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fayes-fics · 1 year

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The Things We Do For Love

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict and his wife ask for Anthony's help to conceive a child.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, MMF threesome, fingering, dirty talk, vaginal sex, no incest. Married couple, infertility, conception, childbirth. Angst & emotion.

Word Count: 5.5k

Authors Note: This is a fic request fill for @broooookiecrisp from this ask (in essence, Benedict and his wife turn to Anthony for help to conceive a child). Thank you to @colettebronte and @makaylan for their invaluable advice and betaing. This is very different to my usual threesomes. This is much more angsty and emotional, but there is a happy ending. I hope you all enjoy <3

“Don’t worry, darling,” he soothes as you tear up, “it will happen for us one day.”

Despite his words, you stare at the bloody rag and feel nothing but failure.

More than anything, you want to give him children. Perhaps not a brood to rival his prestigious family, but a few children would be nice—two, maybe three. And you, more than anything, want to be a mother. To nurture life, be surrounded by children's laughter, and bring wonderful, new humans into the world.

But six months into your marriage, despite frequent, wonderful, vigorous, and enjoyable attempts, every month, your courses have arrived like clockwork, and every time, you feel you are letting him down.

“Please don’t cry,” his sweet, comforting voice almost pained; his lips mashed into your temple as he gently rocks you. “I love you regardless of if we can ever have a family. I need you to know that,” his voice sincere, maybe a little desperate.

“I know that, Benedict; I love you too; I just….” you say between muted sobs, “…I just want to give you a family like yours.”

“Darling, for all we know, it is I who is at fault, not you. In fact, we would never know unless…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but his mien turns thoughtful.

“Unless what?” you prompt, lifting your head to look at him intently.

“Unless you attempt to get pregnant via another man,” he sighs, his face pinched.

“No!! No!!” bile rises in your throat at merely the idea of being with anyone but him. He is the only man you have ever known intimately, the only one you trust. “I can’t do this with anyone but you, Benedict,” you plead.

“And believe me, my darling, the thought of you with anyone else makes me nauseated, but this may be our only choice to find out. And perhaps actually have a baby we can raise as our own,” he points out.

He’s right, and you hate it. You would do anything to let him be the father he so obviously yearns to be. And if that means you have to lay with another man, for him, and only him, you will make yourself do it if that is what he wants. It will hurt your heart beyond belief, but you want him to be a father as much as you wish to be a mother. The problem is that the only man whose babies you want is the one asking you to take another man’s seed.

You draw your knees up on lean on them, sobbing bitterly. Benedict kisses your temple and hugs you as you cry it all out.

——

Benedict hovers nervously outside Anthony’s study at Bridgerton House, having no clue how to broach the topic he wants to discuss. But after weeks of consideration, it’s the only way forward he can see that doesn’t turn his stomach.

“Brother, will you be lurking all day or just for a half-hour?” comes the dry, bemused voice from behind the door.

Benedict stops pacing, closes his eyes briefly, and then, with a decisive nod, heads into the room.

“There is a sensitive matter I would like to discuss with you if you are amenable?” he begins, too nervous to sit in the seat Anthony gestures to. “I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever can it be? You seem quite the bag of nerves,” Anthony observes wryly, leaning back casually in his chair behind the desk.

“It’s regarding children,” Benedict begins slowly and carefully.

“Ah, right, family and intimate matters,” Anthony gets up and closes his office door. He stays standing as Benedict rocks on his feet, and Anthony looks at him expectantly.

There is nothing else but to dive in headfirst. Benedict steels himself for this tough ask and then begins.

“Despite our best efforts, my wife and I are… struggling to become pregnant,” he exhales.

“I am sorry to hear that, but I think a doctor may be a better confidante than myself,” Anthony argues, “should your wife need examining….”

“Well, that’s the thing; I’m not so certain she is at fault,” Benedict counters.

Anthony scoffs. “You are a Bridgerton. If there is one thing we are capable of, it’s progeny,” he laughs, pointing at the row of miniatures of their siblings.

“Well, maybe I am the exception that proves the rule,” Benedict replies quietly and seeing the pain written in the lines of his face, Anthony’s whole demeanour changes.

“I did not mean to make light of your challenges, brother,” Anthony states slowly, “merely that the balance of probability it is not your fault is quite high.”

“Well, there is only one way I can think of to confirm that suspicion,” Benedict answers, “and that is for another man to attempt to impregnate my wife.”

Anthony's shocked expression is a picture. “You wish for your wife to lay with another man?” the contempt in his voice unmaskable.

“Wish it?” Benedict scorns. “I wish anything but. It is the very definition of my nightmare, but… she deserves the world, and If I am at fault, I could never forgive myself if I do not explore all avenues to fulfil her dreams. To make her happy. If I cannot give her children, I will not begrudge her the happiness of motherhood she so desperately craves.”

Anthony is floored by the self-sacrifice his little brother will always make for those he loves.

“And this brings me to my proposal….” Benedict adds warily.

Anthony senses the nerves emanating in waves off him and clamps a reassuring hand onto his shoulder.

“What is it, brother?”

“Selfish as it may sound, I want any child I raise as my own to be a Bridgerton. And there is only one man I would allow to lay with my wife without my stomach turning…. and that dear brother,” he takes a deep breath and meets Anthony’s eye squarely, “is you.”

Anthony freezes and falls back into a nearby chair. Literally stunned.

“I.. “ he begins but can not find more words.

“I'm aware this is a huge ask,” Benedict rushes out, “but I can't think of another palatable solution to my wife's happiness, and, more than anything, I want to give her that. Happiness.”

Anthony can see the quiver in his brother's lip, and his heart breaks for him at this impossible impasse.

“Brother, I’m not sure I can do this,” Anthony wavers honestly, standing up again and beginning to pace.

“Please,” Benedict implores, “please at least consider it. I will sign any private sealed paperwork you wish, ensuring that should she become pregnant, the child has no rights to your title or estates….”

“It’s not that,” Anthony cuts in, frowning that would even be a consideration, “it’s just… Benedict, it’s your brother bedding your wife. This choice seems fraught with potential anguish.”

“It seems unlikely to me at least that two men in the same family would be similarly afflicted, coming as we do from a man capable of siring eight children. If you do not impregnate her, then maybe we will know it is not me at fault,” Benedict argues, appealing to Anthony's logical side that he knows will often win in an emotional moment.

Anthony stops pacing and instead shuffles a pile of perfectly neat paper, nerves manifesting in the need to keep himself busy in the motions of a pointless task. “Allow me to think on it.”

Benedict gives a short sharp nod and, with nothing else he can think to say, takes his leave.

——

His fingers trail gently over your stomach as you lay in post-coital bliss.

“Darling, I have an idea for our baby dilemma,” he offers softly, tracing his lips over your collarbone.

“Mmm, I'm all ears, husband,” you reply drowsily, your ankles twining with his, your fingers running into his thick, lush hair.

Tonight he took you somewhere truly primal, and it feels different. Like it's possible you are actually pregnant this time. That something so fundamental happened in your moment of pure blissful release that, indeed, life was created.

“There is one way to ensure we have a Bridgerton child,” he begins quietly, his warm breath dusting over your dewy skin. “And that is for you to lay with my brother, Anthony.”

The world stops. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears and a weird static buzz in every bone of your face. Like you have been struck by lightning.

No, No, NO, Benedict, your mind wails. Literally anyone but him, dear god.

Unbeknownst to your husband, there is only one man you had ever considered before you met him. And that is his older brother—Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. You harboured a flame for him upon your first visit to Aubrey Hall with your family when you were fifteen, and that really only abated a few years later when you met his wonderful, soulful younger brother who utterly stole your heart.

