, you're both tumbling over the couch.

His hand cradles the back of your head, curling over you as much as he could when you crash. Thankfully, none of you knocked into the coffee table but the adrenaline of the short fall makes the both of you wide-eyed.

"Holy fuck!" You laugh breathlessly. He scans you for any injury but soon follows suit. "You okay?" His hair curtains your face from view as he descends to claim your lips again.

"I'm peachy, baby." Sal grunts as you tug at the waist band of his pants. "Don't stop..." and how could he say no to you when you look up at him like that?

Your hands invade underneath his shirt and Sal moans as you press your fingers lightly into his back, kneading at the tense muscles. "M'not gonna take it off. Just wanna feel you," you assure as you reach his shoulder blades. God, the feeling of your hands on his body made him feel so Holy.

Ironic in the grand scheme of things but it's not like Sal gave a damn.

It's your turn to mark him up. He often already is. But this time your lips latch onto the obvious places. Lifting yourself to sit, Sal is suddenly at your mercy as you lovingly bruise him up with your mouth.

Sal lifts himself off your crotch a bit, panting and moaning at your ministrations, and slips his hand down your pants. Your breath stutters as your boyfriend touches your core.

"Sal," you plead. "I know, baby. I know," Sal frowns when you whine. "What? What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"You're just..." You're breathing heavily as you stare up at him, nails lightly digging into his skin as your dick twitches against his palm.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Sal."

That catches him completely off-guard. He hates how tears immediately burn at his waterline but regret doesn't come when they travel down his cheek. You're kissing him and the self-depriciation doesn't once rise. That snivelling, hissing, voice of doubt remains mute as you hold him.

"So fucking pretty," he slips his finger in as if attempting to distract you with pleasure. It makes you keen but you continue to sing praises for him as he pumps his digits in and out of you.

It's hard to move when you curl your arms over his back, hands peeking from the stretched out collar of his shirt. Forehead once again pressed to his.

"I can't — "

"You're all mine. My pretty boy is all mine." Blood should not rush so quickly to one's head. His chest is dusted in red, his shoulders, his ear, the apples of his cheek —

"You feel so good, Sal."

You allow him to push you back, splaying out onto the floor with your eyes lidded in want as he looked at you.

"...Shit, you're making my brain go all stupid," he grumbles — it sounds more like a whine. You lift your hips as he tugs your pants down and off. Sal gets between your legs and for a moment you think he's about to just slide in — which causes you a bit of concern considering how much meat he's packing between his legs — but then he lays on his stomach and your cock peeks straight up.

"I've watched a few pornos," he says with a grimace, "but — "

"I can guide you, Sal." He's looking up at you with those doe eyes and you chuckle as you brush some of his hair back. "You made me cum from grinding on your goddamn leg before. You've got this, Sex Grandmaster Sal."

"Really don't think mentioning Larry's marijuana induced rambling is setting the mood, babe," your giggle smooths out the furrowed brows he had. "Sorry, sorry."

Your cunt is making his mouth water. Sal presses his thumb on your cock and the sigh you let out eases his worries. His tongue on your dick has you inhaling deeply, slowly, back arching off the floor as he looks up at you.

He's overzealous but fuck does it make you wetter than you've ever been. Licking and sucking on your cock while he teases the opening of your cunt with his fingers. The hints of teeth makes your hips twist but he holds your hips down with muffled groans.

"Fuck, yes. You're doing so good, Sal. S'fuckin' good — holy shit, babe," the way your voice gets all pitchy makes him grin. Your slick on his tongue is making him want more, so he spreads your lips apart and sinks his tongue inside, it makes your grip onto his head, and Sal moans into you at the pinpricks of pain that follow.

Fingers accompanies his tongue and you're clamping your thighs around his head. It forces Sal's face into your cunt and the whole thing has him chuckling against you.

Pinning your thighs apart, Sal licks and swipes at the slick around his mouth and chin, catching his breath as he curses.

"Fucking Christ, does it feel that good?" You whine in retaliation. "You're the one going down on me of course I'm going fuckin' crazy. You get all whiny when I go down on you too — "

He curls a finger inside of you and you cut yourself off with a particularly loud moan. The floorboards above you creak and like a deer lifting its head as a branch snaps in the distance, another follows as whoever was in the living room heard the echoing cries of pleasure.

Sal slips another finger in and you cover your mouth, glaring at his handsome face petulantly. It falters as he stretches you out, thrusting in and out with a steady rhythm that he occasionally breaks to curl his fingers up.

You're groaning and curling your toes, eyelids fluttering and squeezing shut as he jerks you off with his other hand. Loosening his jaw, Sal uses his spit to lube you up further. He had a thing for sloppy sex. You once joked he enjoyed the slick-and-slide of it all and he didn't deny it then and probably won't ever.

"Nuh - no, don't wanna cum yet, I wanna cum with you, baby," he slows his rhythm, staring at you as you lift yourself onto your hands and taste yourself on his lips.

"Want you inside me. Please, Sal, I'm beggin'"

"You don't have to. I've got you." He nods when you hold onto the waist of his pants. Pulling it down to his knees and let his cock spring out into the air. Fuck, it's a pretty dick.

It's fat and heavy. Thicker than longer, the girth always makes your toes curl. It's a darker colour compared to the rest of his skin tone, the mushroom tip a warmer shade that burns when you tease him too much. You motion for the couch and he leans against it, whispering your name as you hover over his cock.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he says as you pump his dick with your fist while you line it up to your cunt. "You're pretty fucking hot yourself, big dick," he struggles not to laugh in your face, shaking his head in 'disapproval' that's short-lived.

You sink down on the tip of his cock and Sal moans out your name, squeezing your hips. You shiver for a moment, willing your insides not to clench so excitedly when you've still got some ways to go.

"Shit, (Y/N). You're so fuckin' tight." You could not agree more. The more you go down on him, the more you're tempted to just squeeze him like a vice. Sal brings your face down to kiss him, very quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of it. It's no wonder teenagers made out in the hallways all the damn time.

Gravity helps you the rest of the way. When he's all the way inside of you, you part your lips, the way your eyebrows slope being felt on Sal's forehead as you clench around him.

"Fuuuuck, Sal" you're whimpering his name, arms wrapped around his neck as you look at him. "You feel so fuckin' good, baby."

He swallows thickly, reaching to push your hair away from your face as he gazes up.

"I love you, so fuckin' much. I love you, Sal," you're determined to make him turn into nothing but mush. He's certain of it. His insides felt like a field of flowers, all blooming at once, even if it didn't sense at all. There's an airy moan that escapes him as you squeeze your inner thighs, your hips move forward and Sal grips you like he's afraid you're just a figment of his imagination.

"I know, baby," he whispers back. "I love you, more than you can imagine."

A dopey grin appears on your face. "You think you can show me how much you love me, handsome?" He smiles and your heart feels like it's going to stop.

"I can do more than show you, pretty boy."

He turns you over on your side, not once pulling out. You hastily grab some couch pillows for the both of you before your descent onto the floor. It's cold but that's all the more reason to hold onto each other.

Once your head is on a pillow and you're on your back again, he drapes over you.

Another kiss. Another mischievous nibble. A sly dance of tongues.

Sal is pulling out, the drag of his dick makes you whimper, and thrusts back home. The action has your nails leaving welts on his back but it just reinvigorates him.

He's splitting you open and filling you up. Every thrust makes you see stars. You're unwilling to let him go if the legs wrapped around his waist are saying anything.

But Sal is growing flustered the more praises you tell him.

"That's it, baby. Fuck this pussy, this pussy's just for you."

"Fuck, you look so good, baby. On top of me, fucking me, shit — !"

"Oh, God, your cock is — yeah, right there! — you're in so deep, Sal -Ah!"

You're so fucking filthy.

He wants to hide his face in your neck but he doesn't wanna take his eyes off you. Eyes trailing where his lips and teeth had been, eyeing the sheen of sweat on you and your messed up hair.

The shower you just took had been in vain, huh?

"Fuh - fuck, I'm close," he warns, bracing himself on his elbows as he hovers above you.

"Yeah? Me — mff! — too. Cum inside, baby. Need to feel you — fuuuuck — dripping outta' me," he chuckles breathlessly at your words.

His hips are stuttering and he can see the way your brows are furrowing, angelic moan after angelic moan being knocked out of you. He gives your cock a rub and the way your back arches off the floor makes him hold his own orgasm back just so he can see you like this as clearly as he can take it in.

"Sal, oh fuck, baby!"

"I've got you, (Y/N)."

He chokes out a groan as he feels you clamping down on him, your cunt gripping onto him like it never wants him to let go. You gasp as he snatches your breath, messily making out with him as the aftershocks of your orgasm are barrelled through thanks to Sal's deep thrusts.

"Shit, shit, shit," you smile as he begins to lose his rhythm. Ignoring how sensitive your boypussy feels as he chases his end. "C'mon, baby, fill me up. Yeah, that's it."

He cums with one final thrust. The warmth of it floods your insides, earning pleasant shivers from you as you moan out his name. He's riding his orgasm out, pushing in and out of you shallowly as he catches his breath above you.

"Jesus, fuck..." You giggle at his words, chest rising and falling in rapid motions as your heart tries to calm down.

"That was, Christ, that was — " "Fucking amazing?"