“Benedict…” you sigh, going to move away, but he holds you in place, staring deep into your eyes, running his hands over your jaw, your cheeks.

“Think about it, my love,” he cuts in. “He is someone I trust with my life. He will not attempt to blackmail us or steal you away from me,” he petitions. “And we look so alike, my brother and me; no one would bat an eyelid about the child’s appearance, should you conceive one. It is the perfect solution,” he looks at you so beseechingly that you almost feel like you are betraying him just by wanting to object. And so you can’t, you don't. You will never deny him the right to fatherhood he so obviously deserves. If that means playing with the fire of your attraction to his brother, you will do it.

You grab his hand and lace your fingers with his. “My love, if this is what you want. I consent,” you murmur as your insides riot at the idea of lying with his brother. “But I have conditions.” you swallow thickly.

“What are they? Anything, my love,” he says pleadingly. “I will do anything for you; you know that,” he asserts as he kisses a fervent line over your cheek to your lips.

“I cannot do this without you,” you answer meekly. “I need you there the whole time. Not just in the room, I need you with me, skin on skin; I need you to hold me when it is happening, to talk to me.”

He inhales sharply. “You wish to lay with both of us? At the same time?”

“Yes, Benedict, my love. I cannot give my body to another man unless you are right there with me. Please, please.”

“I… I….” he stumbles, “I will have to check with him, but if that is what you need, what you desire, I will, of course, be there, my love.”

“Will you fuck me too?” your use of the base, crude term somehow feels necessary in this context.

You see the vein in his neck jump, and his voice turns gravelly. “You want that?”

“Yes, husband. Once he has been with me, I want you to be with me too.” you push up and kiss him deeply, trying to transmit just how much you love him, that for you, how much all of this is for him, for his happiness.

“Alright, my love,” he appeases with delicate kisses, “of course, of course….”

——

When Benedict rises the following day, his valet hands him a hand-delivered note. It is from Bridgerton House, and inside the wax-sealed envelope, on Anthony's signature note paper, there, in neat-looking penmanship, is just one word.

Yes.

Benedict drops the card onto his desk and rubs his temples, uncertain if he should feel elated or empty.

——

The fateful night arrives sooner than you would like, but equally, the weight of anticipation felt like almost too much to bear in the lead-up. You fidget nervously with your silk robe, which all at once feels too heavy and not thick enough, your skin prickling with the uncertainty of what is to pass.

You stay in the bedroom, brushing your hair at your vanity with repetitive calming motions as Benedict greets Anthony and invites him into your home. In advance, you and Benedict had agreed a few strong brandies would likely assist both men before embarking on this journey; you declined to imbibe in the hope it would aid with conception. So you sit nervously awaiting as they partake downstairs in your drawing room, no doubt.

For some reason, you prefer not to see Anthony before the ‘act’ begins; it feels too much like danger knowing what will happen, the ghost of your past attraction like a potential unwanted spectre taunting you. It feels safer to keep your distance until, well, until you cannot.

You get onto the bed and attempt to read, but your butterflies mean you are staring at the same page for minutes at a time, words just a jumble of letters that bleed into each other, your mind too preoccupied. Just as you start to fret about whether you can do this, you hear voices and a pair of heavy boots ascending the stairs.

Then there in the doorway are your husband and his brother, looking at you with the same expression you give them. Nervous apprehension, but theirs mellowed by alcohol.

“Darling,” Benedict drawls as they walk in, and he closes the door, “how are you?”

“I am fine,” you assure with a quick, tight smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. The butterflies are truly rioting now.

Your gaze falls to Anthony, who flashes you a brusque smile before he peels off his jacket and rapidly moves onto his boots. It seems almost business-like, and there is a hot flare in your stomach. Benedict is already more casual, barefoot, just his white shirt and trousers; it's like he senses your spike of anxiety and is on the bed with you in the blink of an eye.

“It's okay, my darling,” he mollifies, pushing you gently down into the pillows, his breath sweetened by brandy and smoky from cigars, “I’m here, my love, I’m here.”

His kiss is gentle and pitched to reassure, his lips soft on yours, intuiting the need to settle your fears. It works, and as you always do, you find yourself melting into your husband's loving embrace and attention. His hands run delicate patterns over your thin robe.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, a soft smile on his lips as he moves to kiss down your throat, his lips warm and plush as his words vibrate over your skin. He goes to untie your robe, but you halt his hand, covering it with your own.

“Please, Benedict, I need you naked before I am,” you plead quietly.

He lifts his head and meets your imploring gaze, nodding slightly, understanding your reasons without you needing to vocalise them. It's part of why you love him so much, this shorthand you have developed, this unspoken bond. You can't help the little flutter in your chest as he whips off his shirt and settles over you, so much body warmth seeping through your robe from his skin. As he kisses the cord of your neck, you sigh and allow your hands to wander, loving the feel of his toned flesh under your fingertips.

With him over and surrounding you, he is your whole field of vision, perhaps by design to centre your focus on him. In the background, you can hear the sounds of Anthony disrobing, but Benedict utters soft, reassuring words against your skin to drown out the sound. His warm lips feathering down over your collarbone, skirting the edge of your robe. As ever, his tender treatment makes you stir, and you feel your body become pliant under him, allowing him to ease between your legs, your robe falling open as his wool trousers tickle the inside of your knees.

“My darling, you smell wonderful. Did you bathe in your favourite magnolia petal soap?” his voice buzzes over your breastbone as he breathes deeply and smiles indulgently as you hum in the affirmative. “Your skin is so soft; I am such a lucky man.” you know he is being extra vocal and reassuring with his words and actions; it makes your heart melt a fraction. He wants you comfortable and aroused. He wants this to be pleasant for you. You would never have the heart to tell him his efforts are not perhaps as needed as he believes.

You cannot look at Anthony to this day without a tiny stab of desire, perhaps remnants of a theoretical scenario where he could have been your intended, at least in your mind. Or it could be that he is an objectively handsome man. Either way, the thought of laying with him is not abhorrent on a physical level; in fact, the genuine possibility of the opposite stokes the blaze of nerves in your belly—that you could enjoy it a little too much.

You reach down and begin unbuttoning Benedict's trousers, wanting, needing more, as he continues languid kisses on your exposed skin. This time you do not object as his fingers insinuate between your bodies and tug at the ties holding your robe closed.

You inhale sharply as his naked body surges over yours as he kicks away his trousers. So much heat and warmth as your thighs cradle him. You can feel his rigid cock searing the apex of your thighs, and more than anything, you want him to push into your body.

As his lips close on your left nipple, you moan and cant up towards him; you sense something else happening in the room. You realise, without looking; you have an audience. Anthony’s gaze feels heavy on your skin; you know he is watching as his brother's tongue peaks out and lathes over your nipple, watches as he sucks the nub into his mouth, and you cry out. Somehow the audience makes this more hedonistic. You want to feel ashamed at the throbbing between your legs, yet…. you don't; you just feel a molten desire. The idea of being the sole focus of two of the most handsome men of the ton does not escape your mind.

Somehow you know without looking that Anthony has taken his cock in hand and is ogling your body, just as Benedict's hand slides between your legs and glides over your folds.

“Are you ready for us, my love?” he asks softly. Part of you wants to lie, to ask him to dive his face between your legs and suck your clit until you are writhing and panting, but you know tonight is not about pleasure; it's a means to an end. And besides, he would know it's unnecessary as soon as his fingers slide between your lips, which they now do, and he hisses at the pooled, slick viscous heat he finds within. “Oh, darling, you are more than ready, aren't you? You are positively weeping from your gorgeous little cunt.”

You moan again at his words, almost surprised he is willing to talk like this in front of his brother, but you suspect it’s because he knows how much it arouses you. And indeed, you hear a noise from Anthony as you writhe on Benedict's fingers, wishing more than anything for him to sink them into your body and massage that spot you love so very much that only his fingers can reach.

“Please, fuck me,” you exhale, and it's a dangerous elixir thrumming in your bloodstream when there is a duet of responding groans to your breathy plea.

“I will, darling, I will,” he promises with an aching urgency, propelling one of his fingers into you and you crying out his name.

His fingertip massages that spot as his mouth is on your other breast, and you don't hide your enjoyment of what is happening. In truth, perhaps you are more performative, your whispered pleas just a little louder for Anthony’s benefit, your body flexing a little more pronounced; you almost want him to desire your body as much as your husband does. Sometimes playing with fire is such a beguilingly hypnotic idea.

“Make her climax, brother; I have heard it can help with conception,” Anthony’s smooth voice rings out, and you gasp, whipping your head to look at him for the first time since clothing was shed.

There’s a stab of what almost feels like betrayal as your eyes fall on Viscount Anthony Bridgerton—naked and imposing, standing as he does next to the bed. Unlike his brother, his chest is covered in a thatch of dark hair; his build is thicker and more muscular than your slightly taller, lither husband. Perhaps predictably, given their shared genetics, he is physically appealing too. You can tell by the motion of his arm he is stroking himself, but you daren't allow your eyes to wander lower than his taunt, defined abdomen, almost scared to see what lies between his legs. And yet curiosity wins out as he mounts the bed on all-fours, you glance down the plane of his torso and glimpse his cock nestling in a patch of dark hair, just like Benedict's, but it looks different. You can't deny that. A shade thicker, perhaps, just like their bodies. That you are comparing your husband's cock to his brothers fills you with a self-disdain you don't want to contemplate, so you quickly cut your eyes away. It matters not the pleasure he can provide during the act; what matters is the outcome: his seed, the hope of progeny.

“Here, let me help,” Anthony offers casually. And your breathing accelerates rapidly as suddenly he is next to you and his lips close around your other nipple, still wet with your husband's saliva.

A long, low curse slips from your mouth unsolicited as you experience the blinding pleasure of both nipples being sucked simultaneously.

Something burns white hot, not just desire but also shame. Shame that you want this so much. That your whole axis is thrown off by the equally talented tongue of Anthony Bridgerton swirling and sucking your nipple. But then he himself did just say female pleasure is paramount to conception. Who are you to deny yourself this pleasure if it is a means to the ultimate end? Your selfish, licentious side greedily courting all the attention they are willing to offer.

Benedict's finger curls more insistently inside you as a thumb lands on your clit, rubbing in an unfamiliar but alluring motion. It is not your husband’s. It does not have the same softness; there's a rasping quality to Anthony’s more pen-calloused skin that snags perfectly on your sensitive bud. Having the mouths and fingers of two Bridgerton brothers teasing you is overwhelming, but part of you feels overridden with guilt that you are deriving such pleasure from them both.

“It's alright, my love,” Benedict assures, sensing your emotional quandary, and it’s the license you need. Allow yourself to indulge in the sensation enough to be carried away by the sheer wonder of it all.

Within moments, a potent tide rips through your being as you writhe, surrounded by their bodies. Benedict surges up and captures your lips in a passionate, consuming kiss as you clench so hard on his finger and holler his name so loudly into his mouth. You don't dare speak his brother's name, but something makes your hand grasp Anthony's hair as he gently laps your breast.

Benedict eases himself from between your legs and arranges his body against your left flank as you calm. On instinct, still fuzzy from your orgasm, you turn your head towards him, seeking his lips for more kisses, sighing as he obliges, your nostrils filled with the scent of your own arousal on his damp fingers that cradle your jaw as his lips open gently with yours. His cock is branding your hip as he pulls your left leg towards him, opening you up, and your heartbeat spikes as you feel Anthony climb over your right leg and shuffle between your thighs.

“Benedict,” you gasp over his lips. He knows. He knows you are at your most vulnerable, and he clutches your face tight, keeps your gaze locked on his, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Shhh, my love,” he soothes, “you are doing so wonderful; you are my whole world; I love you so much,” his searing words pour into your soul as you feel Anthony’s body over yours.

Benedict holds your face, his grip almost vice-like, not letting you look away, to his brother, as arms band around your hips, and Anthony heaves you onto his thighs, your pelvis now higher than your head.

“Don't stop talking,” you plead into your husband's mouth as you feel the tip of Anthony’s cock at your entrance.

“I love you; I can't wait to raise a family with you, my darling,” he entreats. The mix of desire and hurt on his face breaks your heart as you cry out with the force of Anthony’s cock ploughing into you. It feels so different in a way you can't explain and want to weep, but you can't do that to your husband, hurt him like that. So you keep staring into his hazy eyes, breathing his exhaled air and familiar scent as Anthony starts to move inside you.

It feels so wondrous, your walls clinging to his thick veiny cock as you bite your lip to trap the sounds you want to make. There is no denying how utterly incredible Anthony feels inside you. He almost immediately hits a harsh snapping rhythm, making slight panting noises with the exertion. Benedict shuts his eyes and swallows heavily, and you know it's to school his emotions, yet you can't help but steal a glance up at his brother while he does so. Anthony looks so handsome and majestic, an errant curl of hair bouncing on his forehead as he throws his whole body into the thrusts. His skin glows dewy in the candlelight. His eyes meet yours, and a flame there startles so much that you swivel your eyes back to your husband’s as they reopen. Guilt makes you utter his name, each syllable rising and falling with the motion of your body as Anthony fucks you so hard.

“It's alright if you enjoy this, my darling,” Benedict affirms sotto voce, and it's like whiplash to your heart how giving this man is, how much he is sacrificing so you can have a family together. You know it must be eating him alive on some level to see the pleasure his brother is giving you.

“I only want to come if it's with you,” you whisper harshly.

“But you need to come, my darling; it will improve the chance of a baby,” he assuages.

You feel Anthony’s fingers at your clit, and you seize Benedict’s face. “Then talk to me, my love. Talk like it’s just us, say all those debauched things that make me burn so hot for you, just you,” you implore desperately.

Benedict growls and surges his rigid cock against your hip, leaking onto your dewy skin as his warm lips capture your cheekbone.

“I want you, my wife,” he intones through clenched teeth. “Every day, I want to strip you down and take you so hard.”

“Yesssssss,” you hiss, writhing on Anthony's cock, who groans and grips your hip bone hard. “More, please, more.”

Anthony’s fingers are a frenzy on your clit now as you keen loudly, urging him on; you unwittingly squeeze his muscular forearm.

“I know what makes you come so hard; only me, only I can do that. You are my wife, mine. Say it,” Benedict orders, his tone as desperate as yours, spying the way you have latched onto his brother, needing reassurance.

“I'm yours, Benedict, always, forever,” you cry, and it turns into a scream as Anthony starts to spear you so hard you want to see stars.

“I love you, my darling wife. You are going to be such a wonderful mother; I know how much you want that. To be a mother. To have a baby,” he murmurs, placing his forehead onto yours, “that is why we are doing this, my darling.”

"But Benedict, I only want your baby… Our baby…" you lament, raw with emotion, as you battle the sensations threatening to overwhelm you. Anthony's cock makes your eyes roll back in your head, and Benedict's words take you over a soft edge, your blood boiling in your veins for your husband and his brother. Your scream muffled into his jaw as your cunt flutters hard around Anthony.

“Fuckkkking hell, I'm going to come,” Anthony warns, and for the first time, you look away from Benedict, uncaring that he sees.