He nods, falling on top of you as carefully as he can. You embrace him, humming as he kisses your neck while you rub his back. The both of you catch your breath, satisfied expressions etched on your faces.

When Sal moves, your eyes are already closed. He pulls out and you whimper at the loss, ignoring the way he stares at his own jizz dripping out of your cunt in favor of gazing at his face.

"We gotta take a shower all over again," he says, helping you sit up and accepting the hug you give him when you're righted.

"...Wanna do it all over again in the shower?" Your question earns a throaty chuckle. "Thought it was implied in my statement."

Another beat of comfortable silence is shared. Sal sighs, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

"I've got you, Sal."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader #ftm reader #trans reader #sally face x reader #sally face x male reader #sal fisher x reader #sal fisher x male reader

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munson-blurbs · 5 months

Text

Argyle x Fem!Reader smut

Summary: Your plans tonight only involve ordering a pizza, but a conversation with the pizza boy has you craving something very different.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), phone sex, masturbation (m! and f!), voice kink, Argyle is a simp as per usual

WC: 1.7k

A/N: This was inspired by me and @word-wytch ordering pizza at Steel City Con where the pizza boy did not want to get off of the phone. Nothing spicy happened, but it made us think...what if it had?

Also, big shout out to @munsonmuses for helping me with the ending. Love you, Addie!

“Surfer Boy Pizza, this is Argyle speaking. Can I interest you in a delicious pie? Perhaps the Argyle Special?”

You stare at the shiny brochure in your lap, breath catching in your throat when you hear his voice. You were expecting someone brusque, rushing you off of the line so they can collect the next order, but the man speaking to you might as well be laying on a white sand beach.

“Um, h-hi,” you wince at the way you stammer, tempted to hang up and save yourself further embarrassment, but you keep the receiver pressed to your ear. Lenora Hills is a fresh start, a place where no one knows you, and you’re determined to spread your wings and become more than the ‘shy, awkward girl.’ So, even though you were going to order a small cheese pie, you push yourself to ask, “what’s the Argyle Special?”

Soft laughter trills from the speaker; it’s warm and welcoming without a hint of malice. “Oh, the Argyle Special? She’s kinda my baby.” Good lord, the way he says baby has your thighs clenching involuntarily. You hear him shuffling a bit, adjusting positions to get more comfortable. “So, we start out with your classic thin crust.” Argyle lowers his voice and adds, “You might think you can toss it in the air a coupla times and call it a day, but you’d be wrong. You gotta knead it, get all the kinks out, right?”

“Mhm.” Your free hand begins to dip below the waistband of your denim shorts before you pull back. What are you doing? Touching yourself to a stranger explaining how to make pizza? “I, uh, I gotta—”

“Next comes the sauce,” he continues, not noticing your interjection. “Now, less is definitely more here, y’know what I’m saying? A little goes a long way.”

You nod, too caught up in the moment to remember that he can’t see you. “A-And then what?”

“Cheese. Enough to achieve that perfect amount of gooey goodness, but not so much that it weighs down the slice.” Another peal of laughter, just as kind as the one earlier. “Some people ask for extra cheese, but in my humble opinion, it takes away from the rest of the toppings, y’know?”

There’s a quiet swishing sound coming from his end, and it draws your attention. “What’re you doing that’s making that noise?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yo-yo.” Your question has clearly caught him off-guard; instead of further explaining his baby, he asks, “what’re you doing?”

Immediately, your thoughts flit to the way your fingers yearn to be inside you, the way your clit aches to be rubbed each time he talks. But he can’t know that. “N-Nothing. Um, yeah, nothing.”

You can practically hear his brows raise in disbelief. “Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Argyle teases gently. “In fact, it sounds like you’re doing something important.” He pauses for a second. “Lemme guess: top secret CIA mission?”

“No.”

“FBI?”

You giggle despite the embarrassment washing over you. “Not quite.”

There’s silence; his audible breathing is the only way you know he’s still on the line. “You got a really cute laugh.”

Is he flirting? This is flirting; it has to be. But he doesn’t even know what you look like.

You don’t know what he looks like, either, and you were about to masturbate to him, you remind yourself wryly. Anything’s possible.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sweet but also sexy. A rare combo, if you ask me.”

You summon all of your courage; the ball is in your court. “I, um, I like your voice.” Heat pools in your cheeks as you say the words.

“My voice? Shit, I always thought it was kinda goofy. My friend Jonathan says I sound like Cheech and Chong. Well, not, like, both of them, but just…one.” A rustling noise; he’s shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m not good with getting compliments and stuff.”

“S’okay. Me either.” You laugh again, finding the ability to be honest refreshing. “Keep telling me about your special. Your baby,” you amend.

He exhales a cloud of lust. “Fuck, say ‘baby’ again.” Ah, so it had the same effect on him that it did on you.

This time, you don’t chastise yourself for the way your fingertips graze your cotton panties. You and Argyle are clearly on the same page. Why fight it? “Tell me more about the Argyle Special, baby.”

“I gotta know first if you’re doing what I’m about to do,” he says breathily.

“I am,” you affirm, finding your clit easily and applying the lightest pressure.

A sharp inhale, then, just above a whisper, “Good. So, so good.” He unzips his fly and groans as his hand wraps around his cock. “I’m just gonna talk, and you keep touching yourself for me, okay?”

“Mhm. Just…keep going.”

“Shit, yeah, I got you.” Another moan as he strokes himself, his sentences getting choppier. “The toppings…I like to combine sweet and—mmf—savory.”

You tug your panties aside, slipping your middle finger into your waiting pussy. “Keep going,” you urge, desperate for his silky voice.

“Some diced g-green pepper…sliced jalapeños…and…” Argyle’s focus is split between listing ingredients and jerking off, and one is evidently winning.

“And what, baby?” There’s a slight edge to your tone—dare you say, a sultriness—as your ring finger joins your middle, fucking yourself with both of them.

You’re not the only one who picks up on your newfound confidence. “And pineapple,” he manages. “Comes from a can…fuck, I can hear how wet you are.”

You whimper, forcing air into your lungs. Breathing has never been a manual task until right now. “It’s because of you.” Your fingers move faster; you curl them slightly to maximize your pleasure. “You and your voice.”

“I’d talk all goddamn day for you.” His voice is thick with desire. “I’d do anything you asked me to—oh, fuck,” he grunts. “What would you want me to do if I was with you right now?”

What wouldn’t you want him to do is an easier question, but you try to quickly formulate a response. “I-I’d want you to touch me.”

“More specific, honey,” he tuts. “Where do you want me touching you?”

Everywhere. Anywhere. You think about where your own hand would be if you weren’t holding the phone. “My clit,” you say urgently, “or my…my tits.”

“Mmm, I could put my mouth on one and my fingers on the—”

“No,” you insist, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Fingers only. Need to keep your mouth free so you can talk.”

A chuckle, then, “fair enough. Guess I’ll rub that pretty little clit of yours, huh? Make sure you’re ready f’me.” There’s a soft puh as he spits on his cock to lubricate it. “Wish I was inside of you. Bet you’re so wet…and warm…and—ohh, yeah— so tight…”

“I’m so close,” you whine, absolutely desperate for this orgasm. You tuck the phone between your ear and your shoulder, bring your newly-freed middle finger to your clitoris, now swollen with need. “Please, Argyle, tell me how you’d fuck me.”

“Oh, baby,” he rasps, the schlick of his fist stroking his erection becomes louder, faster. “I want you screaming my name. That sweet little pussy st-stuffed with my cock. And I’ll go deeper…and deeper…and deeper…until you can’t—fucking—take it!” He growls out the last four words.

It’s enough to drive you to the edge. You don’t tell him you’re cumming, but he knows just from the choked moans that you’re there. Your fingers are shiny with the proof of your arousal as you finish all over them, wishing they belonged to Argyle. Wishing you belonged to Argyle.

“I’m cumming, fucking shit, h-oh, my God.” He’s in another galaxy now, stars swirling around him as his release spurts from his aching tip and coats his hand in his sticky seed. “Holy fuckin’…whoa.” There’s a brief pause. “Gimme one sec, okay?”

Argyle’s racing across the kitchen, phone dangling from the cord, before you can even respond. “Sorry,” he says, panting and laughing when he returns to the receiver, “had to grab some paper towels and clean myself up. Can’t go walking around with jizz on my hands.”

“Not a good look,” you agree, the warmth from your giggle melting any residual awkwardness. “You definitely need to wash them, like, a hundred times before you make another pizza.”

“Nah, man; I’m actually clocking out now. You were gonna be my last customer, but, uh…” he trails off, and it occurs to you that you never finished placing your order. “We got a little distracted.”

Distracted is putting it mildly, but you’re in no headspace for a semantics debate. “I guess I’ll have to call back the next time you’re working and try again.”

“Y-Yeah, for sure!” Eagerness dominates his tone, and he tries to rein it in. “Or, um, maybe you can come by in person? I’d like to see the girl who made me cum harder than I have since…ever,” he adds cheekily.

“Mhm. I can do that.” Can you? Yes, you tell yourself, I can. I’m turning over a new leaf, and that apparently involves having phone sex with the pizza guy and then meeting him for the first time at his job.

You swear you hear a quiet yet triumphant, “yes!” before he says, “You sure? Because I’d totally get it if you wanted to keep this a one-time thing.” His hesitation indicates that he’s no stranger to unrequited pining, like he’s bracing himself for a rejection. “But I gotta be honest with you; I really wanna see you.”