“Give it to me,” you growl at Anthony, “give me your seed Bridgerton; I love my husband more than life itself; give us our baby right now!”

Both men seem equally shocked and aroused by your voracious demand.

“Darling…” Benedict pants raggedly on your cheekbone, his leaking cock pressing rhythmically against you again as you wrap your arm possessively around his head, fingers tugging no doubt painfully on his hair as you stare Anthony down, urging him to come.

There is a long guttural noise as Anthony stills. You feel the warmth of his release bloom inside you as he slumps over your body. His head on your damp diaphragm, puffing hard breaths over your ticklish skin as he keeps jerking and pumping little aftershocks into you.

The act over; as much as Anthony is an attractive man, all you want, crave, need, and desire is your husband with every fibre of your being. Like a siren calling across an ocean, he is the only place you want to be wrecked.

“Benedict, now, please, please, I need you,” you turn to him and cry.

You rasp lightly as Anthony pulls out and slumps back breathlessly against the footboard of your bed as you almost drag your husband on top of you. You chant a litany of pleas as he fumbles to line up with your fluttering body. And your eyes well with emotion as he finally surges into you. The stretch of his cock is different but so familiar, mind-bending and heart-stopping.

Your mouths mash together in a frenzy, and you cling to Benedict, pleading with him for more and harder, uncaring of the audience you have. You think he won't last long, but you don't care—you crave his release more than your own. You just want to revel in the carnality of your husband’s body and of what you have just permitted to happen for each other, for love. You steal a glance at Anthony over Benedict’s shoulder, and the soft, understanding look he gives you fills you with unspoken gratitude that he agreed to do this, to help you in this amazing way.

Benedict is not gentle, and you are grateful for it, conveying all of his passion for you with firm hands grasping your flesh, destined to leave imprints, teeth grazing your neck, thrusting into you with no mercy. You were mistaken, though - he does last. Keeps pounding into your body over and over and over as you make needy noises with each movement, climbing higher again.

“Come for me, husband, please; I need to feel it,” you beg, clasping his bum encouragingly, kissing every inch of skin you can reach, dragging your nipples over his chest, greedily pursuing your satisfaction as well as his.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands, sweat dripping from his forehead onto yours, his eyes burning into yours.

“I love you; you know I love you,” your response is a reflex. And that is what causes the dam to break for him, his whole body jerking violently, hissing and groaning loud against your ear as he spills inside you, fingers flexing, nails leaving moon-shaped marks on your shoulders where his arms curl under around them. The visceral feel of him coming apart, his body smashing against your clit takes you over too. Eyes fluttering closed as your body clenches in waves around his spasming cock.

And as you lay there sharing ragged breaths, Anthony’s warm hand encircles your ankle, and your eyes meet again in a moment of connection that feels warm and profound; you hope beyond hope a baby was conceived tonight.

——

Nine months later.

The birth of your baby is the most harrowing but rewarding day of your life. As you hear the infant’s first cry, your whole world crumbles and is rebuilt around her. Your precious, precious gift.

Benedict’s embrace is so tight as you cradle new life in your arms, scarcely believing the truth. Then a tiny set of eyes blink open, and your heart soars to heights you never dreamed possible.

“Benedict,” you breathe, joyful tears flowing unabashed, “look… she has… she has your eyes,” your whisper tremulant.

There, unmistakable as anything, is his baby. Not Anthony’s, not just a Bridgerton baby. His. Benedict’s.

“I don't think she can be anyone’s but yours, my love,” you assure ardently.

His fervent kiss on your dewy brow is only made wetter by the gentle tears that roll down his cheek and onto your skin.

“I love you,” he whispers reverently, his large hand wrapping delicately around your swaddled baby. “I love our daughter. We are finally a family.”

Benedict & Anthony Taglists: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @queenofmean14

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wreckedandpolemic · 2 months

Text

can't seem to get it right - matty healy

prompt: secret admirer

day 1 of the lovely @abiiors' valentine75 prompts!! i actually dont think this is very good i am very much a one trick pony in this space However i had fun writing it and thats what matters!!!

no warnings here this is v v short and sweet <3

Nauseated, you swat at the tacky, heart-shaped balloon as it drifts into your vision, ignoring its owner’s affronted scoff and stomping off down the hallway. Matty snickers behind you and you turn your glare on him. He holds his hands up in mock-surrender. “What’d that balloon ever do to you?”

You roll your eyes. “Fucking hate this week. It’s not even Valentine’s yet and this whole fucking place is full of dickheads who think their hormone-fuelled ‘love story’ makes them the centre of the universe. Just an excuse for brands to paint themselves pink and flog you shiny crap that’ll go in the bin after five seconds.” A strange look flickers across Matty’s face, but the bell rings sharply before you can question it. You trudge off to your class — double History, ugh — and don’t think on it for another moment.

The boy that sits across from you in History, Cameron, has a massive crush on you, flirts incessantly, flushes when you turn a smile on him. He’s not hard to look at, sweet-faced and kind, and not totally hopeless with a textbook, either. So, when he blushes and stammers his way through asking you out when you mention not having any Valentine’s plans, you think, this could be fun. “Is it gonna be worth my time?” you ask, leaning towards him and grinning when he flinches. “Convince me.” Eyebrows go up around the table at your challenge, Cameron smiling nervously and stuttering out something that passes for an affirmative. You flash your teeth, predatory. Maybe you shouldn’t play around with boys like this, but it’s so much fun. And they make it so easy.

The next morning, a card addressed to you has been slipped into your locker. The message is short, but sweetly poetic, witty in a way you hadn’t known Cameron could be. It’s unsigned, but the sentiment is adorable, and you make a mental note to get him a gift later. You catch sight of Matty sloping down the hall, and wave him over. “How sweet is this?” you say, smiling cheek to cheek. “Didn’t think he’d actually convince me to go on a date with him, but… Who knows? Might actually be fun.”

Matty’s face falls for a split second, before he rearranges it into smooth blankness that quickly crumples into confusion. “Wait– date? With who?” he demands.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Cameron. From my History. He’s nice.”

Matty scoffs. “I’m sure,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. Your face scrunches, displeased. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sure he’s a top bloke, and you’ll skip off into the sunset holding hands and pop out a million adorable little blonde babies.”

You splutter a laugh, shoving him gently. “Don’t be a dick. He’s nice,” you repeat, fixing him with a glare. “I haven’t even agreed to the date yet, nobody’s skipping off into the sunset.”

Shrugging, Matty kicks idly at the row of lockers. “Yet,” he teases, and the brief flare of awkwardness between you melts away. “Listen, I really don’t feel like hanging around this shithole the rest of the day. Wanna come smoke?” he offers. You shouldn’t — you really shouldn’t — but that’s never stopped you before. Especially when it comes to Matty and the teasing grin he dares you with.

“Go on, then.” You shoulder your bag and follow Matty out of the gates, the short stroll to your favourite smoke spot passing quickly as you chat back and forth about nothing.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going on a fucking date,” Matty tells you, voice thickened by the smoke pouring from his mouth.

“Oi!” you snap playfully. “Why’s that so unbelievable, huh?”

“Well, you’re hideous, for one,” he says, gasping when you stomp down hard on his foot. “I’m messing, I’m messing! You were the one being mardy about Valentine’s Day, like, yesterday, though.” He shrugs, passing you the last of the joint.

Flicking away the roach, you blow out rings of smoke. “Yeah, I dunno. Probably won’t go, but it’s kind of nice being chased.” You scoff, leaning back against a tree. “I know you don’t have that problem, ‘cos you’ve got all your fuckin’ groupies.” A sharp edge creeps into your words at the end, and you bite the inside of your cheek to curb it. “But some of us aren’t used to that attention every second of the day, and we take it where we can get it.”

Matty shrugs. “Touche. Don’t think he’s worth your time, though,” he says, tone thick with something you can’t decipher through the weed-induced haze enveloping your mind.

You wave a hand dismissively. “Shut up, you dick.”

After dousing yourself in body spray to cover the weed smell, you let yourself into your house, stopping short at the bouquet that sits innocently under the hallway mirror. Red carnations bound around pink roses and an inexplicable spray of miniature daffodils, a muted pink ribbon tying them closed.

“Hi, love!” your mum shouts, appearing around the corner. “Those came for you while you were out. No name. Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer,” she grins, nudging you as you flush.

“It’s just this bloke from my History.” You wave a hand dismissively, but you can’t help smiling at the bouquet. “Trying to convince me to go out with him for Valentine’s.”

Your mum’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, eyes so wide it’s comical. “You? Valentine’s?” she says incredulously, face softening into a warm smile. “Love, that’s great. You’ll have such a good time,” she smiles.

You scoff. “Steady on, I haven’t said yes, yet.”

Smirking knowingly, your mum pads off into the kitchen, shouting back at you to be down for tea in an hour. You pick up the flowers on your way upstairs, arranging them delicately in a vase on your windowsill and snapping a quick picture. You debate texting Cameron a thank you, but decide against it — he sent them anonymously, after all.

Strangely, though, Cameron’s behaviour the rest of the week is at odds with the gifts that keep piling up. The chocolates aren’t a surprise, and nor is the single red rose laid across your desk, though maybe a little dramatic. But he doesn’t take credit for any of it, nothing in his face even indicating there’s anything he should be taking credit for.

That Friday, the last day Cameron has to convince you, a little, flat box finds its way into your schoolbag. You peel off the ribbon and find a delicate necklace nestled against deep blue velvet. It’s exquisite, a crystal pendant hanging off a thin silver chain. You slide into your seat in History, a little bemused, and smile at Cameron. He smiles back, twirling his hands nervously. “Everything was lovely,” you say, and his brow furrows in confusion. “The card, and the chocolates, and the flowers. I’d love to go out with you.” He breaks into a wide smile, sunlight practically beaming from his face. “But the necklace is too much — it must’ve cost a fortune!”

He blinks innocently at you. “Um, that’s great. I’d, um, love to take you out. But, uh, I didn’t get you any gifts,” he says, biting his lip.

Your head spins as you sift through your memories of the last week, reexamining them through a new lens. All at once, something clicks into place, and you bolt out of your seat. “I’m sorry,” you rush out. “I can’t go out with you. I’ve gotta– I need to go.” You shove your stuff back into your bag, leaving Cameron stuttering and baffled at your back, and dash off.

You find Matty where he usually is, tucked away in a practice room and engrossed in a guitar. Taking a second before he notices you outside the door, you fix the necklace around your neck and smooth your hair nervously. Should you put on some lipgloss? No, that’s crazy, right? It’s Matty. Your heart is racing, your mouth suddenly dry. How were you so fucking stupid? Of course fucking Cameron from History didn’t write that stupid card.

Taking a deep breath to settle your nerves, you turn the handle of the practice room, and it rattles but stays closed. Locked, obviously. You clap a palm to your face; this is off to a terrible start. Then, Matty looks up, eyes lighting up as they find the pendant at the hollow of your throat, your heart melting at the sweetness in his face.

Matty stands up to open the door. “Hi,” he says, and all the tenseness melts from your body.

“It was you,” you whisper, collapsing into his arms and resting your head on his shoulder. “All of those lovely things were you. And you let me bang on about fucking Cameron all week! Matty, I feel like a total idiot, I’m so sor–” Matty cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, tentative and gentle.

“Knew you’d figure it out eventually, love, smart girl that you are,” Matty murmurs against your lips, and you smile softly, face flushed. He pulls you close, his body warm against yours, and tugs you into the practice room, pressing you up against the door as soon as it clicks shut.

You lose yourself in his kiss, his hands steady at your waist as you melt against him. His tongue parts your lips and sweeps your mouth, tasting faintly of cigarettes and spearmint gum. Breathless, you break away, a string of saliva briefly connecting your lips, and you giggle quietly as it breaks. “Thank you,” you murmur.

A dopey smile crosses his face. “You’re welcome,” he says, cupping your jaw and pulling you back in, kissing you so hard it steals the breath from your lungs. A quiet squeal escapes you when he dips his head to bite at your neck, and you indulge him for a moment before pushing his head away gently.

“Down, boy,” you say, giggling when he kisses over the necklace at the hollow of your throat.

Matty’s eyes shine hopefully as he looks down at you. “So,” he dips his head to kiss you. “Can I finally take you out?” He punctuates every word with a kiss, butterflies swirling in your stomach.

Widening your eyes, you look up at him with a pout that splits into a smile without your permission. “Well, my Saturday did just free up…” you tease, and he rolls his eyes. “I’d love to.” You stretch to your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Matty grins, his joy practically infectious, warming you through and melting your heart, leaving it dripping stickily down your ribs. His lips meet your neck again, his next words murmured against your bruising skin. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

#alternate universe in which matty took alevels lol #the flowers Allegedly mean 'my heart aches for you' 'please believe me' and 'unequalled love'#dont hold me to that idk i did a very cursory google search #also these r all scheduled but happy show day to me!!!#matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy smut #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #valentine75 #writing #smut

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firsttimewriter92 · 8 months

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I would love a sirius x reader fic set during OoTP where the reader works at the Ministry while being part of the Order like Arthur and Kingsley, and she's staying at Grimmauld Place with Sirius. She often comes home to find him drunk and touch-starved during the school year when the only other person in the house is Kreacher. thanks xx

Hello dear anon :) I know it´s been a while since you sent me this ask. I hope you´re still in the mood for it :P I kept it pretty tame but there´s a lot of angst and it developed into a huge slow burn. Hope that´s all right and everyone enjoyes it <3

Words: 7.536

Warnings: Angst, cursing, (f!) hufflepuff reader, mentions of Sirius being bisexual, kissing, slow burn, fluff

12 Years

“Oh, for fucks sake, not again” you whisper sighed as you entered the kitchen at Grimmauld Place number 12. “Third time this week” you grumbled as you looked at Sirius´ slumped over figure sitting on the polished wooden table. His arms cushioned his head that was laying on the surface, an almost empty bottle of fire whisky next to him. No glass.

Taking off your shawl and coat you walked over to him to assess the damage. It wasn´t as bad as it usually was. At least this time he was clothed.

Three months ago, your boss and mentor Kingsley Shacklebolt had brought you to your first order meeting. The moment he told you what the order was and what they did, you exploded on him. Why didn’t he tell you about this order sooner? Didn’t he trust you enough? Wasn’t he confident enough in your abilities? Kingsley had just stood there stoically, letting you spit fire at him. When you´d finished, Kingsley sighed deeply and started explaining his reluctance to you.

He knew. Of course, he did. He knew who you´d meet again, once you set foot into headquarters and he didn’t know how you´d react. He was right to do so actually. The first time your eyes had met those of Sirius Black, it had flared up again. That nauseating feeling that haunted you for 14 years. Guilt, sadness and loneliness were flooding your system with only a small glimmer of hope and relief.

It was so surreal to have him in your general vicinity again. Two years younger than him, your time at Hogwarts had been the happiest you´ve ever felt. When puberty hit you like a freight train and the mischief of James Potter and Sirius Black became legendary, your hormones betrayed you in the worst possible way. A major crush on the black-haired teenager formed itself inside your chest over the years. Clawing at your ribcage every time you saw him in the corridors, you hated the feeling. You hated his beautiful face, you hated that your body reacted the way it did.