“I wanna see you, too.” You wrap the springy cord around your forefinger. If his voice could make you feel this way, imagine what he could do with his fingers, his tongue, his…

“I work from noon until six tomorrow, if you wanna stop in?” Argyle cuts into your train of thought. “Or if that’s too soon, then we can just—”

“Argyle?”

“Yeah?”

You smile widely even though there’s no way for him to know that. “See you at six tomorrow.”

#argyle stranger things #argyle smut #argyle imagine #argyle x y/n #argyle #argyle x female reader #argyle x fem!reader #argyle x reader #argyle x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #argyle fanfic #smut

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fanttasttica · 4 months

Text

Family

Helion x reader, Rhysand x daughter reader

You never knew your parents and yourself. One day you decide to leave your home and try to find something about yourself and your family. You come to the Day court, where you meet their cunning High lord, who also happens to be your mate. But your mate isn't the only person you found..

warnings: mentions of nudity

words: 2764

It was a nice summer day. A wind gently caressed your cheeks, as you were looking at your friends, who were enjoying the day with their families. Fathers, mothers.. siblings. That was a luxury you have never known. You never knew your father or mother. The closest thing you had to parents were Christian and Lucille, who found you one day and raised as their own. You actually thought they were your parents, until they came clean when you reached your eighteen birthday. They knew you deserve the truth. Since then, you were jealous and happy at the same time for your friends, who had families on their own. You were watching them from a smaller distance, as they were laughing together wishing you could have something like that too. Not that you were not grateful for Christian and Lucille, you loved them but.. You wanted to find out who your parents were. Whose violet eyes were looking at you in the mirror? Did you have the same black hair as your mom? Was your smile similar to the smile of your father? Those were questions you earned an answer for.

You grew up in the mountains in Night court. Your village was quite small, nothing extraordinary here. It was not far from the borders the Night court shared with the Day court. You could walk there maybe after two or three hours. That means that sometimes you meet people traveling between these two courts. People who were more than willing to share stories. That was how you found out about Amarantha being dead. You knew her, of course you did. Everyone in Prythian did. She trapped all High lords under the mountain, took their powers.. They were helpless until one day a human girl named Feyre freed them. You were fascinated by her story. She was now your High lady, finally being happy with Rhysand, your High lord and you found that really nice. That they found each other after all that. You heard all stories about them and about other High lords and interesting people from travelers, merchants.. You were always listening to them very carefully, until one sunny day, when you decided to stop being the listener and become the traveler, narrator, yourself. It was an opportunity to get to know new places, people.. and maybe find out something about your parents.

“Are you sure you want to go? I mean..it can be really dangerous.” You smiled at your friends. “I am sure. I love you guys, I love this place but.. I just want to try and find out something about my parents, about me. And I think that's the thing I cannot accomplish here.” She sighed and nodded as a sign that she understands you. “Well.. I will not stop you, if that is really what you want. Just.. be careful and don't forget us.” You hugged her tight, trying to find back tears. “How could I ever forget you? You are my best friend, sister, even though we don't have the same parents. I will never forget you, don't worry. And also.. this isn't definitely the last time you see me. I will come back.”

It has been almost two months since you left. After almost a month of traveling, you came to the town which was surrounding the palace of Helion, the Day court´s High lord. Probably the sexiest male alive. You had only seen him once, from afar when he was walking and talking with some of his friends near the shop you worked. You found a job in a smaller café, simply because you needed money and you also quite quickly fell in love with the city and wanted to spend some time here. You weren't sure how long you were going to stay.. A few months? Year? But it didn't really matter. Your job did not only provide you with the money , no. It also helped you meet a few nice people you befriend and could spend time after work. It was nice, the days were not the same as in your old village. Every day brought something new, new skills you learned, new friends.. But the one day that stood out above all the days.. was the one when you met your mate.

It was almost noon when the bell rang and he walked into the café, where you were currently working. Helion stood in the doorway and was looking around the place as if he was searching for something, or rather someone. And then, suddenly, he looked at you, his already big smile grew even bigger. At that same moment, you felt something in your chest, in your heart. Mating bond. It snapped immediately, taking the air from your lungs. You blinked a few times, not daring to move or look away from his gaze as he walked closer to you. “Hello my little sunshine.”

From that moment, you didn't spend a day without a stolen moment with Helion. You found out that he already knew about the mating bond. It snapped for him a few minutes before he came in, as he was casually walking around the café. He saw you and needed only a few minutes before you he plucked up the courage to go talk to you. You decided to take things slowly. He was coming to the café, where you chatted when you were working. After a week he invited you to a date, to a beautiful restaurant, theater, then he took you on the picnic.. And that's basically how you ended up waking up in his large bed, with nothing but sheets on your naked body.

You two were seeing each other for almost three months. It was already winter, but that did not bother you. Helion was hugging you, his big and warm body was better than any blanket in the whole world. You were enjoying this quiet morning in his embrace, when you felt he was already waking up. His breathing changed and grip on you strengthened, as if he also wasn't ready to wake up and leave your bed. You giggled at him, whereupon he grunted. “Is there something funny, sunshine?” You sighed happily. “Just one certain High lord who is behaving like a little child who doesn't want to share his toy with anyone else.” He chuckled, turned you around, so you were now lying on your back on the comfortable mattress and he was towering over you in all his glory. You bit your lips at this sight. “But I don't want to share you with anyone else.” He started placing soft kisses on your neck, which was full of hickeys from the previous night. “I don't think that's possible. My shift is starting in an hour and you also have a lot of work.” You argued, trying to keep your thoughts clear, even though the idea of spending the whole day with your mate in bed was more than tempting. “That's why I want you to quit. You know I can take care of you, I want to take care of everything you need or want” This time it was you who chuckled at his idea. “And what would I do? Spend all my time in your bed, waiting for you to return? It would be boring.” You caressed his beautiful face. Admiring his beauty, before he spoke again. “You could always come with me to the meetings, sit on my lap and warm me.” He winked at you, as you punched him slightly in his biceps. After that his face grew more serious. “I love you Y/N. More than my court, more than the sun, more than everything else.. Just say you want this and I promise I will give you everything in the world. I will make you my High lady. My equal. Just one word is enough.”

It wasn't that hard a decision. You loved Helion with your whole being. You couldn't imagine a day without him. So you finally agreed. You gave him your answer that day, in the evening, when you served him dinner made by you. It was simple, private and even though Helion was known for parties, he really appreciated this. Mainly because after the meal he could immediately take to to the bedroom and fuck you all night without any disturbance. The only thing that was left to declare you his High lady. You urged him to wait a little. When you officially accepted the bond you also moved to his palace the next day and you simply wanted to get used to the new surroundings and to the bond, which was now stronger than before. He of course agreed to your wishes. But you still were slowly making plans for the celebration, because you decided to make this event publicly. Helion thought that it was only fair for his, yours, people to have an opportunity to witness this moment, when the first High lady of the Day court was crowned. And believed him, wanting to also make people happy, to make a good first impression and that was probably not possible if you were hiding in the shadows on that important day. You also decided to invite your and some of Helion's friends, which also included some other High lords and their families. You personally invited Thesan - High lord of the Dawn court, High lord of the Winter court and his wife, Tarquin, who was Hugh lord of the Summer court and lastly.. High lord, High lady of the Night court and their Inner circle.

Before every meeting with other High lords you were incredibly nervous and Helion was trying to calm you down as he could and he was successful, but this time.. It was different and you weren't sure why you felt this way. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, your hands were sweating.. Maybe because you were supposed to meet the only other High lady that existed? Or maybe you were just nervous because you have heard a lot of stories about all of them? Rhysand was the most powerful High lord, his mate had powers of all seven High lords and her sisters were made by the Cauldron.. Not mentioning Cassian and Azriel, who were alive for more than five hundred years and killed more people than you have met in your lifetime. “Don't worry Y/N. They are really nice and don't bite more than me and you are already used to that.” Helion winked at you and you rolled your eyes at him. This was something about him that you absolutely loved and at the same time found annoying. He was such a flirt. “I know and I believe you. Honestly.. I am not sure why I am so nervous.” You as and at the same time tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Before your mate could respond to you, you heard the sound of the door opening. You looked behind you and to your surprise you met the same eyes you had and they stared back at you in shock.

There was silence as the others entered the room as well. They were looking at you with shocked expressions and you returned it, mainly to the man that had the same eyes as you. And after a few moments you noticed that the eyes were not the only thing you shared. You also had the same hair, similar features. In the end it was Helion who broke the silence. “I.. I never realized that.” It wasn't surprising he was not very receptive to these things. “That's.. How?” High lady asked, turning to face her mate, who also finally recovered from the shock. “I have no idea, Feyre darling.” He took a few steps towards you. You looked at Helion, not sure what to do. What to say. Was it even possible? Was this really your father or was it some cruel joke made by the Cauldron? How did it happen? “It's her.” You heard a sweet voice from the group. A girl, a woman, in a pink dress came closer. You shared a confused look with your mate. “The girl from my visions. Rhys's daughter.”