As a Hufflepuff and general people pleaser you´d despised his arrogance and his devil may care attitude. Especially towards the swarms of girls hanging onto the seem of his cloak. You´d stolen glances from afar, never exchanging a word with him. You paid attention instead. You saw everything and liked only so much. His pranks amused you; his bullying infuriated you, his attentiveness to his friends and the younger students warmed you.

Sometimes, especially after the holidays, you saw him sitting in the great hall amongst his friends, a dull and empty look in his eyes and your heart had squeezed so painfully that you had to look away. About a second later, when you dared to look again, he was grinning and joking like nothing had happened.

And then, one year into your Auror training, your world came crashing down on you. You arrived at the ministry and immediately felt the air buzzing with dread and excited relief all at once. Grabbing the daily prophet that was handed to you with shaking fingers, your knees gave out then and there. Sirius´ face, screaming and laughing manically, stared at you. Ice replaced your blood as you´d read the news.

James and Lily dead. The dark Lord gone; a little boy still alive. Sirius? A cold-blooded murderer and traitor; already in a cell in Azkaban. You refused to believe it. You refused! James was more than a friend to Sirius. There was no way he was a death eater. Sirius had never made a secret about his hatred towards his family or how much he loved his friends.

That´s when your letters had begun bombarding the ministry.

__________________________________________________________

Now, here at Grimmauld place, you had to watch Sirius fight every day just to try and keep his sanity. Between the usual order meetings and the children coming to visit for the holidays, he drank himself to sleep every night. And ever since you´d moved into one of the bedrooms upstairs, you helped him into bed or at least onto a couch every night. Dumbledor was the one who´d asked you if you wanted one of the rooms upstairs. “Less commute” he´d said, remembering your dislike of apparating quite vividly. When asked if he had any objections, Sirius had only grunted before disappearing into Buckbeak´s room.

He wasn´t always unpleasant, however. Sometimes you did have conversations when meeting in the library by chance, although they´d always turned out quite meaningless. You couldn’t figure out if he wanted you there or not.

Around the holidays when the house was full, so his heart seemed to be. He warmed up to you, brought you tea, filled your plate at dinner (much to the surprise of everyone at the table) and conversed with you a little more enthusiastically. At these rare occasions you began to see glimpses of the flamboyant teenager return into his grey eyes and his small grins. Your heart beginning to flutter in your chest yet again. Then the teenagers returned to Hogwarts and so did Sirius´ sour mood.

It was about two weeks after Christmas now and therefore the 14th day of you finding Sirius black out drunk early in the evening. You walked over to the cabinet in the corner of the kitchen and pulled out the last flask of potion you´d brewed for him. It usually woke him up enough for you to be able to manoeuvre him around and lessen his hangover the next day. You hadn’t quite figured out how to make it potent enough to get rid of his drunkenness completely. It was an immensely complicated brew.

Sighing, you uncorked the flask and moved Sirius into a sitting position. He mumbled something and flopped around in your arms like a rag doll. Leaning his head back you put the flask to his mouth and poured. Sirius tried to get out of your grip very weakly and some of the potion spilled from the side of his mouth. “Come on, Sirius, please” you said urgently. “Swallow, damn it.” He finally did. When the flask was empty you gently guided his head back onto the table and waited.

You knew he wouldn’t be sober when he woke up but at least he would be coherent enough to work with. Slowly he began to stir. His head lifted and with a deep groan he leaned back into his chair, holding the bridge of his nose. The long black mass of hair on his head was dishevelled but still wavy and bouncy as it had been all these years ago. The little streaks of grey on his temples and in his beard only contributed to his still very much intact attractiveness.

Sirius wiped at his mouth absentmindedly and opened his eyes. Grey orbs found yours sitting across from him immediately. Instantly you recognized the defiance in them. Great.

“I asked you to give me that shit in the mornings. Not when I´m trying to sleep” he croaked hoarsely in a cold voice. You rolled your eyes. “I´m not letting you sleep at the table, Sirius. Not when you own a bed upstairs. But I can´t lift your arse, so…” you shrugged and looked at him challengingly. You´d figured out quite quickly that trying to be compassionate and soft with him in these situations had no impact whatsoever. Sirius huffed and wiped at his face again to try and gain more control over his movements.

“Never asked you to do that” he slurred slowly. Hot annoyance burned your throat when you answered in a hiss. “´S better than you trying to climb some stairs, falling backwards and breaking your fucking neck.” Sirius laughed humourlessly and looked you straight in the face.

“Not so sure about that.” He had a weird glimmer in his slightly sunken eyes.

“For fucks sake, Sirius!” you yelled as your fist hit the table. Sirius flinched only slightly as you regarded him with a furious look. “Could you at least pretend that you care about your own life? I know you´re lonely and frustrated. I´m sorry I´m annoying you by staying here but the order still needs you! Harry needs you!” You knew you had him with that. His godson seemed to be his only lifeline sometimes. “I won´t pretend to know what you had to go through, Sirius. But you´ve been given a second chance at this, even though you didn’t even get a first one. And you´re drinking it away. Stop it!”

Sirius looked at you for a long time. Breathing heavily his eyes threw daggers at you and internally you just waited for him to cuss you out. That didn’t happen though. Sirius stood up from his chair without breaking eye contact with you. You didn’t like the way he started walking over to you, almost predatory. So, you stood as well and backed away against the table. Of course, you´d crossed a line.

Watching him step closer and closer you had no idea what he was trying to do. The moment he stood right in front of you, his breath hit your face. It reeked of alcohol, and you crunched your nose a little bit. Sirius grinned, showing off his sharp canines.

“You´re worried about me” he sang triumphantly but couldn’t quite remove the belittlement from his voice. Even though you were sure he could feel the heat emitting from your face, your stomach churned with rage instead of shame. “At least someone is” you hissed quietly. He ignored it and only raised a single black eyebrow. You hated how good he looked doing that.

“Don´t tell me,” He breathed and leaned down closer to you. Fuck, fuck! Too close! “You have a little crush on me.” Your head snapped up immediately and your face must have betrayed you because Sirius´ face lit up in sarcastic glee. He chuckled darkly as his eyes scanned your face quickly. “Is that why you wanted to live here? Aw, that´s nice. How old are you? You couldn’t have been in my year at Hogwarts. I´d sure as fuck remember you.” Again, there they were. The waves of nausea crashing over you. Your infatuation with him mixed with worry about his behaviour started to become a cocktail of resentment and pity. You didn’t want to feel this way about him.

“Get the fuck out of my face, Black” you growled and leaned further away from him. Something dangerous mixed itself into his swirling grey irises and your stomach sank.

“Come on now, birdy” he whispered, leaning over you and talking against your neck. Your breathing faltered and hitched, your hands gripping the side of the table hard. “You´re pretty enough. You´d be a delightful way to pass the time.” Shock almost made your body convulse. You knew he was still drunk but his words were so clear. You felt cold, useless and helpless. His lips ghosted across your pulse when he spoke again. “Don´t be a prude, now.”

WHACK!

Your arm pushed him away from you forcefully before your hand collided with his cheek with full force, knocking him back a couple of steps. Breathing heavily, you stood upright and glared at him. His head was still turned so you could see his pale cheek turn red by your smack. When he looked back at you, you didn’t see rage or confusion in his eyes. In fact, they looked almost apologetically, like he knew he´d fucked up but was too proud to admit it.

Your eyes were slits when you spoke next. “Have it your way, then. I can´t deal with a three-split persona. Either hate me, tolerate me or fucking ignore me completely. But one more disrespectful bullshit act like that and I swear, Black, you´ll have one less ally here.”

With those venom laced words you turned on your heel and stormed out the kitchen and upstairs to your room.

Sirius stood there alone in the kitchen for another few minutes. The alcohol was still thrumming in his veins, but he was all too aware of what he´d done. What he´d said, even as he said it.

Of course, he knew you were right with everything you´d said. And that infuriated him more than he cared to admit. Why were you even here? After a stressful day at the ministry, you came back to a horribly decorated, dirty, uncomfortable hellhole of a house, a house elf that insulted you whenever he got the chance to and a fucking drunk man child. Every night. Sometimes he´d wondered how he´d gotten onto the sofa in the library or into his own bed after drinking. He´d had an idea that it might have been you, but he couldn’t be sure. Now he was.

You´d always made him drink the hangover potion that was in the cabinet in the corner. Had he ever thought about how it got there? Who bought or made it? He couldn’t remember.

You didn’t deserve this. He actually came to appreciate your presence over the holidays. He found you witty and bright, a delight if he was honest with himself. And the fact that you were a special kind of beautiful in his eyes didn’t help at all. So why couldn’t he allow you to grow closer to him? You clearly made an effort to at least know him better.

Bitterly he walked over to the almost empty bottle of whisky, setting it to his mouth. Thinking better of it he stopped, turned and poured the remains down the sink. There was a horrible taste in his mouth. Either hate me; He didn’t hate you. Tolerate me; He wanted to do so much more than that. Or fucking ignore me completely; How the fuck was he supposed to do that when you just…existed?!

He really needed to get his head out of his arse. That was no way to talk to anyone. You just wanted to help. Why though? He´d never seen you before. At least he couldn’t remember but then again, he´d surely lost a lot of memories back in prison. You must have been at Hogwarts.

Oh fuck, were you an old flame?! His body went rigid when he thought about that. It would kind of explain your behaviour towards his advances. Or…OR, you dickhead, she just didn’t want a sorry drunk, smelling like a distillery all over her. Sirius shook his head. Why was either rage or excessive flirting always his default? Because he didn’t think you´d react like that. He was way out of line of course, so he really didn’t think his hunch about you having a crush on him would have this much of an impact. How the hell could you like him when he behaved so poorly in front of you; when he hadn’t paid you much attention since you´d moved in?

Maybe he should start doing that.

________________________________

You lay in your bed that evening, hot tears running down your face and sweat beading at your forehead. You felt so lost. Had you really been holding onto this teenage version of him so desperately that you couldn’t see how much he was suffering now as a man?

It´s true, he´d never asked for your help. Were your actions overstepping boundaries of his that you just couldn’t see? He´d made you feel so insignificant that evening with just a few words. You felt downright dirty and even though he didn’t really do anything more than graze his lips along your neck, you felt used.

You´re pretty enough…enough. Was your intuition really this bad? Had you read him all wrong for all these years? No. He was drunk, he was frustrated, he was alone. Maybe someday he´d let you help him with at least that. His loneliness.

__________________________

The next evening there was supposed to be an order meeting and you were dreading it like nothing else. You tip toed around the house the whole day, praying that you wouldn’t run into Sirius at least until the Meeting started. Unfortunately, you weren’t that lucky.

When you made your way downstairs to the kitchen, you crept along the corridor quietly as to not wake up the shrieking portrait of Sirius´ mother. Just as you were about to open the door to your left down into the kitchen another one further down the corridor opened and Sirius walked out. Both of you stopped immediately when your eyes met. Your whole body went rigid and hot acid bubbled up your throat. Sirius stood still. He looked at you with an unreadable expression. He sighed deeply and his eyes changed into something calmer and softer.

He opened the door to the room he´d just exited again and waved you over. When you couldn’t move from your spot, his face contorted into a pleading look and he mouthed a ´please´, waving you over once again. And even though your legs felt like jelly, you started moving. Your heart was beating out of your chest when you passed him. You noticed he smelled clean. Clean clothes, clean hair, no alcohol on his breath or his skin.

You walked into the little study and turned around just as Sirius closed the door timidly behind him.

He squared his shoulder and looked at you. You were sure he could see your shiver.

“I have to apologize” he rumbled. “I behaved…incredibly disrespectful towards you last night and you have every right to resent me after what I´ve said.”

You stared at him. That wasn’t exactly what you expected. But it was also very much welcome. You stayed quiet, noticing that he was still trying to talk, having difficulty finding the words. So, you gave him time, schooling your features into not looking at him like you wanted to be anywhere but in his presence.

Sirius started pacing and mumbling before he looked at you again. “´S been difficult” he whispered. “I´m sorry, truly.” He hung his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “I´m not really sure what else to tell you. I-I don’t know you. But…maybe that could change? I mean, you live here. Might as well be…house…mates? Urgh” he groaned loudly and only stopped when you started giggling. He whipped his head in your direction and raised an eyebrow.

You stood there and watched him fight tooth and nail to explain what he wanted and honestly, after his apology you found it kind of amusing. Sirius was anything but insincere, so you didn’t question his motives in wanting to get to know you better. You appreciated it immensely and slowly your body relaxed, the acid in your throat started to retreat.

“Listen,” he said with a lopsided smile, his eyes glued to your smirk. “You can´t laugh at me for having terrible interpersonal skills. I was incarcerated for 12 years.” Your giggle immediately stopped as you looked at him with guilt.

“Relax” he said gently. “Sometimes jokes are the only thing that help me coping.” You nodded hesitantly.

“Did I even introduce myself properly when we first met?” he curiously asked.

“Not exactly” you said with a small shrug and a smile. “You were half drunk and just grunted.”

“Merlin´s beard” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He stood tall and walked over to you.

“Can we start over then? Can I salvage my reputation somehow?” He stood before you. Tall, handsome and kind. His hand was outstretched.

“I´m Sirius Black. Welcome to my lovely home” he said in a deep velvety and mildly sarcastic voice that made the hair in your neck stand up. “It´s nice to meet you, ___.” It was heartfelt, the way he said it. You reached out your hand and shook his. “Likewise, Mr. Black” you said.

He didn’t let your hand go for a moment, a grin spreading on his face. One that let him look years younger, one you wanted to see for all eternity. The little crinkles around his expressive grey eyes were the most adorable thing you´d ever seen.

Sirius looked like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders when he gently guided you out of the study and down into the kitchen. “By the way,” he said as you descended the stairs. “You´ll find that my humour is kind of fucked. I´ll stop the heavy drinking, promise. So, no need to walk on eggshells around me, ´k?” He turned his head up to you, giving you a beautiful angle of his neck and the tattoos that scattered down from his ear and disappeared into his collar.

“If you´re sure” you said with a grin of your own. His eyes blitzed amusedly as the both of you entered the kitchen. What you didn’t see was the curious look Arthur and Molly Weasley exchanged when they saw Sirius pulling out a chair for you before sitting down himself.

_______________________________

The meeting progressed and plans were made. The debate was already heated enough before Snape decided to speak. The moment he opened his mouth, your eyes rolled to the side. You resented that man with every fibre of your being. Mostly because he seemed to have it out for Sirius. Taunting him whenever he could. It was unnecessary and just plain vile.

“It´s easy for you to say, Black. You´re just sitting comfortably in your home while everyone else is either being productive or helpful. At least not all of us have to deal with your bipolar character” Snape snarled and gave you a pity filled look. You were about ready to tell him to kiss you where the sun don´t shine when Sirius spoke up. He was relaxing into his chair, staring at Snape with a victorious grin.