To this moment, the only person who almost made you faint was Helion but when that woman said those words.. You had to grab your mate's strong arms, because otherwise you would be laying on the ground. This did not go unnoticed by your father and your mate, who grabbed you by your waist, holding you firmly. It was not only supporting in standing, it was calming you at the same time. Your father looked with worry. “Are you okay?” He asked you, you nodded in response. “I am, it's just.. a shock.” He smiled at you. “That's understandable. It's a shock for both of us. Well.. for all of us. He turned to his mate and Inner circle, as if he was having a quick conversation with them. After that, they came closer, introducing themselves with bright smiles. You have learned that the lady who was obviously a seer was Elaine, sister of your father's mate. It was Feyre who introduced herself to you last. It was a little bit weird for you, since she was a little bit younger than you and practically your step-mother, but she seemed nice. “By the way, what are you doing here? And how did you find my daughter, Helion?” You almost forgot they didn't know. Inviting High lords to your celebration was also a moment when Helion introduced you to them as his mate for the first time. He looked down at you and you gave him a simple nod. “Well.. she is my mate. And also my future High lady. We wanted to invite you to the celebration personally.”

Once again, they were shocked, especially your newly found father, who was looking between you and Helion. You wanted to say something. Something that could make this situation a little bit less weird, but couldn't find the right words. In the end, silence was broken by Cassian's and Morrigan's augh. “Well, I did not see that coming.” Your aunt said with amusement in her voice. You smiled nervously, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the thin air. “Congratulations, it's amazing.” Feyre told you kindly and shook Rhysand's hand, so he would wake up from his trance. “Yeah.. congratulations.”He looked from you to Helion. “You better make her happy.” His words warmed up your heart. It was nice of him to look after you only after knowing you for maybe ten minutes. Maybe you were an adult, but that didn't mean you couldn't create a loving bond with him. After the first shock, you finally felt happiness. You had a parent! A father! And at that moment you realized something. With a hope in your eyes you turned to Elaine. “Do you also know who my mother is?”

The smile on her face and the faces of the others froze. Well, except for you and Helion, since you didn't know anything. Elaine swallowed hard, making eye contact with both your father and Feyre, again having some type of silent conversation. After a while, your father sighed. “Your mother.. Well.. Things get a little bit complicated here.” He breathed out. “Maybe you already heard of her. It is.. Amarantha.” It had to be incredibly hard for him to say that. After he said that, he looked away, hurt from memories that came back only after saying her name out loud.

Of course you were in shock after finding out who your parents were. Being the daughter of the most powerful High lord and also a person who imprisoned not only him, but also your mate and a lot of other people.. Being the daughter of the person who killed and who was the main villain of many people's nightmares wasn't the best thing that could happen to you. But you were lucky to have your mate and also your father on your site. After finding out, you were really sad, angry, ashamed and also worried about what other people would think. What would Helion think? But luckily, he didn't care at all. He supported you, when you were recovering from the news and trying to accept them. He supported you when you tried and later successfully created a bond with your father, but also Feyre and their Inner circle. You were very lucky to have him, to have all of them. You finally had your own happy family.

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anananass · 7 months

Text

NSFW Wriothesley x Fem!Reader ~ Snake Eyes

warning: Nsfw, as per usual

Tags: oral (giving), praising (as usual), almost getting caught, semi-public sexy stuff, sucking under the desk (spoiler), inappropriate usage of a tongue piercing, slight choking, dom Wrio but he is soft, he gets a little bit pissed and turns into a small asshole at some point (not directed at you, never)

wc: 2,2k

summary: spicy time under his grace’s desk. It was about time you spoiled your beloved Lord a bit, though someone disturbs your fun time.

note: piercings are hot

“I have an idea.” You insisted with a glint in your eyes proving that what you were about to say would be of tremendous interest to him.

The Duke raised a curious eyebrow and immediately offered you a smirk of intrigue, but he kept silent, awaiting your thoughts with much enthusiasm and utter craving.

You were seated right under his desk, between his legs doing something seemingly… interesting. Your hands were already resting on his hips at a narrowing distance away from his crotch. Despite that, his throbbing tent remained uncovered though if someone were to walk in on you two, it would be like you were just about to do something unholy. Not that it would be the first time the two of you would be caught doing something like that, but that wasn’t of any importance right now.

Voyeurism aside, your idea was innovative, something he’d easily get obsessed with, but You wouldn’t just serve it on a silver plate without starving him a little.

Hushed and delighted, you peered deeply into his icy eyes, your vision thinning into a squint with each second that passed. You just required a little stimulus, nothing more, but the Duke’s tolerance was running out and with it, his hunger only kept growing.

A little impatient with your quietness, Wriothesley gently wrapped his fingers around your neck, leading you to lift your gaze. Something a little unexpected, but he’d surely use that to his advantage in some way, right?

“Go ahead, spill it.” He urged you through ragged breaths that he hardly held under control, though the seductive eyes you were giving him made it even more difficult. “Don’t just leave me hanging like this.”

You felt his grip tighten around your throat, the applied pressure feeling pleasurable with each second he was digging deeper and deeper into your sensitive skin.

Maybe you shouldn’t have toyed with his grace like that when he expected something the most, or maybe you should have done it every time if that meant he would choke you just the way you liked it.

His clutch only caused you to gulp your arousal. “What if I do things a little differently this time?” you finally spoke out but as soon as he gave you that look of intrigue, you felt your cheeks boil.

“Is that so?” he questioned in a guttural voice that sent cold shivers down your spine until you were nothing but a trembling mess. “Why don’t you show me?” he tilted his head and soon after, tightened the grip around your neck.

The way he said that in such a hoarse voice made your knees weak and you didn't care about toying with him anymore, you just wanted to savor the opportunity of pleasing him in a new way.

“Yes, your grace.” you murmured softly, emphasizing the words ‘your grace’ and he seemed to like that with how much his member was twitching underneath that thick layer of fabric.

Upon hearing that, he expected you to lower your head but instead found himself watching you open your mouth. Shortly after, the imagery of you sticking out your tongue for him to see the snake eyes you had on your tip made him wonder if that’s what you meant by different. Just what were you planning to do with that hint you gave him? He couldn't figure, but that was fine, he would feel it soon enough.

With how much you were making him question your plans, you felt this new necklace of yours loosen up. That was your opportunity to surprise him with a new sensation, one he’d surely hope for once more in the near future.

Slowly, your digits crept closer to his aching bulge. You took all the time to unbutton his grace’s garments, making sure nothing would hinder the treatment he was about to receive. Wriothesley watched you closely the entire time, paying close attention to every single thing you were doing, and the closer you got to removing his boxers, the more he felt his breath grow steadier. Still, he wouldn't rid you of the image of a cocky smile smeared all across his radiant face. He knew very well that it was your fuel, apart from other particular reasons that are best known among you two.

Finally, once you took away the last layer of cloth and watched his member come out with an incredible bounce, you gave the hardness a good look before lifting your gaze back up. You let out a playful chuckle that was suspicious enough to push him to move his hand to the back of your head, and once enough time passed, you lowered your head.

The first thing you did was wrap your fleshy lips around his dripping tip. As a consequence, he let out a muffled moan that only went lower with each inch you were beginning to take in. Oh, he liked that so much. It was a sensation he could hardly explain, but the way his mouth opened partly and his eyes grew heavier was enough to make you aware that you were spoiling him rotten.

Soon enough, your lips parted ways with his head and without a place for pause, you stuck your tongue out and began running it down his shaft at a slow pace. You applied close pressure to where the Pierce would make contact with the sensitive buds of his length. The cold sensation of the steel had his blood boiling with a different kind of arousal. You wondered for a second whether he liked it or not but once you saw him bob his head back, clench his teeth, and growl, you figured you hit the spot.

“Jesus, Y/N.” Wriothesley gasped, letting out another moan the moment he felt you hit the base of his member. His free hand seized the hardwood of the chair, and every time he sensed your tongue grind a bit more diligently he dug his nails in and clawed. Soon after, you noticed his other hand grab onto the back of your head, tugging at your hair with each moan that escaped out of his throat.

Hearing him so weakened pushed you to take another go but this time with a little more spice. You lifted your head and instead took his head inside once more, this time gradually bobbing your head up and down whilst applying the same pressure against his slickness. You slowly increased the speed at which you were taking him in and out, and with it, rubbed his nerves harder and harder.

“Fuck.” was all he muttered while finding it difficult to keep his head straight and not just arch it back against the chair. Yet you looked so nice taking him in like that, he couldn't just miss on all that.

His grip tightened, so much that you felt him beginning to push you deeper into him. Simultaneously, he began bucking his hips into your mouth, as if his instincts were activating. Shortly, you sensed them evolving into gentle thrusts which was a little surprising, but maybe he just didn’t want to mess that pretty face of yours.

It was a little hard to keep yourself in place with all the ongoing motions, but thanks to him holding your head down like it was nothing, you only needed to reinforce your touch around his knees.

Groans began pouring out of his mouth with each second you spent like that, it was a melody to your ears. This was your first time seeing him so vocal during a simple act like this one, it was intriguing really, and definitely, a must-do again. Well, you’d surely do it again with how much he was enjoying himself in that position.

The aroma of his precum mixing with your saliva was infatuating. A flavor of bittersweetness exploded in your mouth and at that moment, all you could think of was how this quickly would surely turn into something more lengthy, as it always does. Every time he proposed that you two have a little fun time between breaks, that break would end up taking more of his time than you anticipated. It made you feel hot thinking about it, so hot that you too began accompanying him with some whines of your own. That and the addition of his continuous growls caused your folds to soak a little. Your insides were beginning to boil in anticipation as you looked forward to what he would do in return for you because let’s be honest, he would repay you back.

How could His Girl leave unspoiled after treating him so well under the desk? Until then, you decided to focus on the task at hand.

Suddenly, you heard the loud clicking of the metal door making a pounding sound as if it just got closed. Did someone enter his office? You questioned in your head, taken aback by the unannounced visitation. You halted your motions as you’d normally do but the Duke kept moving your head in and out, desperately signaling you he didn't want you to stop. He even flashed you a serious look whilst his brows furrowed into a demanding expression. He looked more tense than before but that was probably because he was preparing himself to deal with the situation.

Then, he took his hands away from you, allowing you full control, hopeful you’d keep going since your body was hardly noticeable under his desk. So you obliged and deepened yourself in his length. Truthfully, this moment was hindering. You had to keep silent which was a lot more difficult than you imagined. Even he could feel it since you squirmed slightly.

“Your grace-” finally came from the voice of an officer that was already going all the way up.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” wriothesley barked back, a little annoyed with this intrusion. “I thought everyone knows they should first check whether I’m available or not.” he pointed out this time more roughly. His eyes analyzed the scenery to see when he’d make eye contact with the officer. You seized that opportunity to rub your teeth against his shaft to toy with him a little, and in response, he held back a muffled groan.

Despite your successful attempt, his eyes didn’t lower to your head anymore although you could feel how much he was yearning to do it.

“Yes your grace, but-” the officer spoke out upon reaching the final step. “I have just finished the cafeteria report you asked for.”

“Is that on the priority list?” Wriothesley didn't hesitate and cut him off almost immediately. If there was one thing he didn’t like, it was people coming up with low-priority tasks rather than high-priority ones. That and being bothered during his special break time. “Didn’t I specify this is a low-priority objective on this week’s list?”

“Yes but, I just finished it.” the officer cried out, sounding perplexed as to why the Duke was displeased with his arrival.

Right before he could answer, you accidentally brushed your tongue a little too hard against his member. Not only did it cause it to throb, but the consequence had a small effect on Wriothesley too. He frowned and stayed silent for a little longer than he meant to, maybe because he was composing himself.

“Then you could come by later on and tell me all about it. Right now I’m on a break.” he insisted, sounding more distracted than present in their conversation. “So please, help yourself and leave this for further discussion. Take a break too, a small one.”

You didn’t hear anything more from the officer but a hum, after which he finally spoke. “Yes, your grace. Enjoy your break!” the young man exclaimed, sounding clueless. Immediately, you heard his footsteps once more, and finally the pounding of the door.

Wriothesley sighed deeply as soon as it was the two of you again. He leaned back on his chair and reached for your head once more. His fingertips caressed your hair, drawing small circles.

“Sorry about that.” his apology took you so much by surprise that you gradually decreased your pace until finally retracting your face so you could look up at him.

“What are you apologizing for? There is nothing you should apologize for.” you contested.

“I know but-” he paused for a second, time in which he backed his chair away. You stared in bewilderment at his gesture but trusted that he wasn’t just terminating this moment. “How about you come out of there?” his hand reached for yours to guide you out of the desk. “And allow me to return the favor?” he urged as soon as he had you right in front of him. Then, he further directed you to come sit on his lap, your knees must have been sore from all that time spent there.

You were about to reply but when the corners of his lips curled into a broad smirk and his face slowly capped the gap between your faces, you gasped with utmost anticipation. His hands began wandering around your hips, gripping bits of skin with each inch they traversed. His member on the other hand throbbed against you, which left you desperately squirming for more.

“Yes, please,” you whined as the gap between your lips and his narrowed even more, though you noticed that his mouth was merely trailing closer to your neck.

“Right away, darling.” Wriothesley chuckled and didn’t wait even a second to begin nibbling on your sensitive skin.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #wriothesley smut #wrio smut #wrio x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact imagines

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magiccath · 6 months

Text

A matchmaker of sorts

tenth doctor x GN!reader

summary: In which Donna is fed up with her love-sick, oblivious best friends.

Warnings: brief use of y/n

Donna had always known that her best friends were in love with each other. She wouldn’t call herself the most observational person, but it really didn’t take much to notice. She was honestly surprised that neither of you had figured it out by now.

The two of you were different in the ways that you showed your affection, but she had picked up on it.

The Doctor always looked at you with that big, stupid grin. He only ever smiled that much when you were around. He looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She supposed to him you were.

He always made excuses to touch you, even in the slightest of ways. He would ghost his hand on the small of your back when you were in crowded areas, something he never once did with her. He was always holding your hand, and you were the very first person he hugged after any victory (no matter how small).

You, on the other hand, were always flustered around the Time Lord. You turned scarlet from his little touches, especially when he hugged you. When he got super excited he would sometimes pull you into a tight hug, spinning you around the room ceremoniously. She could have sworn she once saw you grin bashfully into his shoulder as he whipped the two of you around the room.

When he walked around the ship your eyes would always follow him. Even off the ship, you seemed to be constantly looking at him. You always managed to look away embarrassed before getting caught, though.

The two of you were clearly head over heels. Donna would even admit that you were good for each other. The only issue was that neither of you could seem to see the other’s feelings, no matter how glaringly obvious they were.

Donna was pondering this issue one afternoon when she got an idea. She could try and mastermind the two of you into each other’s arms. At the very least, maybe she could encourage you to admit your feelings. Mischievous antics were already brewing in her brain.

“Doctor?” Donna asked, walking over to lean casually against the TARDIS console.

“Yes?” He acknowledged, not looking up from his work. He was fiddling with the controls in front of him. You and Donna had stopped asking specifics beyond that long ago. Sometimes he just needed something to do with his hands.

“Let me set you up on a date,” Donna smiled cheekily.

“Not interested,” he grumbled, eyes still trained on the console. Maybe he actually was doing something purposeful.

“Why not? I know you’re lonely.”

“I have you.”

“Oi!” she gasped, slapping him, “not like that!”

“I mean, I have you to keep me company,” he sighed, taking his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose. “And y/n.”

“Don’t you want someone you can be with romantically though?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” he sighed, turning away from her, “I don’t age, I regenerate,” he said, a twinge of sadness riddled in his voice.

“That’s not a valid enough reason,” Donna put her hands on her hips. If that’s all the cause he had for never asking you out, he needed a proper whacking.

“I can’t spend the rest of my life with someone.”

“Can’t you just enjoy the time you can?” “Why risk it? It eventually ends,” he groaned, moving back to the console. He was clearly done with this line of questioning, but she wasn’t.

Donna knew the Doctor could get lost in his thoughts, but they usually weren’t this pessimistic. Self-effacing and anxious? Sure. But properly “glass half empty” wasn’t the Doctor’s style.

“What about y/n?” She gandered. She examined her nails as if her words weren’t carefully planned.

“What about them?” The Doctor raised his eyebrow in confusion.

“Why don’t you go on a date with them?” She clarified. The Doctor's eyes widened and he looked away with a scarlet flush.

“I- uh.”

“I see the way you look at them,” Donna poked, feeling she was getting somewhere.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“I think you do!” Donna groaned, moving away from him. He could be so stubborn at times.

She started to walk away when the Doctor’s voice caught her attention. His gaze was glued to the console, so she wasn’t even sure if he was talking to her at first.

“What if I did?” He finally whispered. Donna looked back with interest, her eyebrows raised. “What if I did have feelings for them?”

“Do you?” She asked lightly.

“What if I’m so very in love with them and it scares me more than anything ever has before? What if I think about them all the time and the only thing I want to do is kiss them?” He shoved himself off of the console and started pacing, his hands raking through his hair anxiously. “What if they’re the most beautiful being I have ever seen and I want to spend as much time as I can with them?”

Donna stared at him wide-eyed and flabbergasted. She hadn’t expected him to admit his feelings to her.

“Hypothetically,” he added. Donna chorted. Of course, he needed some plausible deniability in the matter.

“Hypothetically,” she confirmed, smiling to herself.

“It really hurts, Donna,” He looked at her, pain etched into the features of his face. “Being this infatuated with them, and knowing it can never happen.”

Donna leaned her head sympathetically on his should, but before she could respond a crash came from the nearby hallway. Both Donna and the Doctor turned in the direction of the noise, clearly confused.

You cursed to yourself, bending down to pick up the book you had dropped. You had been walking down the hallway when you heard Donna say your name. You picked up that she was talking to the Doctor and didn’t want to interfere, so you just remained in the hallway. You hadn’t intended to eavesdrop at all. Once you started listening, it had just become a little hard to stop.

So much for subtly you thought to yourseld, moving slowly out of the hallway and into the room with a wince. Talk about awkward.

The Doctor looked at you with shockingly wide eyes before quickly averting his gaze. He acted as if you had just walked in on him admitting something horrible.

“Hi,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The Doctor was still fidgeting his face bright red, refusing to look your way. You stared at him awkwardly, the tension in the room at an all-time high.

You wrung your hands anxiously, not sure what to do now. You hadn’t exactly thought this far ahead.

“Right!” Donna sprung up, her voice breaking the deafening silence. You stared at her in shock, her sudden contribution had startled you.

“I have things to do,” she lied, pointing to the hall. You nodded meekly, and the Doctor didn’t respond. Awkwardly, Donna made her way to the door. She turned back around to send an encouraging thumbs-up in your direction. You smiled painfully back at her.

The room remained silent for a few minutes after she left. It was an awkward and uncomfortable kind of silence.

You sulked over to the console to stand adjacent to the Doctor, but you didn’t know where to go from there. You settled on leaning back against the cool metal, your eyes focused on your trainers.

“How much of that did you hear?” The Doctor finally mumbled.

“Quite a bit,” you admitted, rubbing your arm absent-mindedly. You really hoped everything he had said was true, but a small part of you still refused to believe it. You’d been in love with the Doctor for so long, the thought of him feeling the same way was so far fetched.

“I- Uh, well,” He choked. You tried again to catch his eyes, but he averted his gaze.

“Doctor?” You asked, running your hands along the console next to him. Next to you, he stiffened.

“Just forget it ever happened,” He said, shoving himself off the console. He ran his hands through his hair aggressively, still not looking you in the eye.

“What?! No!” you gasped, shoving off the console too, “you can’t take it back! That’s such a coward move!” You snapped.

The Doctor looked at you, shocked. His mouth was slightly agape, and he met your eyes for the first time since you had walked into the room.

“Especially not when I feel the same,” you mumbled. Now it was your turn to avoid his gaze, your eyes settling on the floor.

“What?” He asked, stunned. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“You heard me,” you whispered, deciding it would just be worse to double back on yourself.

The Doctor moved closer to you so he could delicately trace the lines of your jaw, guiding your face gently upwards. Your eyes landed on his and you had to fight the urge to look away.

“Do you really mean that?” He whispered, his breath dancing across your face.

“Yeah,” you gasped, voice hardly a whisper.

The Doctor smiled brightly before lightly gripping your face to guide it up to his own, his lips crashing into yours.

The Doctor kissed in a way that was so very him. He couldn’t stay still, his hands constantly moving in one way or another. They danced around your face, rubbing small circles into your cheeks, they tangled themselves in your hair, or ran elegantly down your sides. Every touch sent sparks through your body, a warmth spreading with it.

He wrapped his long arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground. Your feet dangled comically, and you couldn’t help but feel silly.

You hummed happily, sinking deeper into the kiss. You felt more at home than you ever had in your life, and you never wanted it to end.

The two of you were happy, the world only consisting of each other.

That was until Donna started loudly clearing her throat.

The Doctor pulled slightly away and lowered you down to the floor slowly. However, he didn’t remove his grip on you, still holding you gently against him. He wasn’t ready to let you go yet. Begrudgingly, you turned your head to look at Donna.

The fiery redhead stood with her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised in question. You felt a scarlet flush flood your cheeks, and you avoided eye contact.

“Been waiting for you two to stop being so thick,” she rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Now, if you two will stop snogging, I would like to go somewhere”

The Doctor threw his head back laughing, arms still lightly wrapped around you. After a minute, you joined in.

“Allons-y!” He cheered, grabbing your hand with a bright smile.

#10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor/reader #tenth docotor imagines #The Doctor and Donna #Donna noble #doctor who #10th doctor #tenth doctor #doctor who fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #david tennant

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shalotttower · 3 months

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Cultivating Flowers

Title: Cultivating Flowers

Fandom: Original

Summary: Marquis is a man of many interests, including gardening. Specifically, his new roses.

Word count: 3500+

Characters: OC!Marquis x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere!OC, manipulation, animal cruelty (not detailed, briefly described), seduction.

The first bloom appears two weeks after spring starts and it's the most glorious flower in all Marquis' garden. Gentle apricot color, like your favourite dress. You were saving for months — a whole autumn — and grandfather grumbled and grumbled about the frivolous waste of money, but once you finally put it on, his scolding didn't matter a bit. The dress made you feel like royalty — elegant, graceful, important.

You wonder if this is how Marquis feels all the time.

Gorgeous outfits, a splendid castle, a life of aristocracy and ease where everything is taken care of by servants and every other weekend there's an opulent dinner party full of refined conversations.

Your envy for him is almost as big as your caution.

Marquis Nicolae is rich. Like many rich people he possesses time. And when one has too much, they become terribly, infinitely bored. That's what grandfather told you in one of his drunken rants: people who are rich, castle-rich, private carriage-rich for generations are bored like nobody else, because nothing is scarce to them and so nothing is precious either. Work for them. Take their money. Keep your head low and remember — they don't see us like we see them.

Grandfather doesn't work in the castle anymore. He's got old hands which shake from years of physical labour and fruit brandy, back-aching hunched posture and swollen feet that need rest. Now he stays at home, waiting for you to return with stories and bread rolls baked by the cook.

He used to serve Marquis Nicolae's father, who was twice as rich, but thrice as wicked, according to grandfather's words.

"I was a stableman, your grandmother was a seamstress, God rest her soul. Sewed all my shirts, this one included," he tugs at the fabric with pride. "She did well on it... Look at those stitches."

For a moment he gets lost in muttering and rubs his index finger on an even patch of stitched fabric, as if hoping his touch can conjure a spectre. "Not like now, where clothes fall apart after just three seasons. Quality... Sturdiness," he smacks the table. "People used to think long term. Made their shirts for decades, strong like this."

Grandfather is forgetful these days, he leaps from one topic to another and loses the main line of thought, especially after a few glasses. But you wait.

"When I worked for Lord Cazimir, you see," he says finally. "He had horses, all strong, sleek, looked like jewels. A new horse each two months, said it wasn't right for a gentleman to have one for too long, but by God, I never saw a man treat them worse than him. Not enough sleep, ridden until bones hurt. If the carriage hit a stone, it was the horse's fault, if the reins got tangled it was the horse's fault, not the bloody driver. He had that whip with metal feathers which could cut through an apple. And before he made the last swish, he'd pause. Look the horse in the eyes. That was the scariest thing, how he stared at them, so calmly."

He glances at you, as if fearing an admonishment. For what? You wonder how it felt, caring for something that looked like a jewel time after time, after time, and knowing the goodbye was certain and inevitable, like a turn of a watermill wheel. Did grandfather mourn the horses? Or did he get used to burying their bodies under the soil? Maybe they fed someone later — people who don't have much are resourceful, they don't bury good meat.

You squeeze the water from the sheet in silence.

"None simply lived past two months, that's why he changed them so often."

"Why didn't you quit?"

"And then do what?" Grandfather snorts. "There was little job outside the castle, everyone who didn't have land or livestock worked for Marquis one way or another."

"It must have been difficult."

"Life is difficult," he answers, and you can't disagree.

Life is difficult, that's a fact, and it didn't get better when you started working for Marquis Nicolae yourself. A good thing is that unlike Lord Cazimir from scare stories he doesn't torment horses and rarely pays attention to anybody in a servant uniform. All of you share the same mindset: a quick "Good morning, m'lord" or "Have a pleasant day, m'lord" and then being gone as fast as possible.

Rumors circulate that Marquis never once had a full smile on his face. Charming chuckles when he's in a good mood, courtly lips stretches for ladies, bemused sneers when he's addressed by those who used to be in favour but now are out — yes, but the genuine and full-hearted joy: nobody has witnessed it.

He doesn't seem unhappy though, nor he is too serious. When you see him Marquis Nicolae always looks like he has eternity at hand and there's no hurry to spend it. To you, he is uninterested in anything and sharp about everything at once.

You can't describe him better. Words fail you when trying to fit him into boxes of easy understanding. But after all, it's not your job to fit him anywhere, your job is dusting shelves and scrubbing floors, and, since recent days — taking care of roses.

It's unusual for the castle to have such plants this early in spring. They're imported, said the gardener, from cooler places and prefer winter over the blooming season of May and June. That's why Marquis commissioned a greenhouse construction weeks prior, to have beautiful flowers which can bloom regardless of the weather. It took an entire month of hard work, people hired from nearby towns and a promise of good money. You watched them build from the kitchen window where you were helping with meals.

Roses arrived next. Seven bushes filled with buds ready to open up any day. And oh they did. Soft apricot colors covered stems like dewdrops, beautiful enough to make one gasp.

One morning you bring your rag and a bucket to the greenhouse a bit earlier to enjoy the fragrance before breakfast is served. Nice things like these are not for maids like you — the petal scent and the gentle touch of leaves — they're for ladies in beautiful dresses who have time and luxury to appreciate them, but nobody will know anyway if you stop to lean down close enough for your nose to almost bury itself in velvety softness. It's a small indulgence which can hardly hurt anyone. Nobody will know if you pretend to be a lady just for a minute.

"They're quite extraordinary, aren't they."

You freeze, nose in the middle of the rose bush.

"I- Yes", you straighten up and curtsy. "They are most beautiful, m'lord."

Marquis' figure, backlit by the morning sun, casts a shadow which stretches far beyond your own feet.

"Do you know why I chose it?" he asks. "This breed."

He's dressed in a dark waistcoat with delicate embroidery on the collar and doesn't have a single hair out of place, not a strand too thick, not a strand too thin; as flawless as a painting which hang on the walls of his library, but not as solemn. Those paintings seem to measure everyone around them. Marquis Nicolae looks more approachable in appearance, and that's where the approachability ends. His eyes, burgundy brown colour you've never seen before, measure people too, in value rather than worthlessness.

You shake your head, "No, m'lord."

"Because," Marquis continues without minding your answer at all, "it's pretty."

His lips stretch in a courtly smile of a gentleman who is amused by his own joke. You don't understand it but smile in return anyway, because you must. Because this is how the world works — nobles are amused and maids fake understanding so the amusement can persist a little longer.

"Go on," he says. "They are meant to be smelled after all."

You nod and curtsy again.

Later he will be served tea at the ornate greenhouse table while you scrub the floors until your fingers ache. Marquis' focus will shift towards letters, and this is how it's supposed to be. Him reading correspondence, you being invisible like dust under the shelves you clean. It feels better when he doesn't look at you with those eyes of his. They pierce through everything they see.

There's something wrong about him. But you can't tell what yet.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Life is monotonous, especially in a place like this, even banquets and events have that homogeneous taste, because there's at least one every three weeks, not speaking of brunches which rotate regularly depending on who's currently in Marquis' favour. You serve dishes full of rich fragrances that make your mouth water but can't ever dream of trying them. Meat dripping with wine sauce, roasted chicken breasts wrapped in crispy bacon and glazed with honey syrup. Fresh fruits coated in powdered sugar. Sometimes in the evening when everyone is asleep you mouth the names of those meals: "Beef Bourguignon," "Veal Piccata", "Chicken Florentine". Those foreign words are hard to pronounce — Beef Boo-gee-nyon, Veel Pick-kata — you do it quietly and mostly in your head so grandfather doesn't hear and scoff about wasting time on useless things.

"You're not starving," he would say. "There's bread, there's soup, you don't need those. Be happy, girl. We used to eat potatoes for months straight during famines."

You've never been hungry enough to know what famine tastes like but suspect that the flavor must be something similar to the dull feeling between the busy hours of work, which gnaws at you and makes your thoughts drift to the lunch break.

Sometimes, in a particularly sour mood he adds, "Don't stuff your head with fancy nonsense you can't have, it's only gonna make you bitter."

True.

You're a maid. A girl. A nobody.

And this is how it's supposed to be.

How to tell grandfather that you don't wish to be fancy? Just to try once the roast duck stuffed with grapes and apples, or fresh sardines baked in butter sauce, which smell heavenly as they're carried up the stairs to Marquis Nicolae's salon where guests are gathered.

How to tell him that it's not about food, not really.

It's about knowing what an apricot rose smells like early in the morning while others sleep. How velvety its petals feel when touched. Delicate things like these you're not supposed to have, but do anyway, because a moment stolen out of monotony pulls you from beneath the apron. You, yourself, not just a pair of hands with tired fingers, exist briefly when roses bloom in Marquis' greenhouse and a little piece of yesterday's cake is smuggled into your pocket.

You understand why he's wary. Grandfather's right: with longing comes bitterness. But you're careful not to overdo it. There's only one stolen minute of appreciation each day, not more, so you remember who you are — someone meant to be seen rarely and unnoticed most of the time — and return behind the apron.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Spring goes on.

Daylight stretches a little longer. Ground gets a little warmer. Marquis Nicolae often spends time in his private study after breakfast, then at noon — in the greenhouse. He strolls there among the greenery or sits by one of the tables with a book. Reading seems to be an activity he favors, and unlike some other gentlemen who grow tired within pages Marquis can stay completely still for hours without once getting restless.

You know because you watch him from the corner of your eye.

What kind of books he likes to read if they manage to keep him entertained for such lengthy periods, what titles do those leather spines hide, which stories are good enough for a gentleman like Marquis? He always seems so politely disinterested. You wonder if there are books that can make even him laugh.

Sometimes he asks you questions which startle you.

"Have you read 'The Castle of the Lady'? It's a novel."

You shake your head. "No m'lord. I can't read."

His eyebrows raise. Not in astonishment, Marquis Nicolae has a face of a man who rarely encounters surprises, his reactions are akin to mild interest bordering on curiosity, as if he enjoys discovering something new, something that doesn't fit into his existing assumptions.

"Can't?" he repeats.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, "No, m'lord. Never learnt."

"Who raised you?"

"My grandfather. He's a stableman... was. Now retired".

"I see," he returns to his book.

You fidget with a rag in your hands, why does he care to ask such question? What difference does it make whether you read or don't? It's not that uncommon. Most servants only know the basics, letters which form their names and the ones that stand for numbers. You don't really need the skill. What for?

"You may continue," he adds.

So you do.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Are you the only child?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"Your mother? Father?"

"My mother passed away giving birth to me, and father was a soldier, so he died in a war."

"What a shame," Marquis says, but it sounds like a comment on bad weather.

You're standing with fresh linens in his opulent bedchamber. It's spacious: tall windows and furniture made of rare wood. Old, like the walls of Albastru castle itself. A maid's life story is neither interesting nor important enough to pursue it, at least not in the place like this. Marquis Nicolae is bored, that's the most reasonable explanation to the current arrangement. He's looking for entertainment, but what entertainment can come at your expense, you're unsure.

Grandfather warned you not to draw too much attention, but it's not exactly your fault. Marquis' schedule is well known — he spends evenings in the salon and retires long past midnight. The chamber should've been empty. You should've been able to change his bedding, clean the fireplace and leave without as much as a sound.

Yet here he is, in a high armchair by the fireplace.

And here you are, in front of him, waiting for a dismissal that doesn't come.

On a small coffee table there're squares with simple pictures — a dog, a cat, an apple, made of thin wood with letters engraved in black ink. You step from one foot to the other, the lemon-scented sheets hide the way your fingers twitch.

Marquis traces a square with a rose.

"Sit down," he says and motions to the other chair.

"Your linens, m'lord-"

"They can wait."

No, they can't, you think. The bedding needs to be done, the fireplace cleaned, carpets swept, wilted flowers removed — there's so much to do to linger, and it's already getting late. If you're not able to finish on time-

But Marquis Nicolae didn't give you permission to leave.

You sit and put the linens on your lap.

Grandfather would say that Marquis enjoys the sight of your discomfort behind that courtly smile of his, but he doesn't look amused, he looks the usual. Calm and slightly disinterested. Sharp, despite being relaxed.

"If you figure out what letters stand from this," he points at the apple picture square, "to this one," then moves his finger to the picture with a goat, "you'll get a treat."

"M'lord?" you frown.

There must be something wrong with your hearing, but no, Marquis leans back and crosses his long legs. "A treat."

Treats are for children, treats are for dogs, treats are for horses who are obedient and look like jewels. You stare at him, puzzled, but try not to let it show; nobles have strange hobbies sometimes: races which cost thousands of gold coins for one bet alone, hunting dangerous animals, forcing their servants into duels to pass time. This must be one of those, an entertainment beyond your comprehension.

Still, time is moving forward and the complexity of your situation is becoming more apparent with every passing second; you've never felt particularly powerful — why would you? — but now you're acutely aware of how fragile one's position is when it depends on someone else's whims.

You take the first picture.

An apple. Letter A. Then a ball — B. Cat... So that's what they look like written down.

Marquis' eyes follow your fingers as they slide across the wooden squares, you feel his gaze like a touch, even though there's a coffee table distance between you and a bit more. You quietly mouth each word and letter by habit, unaware of this little detail. His eyebrows raise, this time with a hint of amusement which you don't see, too focused on your predicament.

Dog — D.

The clock is ticking.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Well?" Marquis asks later when shadows cross the room. The sun is gone, the fire in the fireplace burns lower but bright enough to illuminate the space. Sitting like this has given you a headache which makes thinking harder.

"I have them figured out m'lord", you say carefully.

"Tell me then."

"This is A," you slide the apple towards him across the table. It feels a little silly. "This is B."

The way you say them isn't quite accurate. It's "bee" instead of "b" and "dee" instead of "d", but he doesn't tell you that. Your voice goes quieter with each following letter, perhaps because you're nervous or maybe simply tired — who knows what time it is by now? Ah, quarter to ten. He watches you struggle with spelling and pronunciation until finally there they are. All squares from Apple to Goat, in order just like he arranged them.

"What about this one?" Nicolae points to the playing cat.

"It starts with 'K', m'lord."

You're quite sure, not that much variation is left after all, and say it with the most conviction you can muster so he would finally be satisfied and end this odd game. Your head hurts and stomach grumbles with hunger — there was no time for the lunchbreak today —both physical and mental exhaustion blur together.

Grandfather must be worried sick by now, he hates when you're late without telling anything beforehand.

Then Marquis covers his mouth, and for the first time since you entered Albastru castle, laughs.

Not chuckles. Not smiles without smiling. Laughs that his shoulders shake, that his eyes crinkle at the corners. You stare bewildered, not knowing what to do. Laugh yourself? Smile politely? Say "m'lord" again?

Marquis' laughter dies down eventually and he collects himself, straightening his waistcoat which doesn't require any adjusting in the first place, he's perfect as always.

"No, that's C."

Your cheeks flush red, how were you supposed to know? It would seem that a gentleman such as Marquis Nicolae should know better than mocking someone's lack of education, but apparently he finds it amusing. You lower your gaze and look away.

"How are you called?" he asks.

After a pause your name rolls off your tongue; small in his bedchamber, it barely leaves an echo.

"Well, I said a treat, didn't I?"

You don't want any treats, or to spend here even a minute longer; Marquis rises and walks towards his desk.

"Come here."

Reluctantly you stand up and follow him. The linens are left on the chair in a crumpled pile, they need ironing now. There's nothing to do other than obeying so you stop next to him where he opens one of the drawers. Inside you can see something wrapped in white paper with a thin ribbon bow around it. He takes the item out and pulls the ribbon off. Delicate scent fills the air, the little cakes, you know their name from the cook ─ macarons ─ bloom inside the wrapping.

Marquis Nicolae picks one up with two fingers and brings it to your lips.

The macarons smell sweet like almonds and look beautiful like roses in his greenhouse. They're not for maids, you think, no, this is...he shouldn't be doing that.

Your mouth waters anyway.

His eyes don't leave your face, "Do you want it or not?"

You do.

"Then take a bite."

The dessert melts in your mouth instantly. Its texture is soft, like petals, like everything else luxurious you've never had but imagined countless times. A little chewy, a bit crunchy, it's the most delicious thing you've tried, better than a piece of cake taken from the kitchen pantry, better than honeyed walnut bread.

"Another one?"

Marquis Nicolae feeds you two more, before you realize what exactly is happening — a bite by a small bite your dignity dissolves into his hand. You swallow the last morsel and quickly step back; you've forgotten yourself, forgot who you were and where, and now there's sweetness lingering on your tongue, while Marquise' fingertips smell faintly of apricot.

What have you done?

He looks amused again.

"Thank you, m'lord," you curtsy, then turn around to gather the discarded sheets.

"Clean the fireplace and change the linens. Then you might be free."

"Yes, m'lord."

It's a dismissal at last.

Marquis sits down and reaches for a book — he's done with you it seems — so you hurry to complete the assigned tasks. The fireplace isn't too dirty fortunately, just some ashes and coal leftovers. Next, the sheets, then the flowers.

Before you close the door and rush down the empty hall he speaks again, "If you still remember them all by tomorrow evening, you'll have another treat."

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #original character #original work #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

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dreamstate4you · 6 months

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Pilot.

Chapter 0.1.

Omashu

"So this crazy king is your old friend Bumi?' Katara asked curiously.

King Bumi turned to face the water tribe girl with an offended look, "Who are you calling old?"

...

"Okay, I'm old."

"Why did you do all of this instead of just telling Aang who you were?" Sokka still irritated by the fact that they were stuck in the rock Candy

"First of all, it's pretty fun messing with people." King Bumi snorted. "But I do have a reason." The atmosphere shifted to a serious tone.

"Aang, you have a difficult task ahead. The world has changed in the hundred years that you've been gone. It's the duty of the Avatar to restore balance to the world by defeating Fire Lord Ozai. You have much to learn. You must master the four elements and confront the Fire Lord. And when you do, I hope you will think like a mad genius." the kind looked around at his friend's "And it looks like you're in good hands. You'll need your friends to help defeat the Fire Nation." Bumi took a pause as Momo climbed on him.

"Thanks Bumi." Aang replied enthusiastically with a smile.

"Oh and before you leave." Two neatly dressed ladies came out holding a plate." Take these"

Bumi took the papers from the two ladies, revealing them to be tickes.

" What are these?" Sokka asked. 'Where these slips of money used in omashu or what?'He thought to himself as his eyes shined with greed.

"They are VIP tickets to see the performer Venti. I bought some for myself ,but I guess I bought to much." Bumi let out a giggle. " Now please go, trust me you don't want to miss the show." Bumi waved his hands dismissing the group. He started walking back to his castle room. Laughing along and muttering words no one could hear.

The three teens were left standing together Wondering why they were given tickets to see a performer.

" Well we better get going the show is starting at noon." Katara said as he looked at the tickets they were given.

The three arrived just in time for the open festival , a moment could be spared to buy snacks from the vindors. Aang and Sokka immediately moved to the food section.

One particular food that caught Katara's attention was on shaped of a cloud and arrows coming from the four sides of the could, creating a star in the middle.

"Hey aang look." Katara called out to show aang the interesting food, while sokka was already with a crowd of people anxious eating the food he bought as he waited for the performance in the front row.

"Hey it kinda looks like Appa." Aang whispered as he was handed the cloud cookie, but still loud for katara to hear.

Before katara could answer, sounds of people cheering could be heard, as tall men in Earth bending uniforms came marching behind each other in a neatly formed like. Aang and katara both rushed to join the crowd not wanting to miss a second of the show.

The three men on each side started stomping each of their feet hard enough that the stage started shaking. The instrument started playing from each side of the stage. In the middle a tall, tanned girl dressed in luxurious silks of the earth kingdom emerged. Her long black hair put in an elegant braid that could almost touch the floor.

The moment in that instant, Aang felt the colour drain from his face. The clothes the woman wore were the ones that most women from the Eastern Air template wore. Sure the colour had been green ,but Aang recognized those clothes. The women of the eastern air temple would often visit the southern temple so Aang wasn't a stranger to them.

Questions started to gather in Aang's mind. He wondered how this performer manage to get such sacred clothes.

The voice of the woman brought him back to focus on what was happening.

" Aang are you okay?" Katara asked for Aang's weird behavior. She watched as he looked mostly zoned out.

"Yeah I'm fine" Aang dismissed Katara.

Bringing his attention back to the performance the girl danced with grace as the earth benders created temples and figures of people behind her.

Now that Aang focused on the background dances and not on the main performer he noticed how the temples the earthbender's were bending resembles that of the Western Air temples. The temples were hanging upside down and kept popping out of the sandy wall before being pulled back into the wall by the Ender's abilities.

"Wait this song." Aang jumped up almost airbendering into the air.

"Yeah?" Katara asked next to him " it is nice isn't it." She said with a smile on her face. Her face focusing back on the main dancer.

" No its just. IT SOUNDA LIKE... THE AIRBENDERS LULLYBY!"

Aang screamed earning weird looks for the people around him. He know this song, the tempo and rhythm it had. The song would be hummed around the temples, it had no words so young monks would often make up their own words, allowing for creativity to form, but every monk and nun would always include a small line about the flying clouds that held the ability to fly and taught the Airbender how to fly

After the performance. The two immediately went to find Sokka who was on the front of the crowd and crying his heart out.

" That was beautiful." He said between sobs.

"Come on! I need to go talk to that Performer guys." Aang quickly walked infront of the group. Walking backstage to what seemed like a big white tent. He noticed the earthbender's who were in the background chilling on the side of the tent.

Before they could enter they were stopped ,by earth bending guards.

"Hey, what are doing. Let us through." Aang protested

"We can't let you through without a pass." One of the guards answered.

" Please this is very important, you see He is the Avatar and he needs to personally thank the performer for her amazing performance." Katara tried to reason with them earning no reaction from the gaurds.

"Hey!" Sokka shouted from the back. He walked towards the gaurds handing them the ticket that king Bumi gave them. The gurads inspected what Sokka was holding and let him pass.

Aang and Katara quickly did the same. Katara embarrassed about how she didn't think of that.

Inside the tent that was set up We're multiple papers and books scattered around. People inside were also chatting and laughing among themselves, but they weren't here for the after celebration. They were here to talk to the performer, Venti.

After the performance Aang started acting weird and had not said those many words to the two siblings. It seemed that the performance struck something inside him. Sokka too had the performance stuck in his head. He kept rumbling on about how he needs to fly on a magic cloud in the desert then his life goals would have been almost complete.

After some time of asking where they could find the performer. They finally found her.

She was inside another tent, a taller tent that resmbeled a watching tower from the outside, but her tent had no flooring. She was barefoot in the sand and stretching her legs.

"Ah, visitors." She quickly stood up properly. Her hands put to her side as she looked at the three infront of her. "You must have either paid a lot of money to personally see me or have good connections." She said with a hint of an accent.

"Yes, you see this is the Av-" Before Katara could finish Aang inturpted.

" How do you know that song!? WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE CLOTHES!? HOW DO YOU KNOW THESE DANCES?!"

Aang put on his most threatening voice and face he could. ( Which just ended up making him look less threatening.)

... " I got them from... A vendor. Yes a seller-" before the performer could answer Aang once again disturbed.

" YOU'RE LYING. NO ONE WOULD EVER SELL THOSE-" This seem to be a trend to interfere with another persons conversation , because Katara softly pushed Aang to the side.

"Excuse us. You see he." Katara motioned to Aang who was now on the floor. " He is the Avatar and we would really like to know where you got your knowledge from."

...

"HE'S THE AVATAR!" The young performer seemed to have lost any elegance she had as she figured out the new information. Reacting in the same way Aang was acting earlier.

The performer dashed to the boy on the ground at a ridiculous speed that shocked Sokka.

Venti bent down to help the young Avatar from the floor and looked like she was about to say something before she stopped.

"Wait, how do I really know your the Avatar?" She pointed at Aang.

Aang simply didn't respond and jumped high in the air touching the highest point of the tent and came down ,but not touching the grass, clearly still using his bending to keep him afloat.

The young girl gasped before she also jumped into the air, descending down at a slow rate, she also kept herself afloat for a few more seconds before finally reaching the ground with a smile on her face.

Sokka was the first to faint... Then Aang.

This performer is definitely an Airbender

#atla x reader #atla #aang x reader #x reader #Atla x Airbender reader #Alta x fem reader #Aang x Airbender reader #katara #sokka #Alta katara #Alta Sokka #katara x aang #Fluff #Alta fluff #Avatar the last Airbender #Avatar the last Airbender x reader

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