“Congratulations, Sniffellus. At least you got the bi-part right.”

Snorting into your wine glass you coughed several times before trying to hold back a fit of giggles. You looked at Sirius´ smug face grinning at you. His eye twitched to look dangerously like a wink and you knew that the heat in your cheeks didn’t form because of the wine.

_______________________________________

The days after became more and more comfortable. Sirius kept his promise to you not to drink excessively anymore and greeted you sober every evening when you returned. You ate dinner together and talked a lot more. You actually began looking forward to coming back to Grimmauld place every night. The kitchen was cozy and warm, soft light from candles and gas lamps illuminated the space as you sat at the table, sharing stories from your time at Hogwarts and your Auror training.

Day after day Sirius seemed to hang onto your every word more and you slowly got to know his sense of humour and therefore gradually you stopped feeling guilty whenever he made a joke about his time in Azkaban. Of course, you knew that deep down, 12 years in that horrible place left its marks, but it seemed like he was done with showing them to you.

“So,” he said one evening, cheeks tinted a beautiful rosy colour from the wine he´d poured the both of you. “You were two years under me. A Hufflepuff and a brainiac.” His voice sounded impressed. “What I can´t believe though” he said and took a swig of his wine, “Is that you were a beater in the quidditch team, and we actually played against each other?!”

You grinned and nodded. “We did. I remember it vividly. I´d just gotten into the team and our first match was you guys. You were in your last year. I tried so hard to hit those bludgers in your or James´ direction, but my strategy was futile. James was too quick, and you were too wicked on a broom” you shook your head in mock disbelieve while Sirius´ eyes gleamed with excitement.

“I don’t get it” he said with an almost dreamy look on his face. His chin rested in his palm as he spoke. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you´ve got spark but I would have recognized that in school. You told me you were a closed off and private. But then you go joining the quidditch team as a beater no less. How?”

You smiled at him. “Well,” you said amusedly and took a sip of your glass. “I was closed off, that´s true. But that doesn’t mean that I had no personality. There was a certain potential of rage. I had to let that go somewhere.” You shrugged with a grin. Sirius looked at you impressed.

He topped off your wineglass and spoke. “I´m impressed. The closed off, timid girl, grew up to be a fearless auror.” You shook your head. “Fearless is not true” you said calmly. “Fighting death eaters fearless is a stupid idea. Makes you end up looking like Mad eye” you smirked and winked at him. Your palms encased your cheeks as you spoke in a high-pitched voice. “Compared to him and looking at all this” you turned your head prettily left and right, “I was scared shitless every time.”

Sirius threw his head back an bellowed a joyous laugh. It fitted him so well all you could do was stare at him in awe. He wiped at the corner of his eyes and gasped for air. “Merlin, I really regret being such an insufferable prick to you up until now.”

“Thank you” you said earnestly. “You´re not so bad yourself.”

He smiled at you sweetly. “And we never talked in Hogwarts?” he asked. “Are you sure?” he sounded almost hopeful. You huffed laugh and shook your head. “I´m sure” you said, feeling the wine coursing through your veins, making you bold. “I avoided you like the plague.”

Sirius´s face fell, and you were quick to answer. “It wasn’t because I thought you were a bad person.” Quite the opposite actually. “More like…you were…intimidating.” He raised an eyebrow at that. “Intimidating?” he asked. You nodded.

“Yes. You and your friends…you were legendary as it was. Everyone either knew you, hated your guts or was crushing on you” you could feel your face heat up once more. “I just didn’t see the point of being one of many, you know.” You smiled at him timidly, his expression somewhat empty. “I did pay attention, though.”

A little more light appeared in Sirius´ eyes at that. “You were?”

You took a deep breath and downed the rest of your wine. Fuck it!

Nodding you continued. “Yes. I mean, you were hard to miss. But I´d often see how you joked with your friends, how you comforted the younger students. It was nice to see that side of you. It always made me wonder why you decided to act on your ´attention whore´ attitude more. But then again, I didn’t know you privately, so I don’t even know if I´m right with that.” You rushed the last sentence and reached for the wine bottle. Sirius´ hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. His fingers were strong but gentle.

Goosebumps appeared immediately on your skin. The little hairs on your forearm standing up when you looked up and directly into his eyes. He regarded you with a look full of wonder, gratitude and something pleading. “What else did you see?” he whispered, leading your hand down onto the table, not letting go. Ok, this seemed to be a little too intimate, but you were damned if you broke eye contact for even just a second. It was time to come clean.

“I saw how you always seemed different when we all came back from holiday. At least for a few years. You were always…sad one minute and then chipper the next. It looked fake.” His eyes grew wide. “I saw how your eyes would not leave Remus´ plate that you packed with food until he was done eating. That always happened after he turned.” Sirius´ fingers tightened. “How do you know about that?” he asked in awe.

You raised both eyebrows. “As I said. I paid attention. Still do.” At your words and to your utter delight, Sirius began absentmindedly stroking his thumb across the soft skin of the underside of your wrist. There was no way in hell he didn’t feel the insistent and fast beating underneath.

“I saw a lot of things that made you more than just an attention seeker to me. What I didn’t like, at all, was the bullying. James and you. You were both better than that. Sure, Snape was a little git but…sometimes you overdid it.” Sirius hung his head for a moment and nodded silently before looking at you again. An ashamed look spread across his face. “I know. We could be quite…insufferable. At that age you don’t really think about these things” he said quietly. You nodded in understanding. “I know. And I also know that Snape wasn’t exactly innocent himself. But I guess it´s no wonder he hates your guts. He´s still a bloody git, though.” You grinned at him.

Sirius took a deep breath. “You saw all that without ever having spoken a word to me?”

“Yes”

Sirius looked impressed and incredibly moved.

“´S no wonder Kingsley bursts at the seams with pride for you. I guess death eaters have no chance when it comes to you.”

Blushing hard you grinned bashfully but shook your head. “I´m not that good in the field” you said, and Sirius raised an eyebrow in doubt. “But when it comes to interrogations, if they make it that far, I´m actually very successful. I either get a full confession or at least some names. Always.” You spoke the last part with as much confidence as you could muster, hoping you´d impress him at least a little bit.

“Wow” Sirius breathed. “And you think I´m intimidating?” You giggled. “No, not anymore, actually.” He seemed very pleased with that.

You sat there for a moment in silence. Your eyes trained on his tattooed fingers still gently wrapped around your wrist. Ever tiny movement they made sent waves of shivers over your body.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sirius asked quietly. “HmHm” you mumbled, still not looking up. “Please, look at me” Your head snapped up at his tone. His eyes were filled with something so soft it made your heart quake.

“I can´t stop thinking about it…The other night, you said I was drinking my second chance away.” You nodded. “Even though I didn’t really have a first one. What did you mean by that?”

“Oh” you said and looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I meant your trial.”

Sirius´ eyebrows shot to his hairline.

“M-My trial?” he stuttered out? “I didn’t-“

“-get one, I know. That´s what I mean.”

He looked at you with a shocked expression before his face relaxed. A grateful smile stretched onto his lips as he looked at you fondly. Slowly, his fingers that held your wrist moved to lift your hand up to his face. Not breaking eye contact he gently but firmly pressed his mouth to your knuckles, effectively knocking the wind out of your lungs. Times stilled. The edges of your vision blurred, and a loud beeping noise filled your ears. It felt like you were about to pass out from a fever when his lips left your skin, and an uncomfortable cold ran over your back.

Sirius set your hand back onto the table and seemed reluctant as he let it go.

_____________________________________________

The next days were a blur. A happy blur. You were walking on clouds, you were dreaming so much more vividly and to no surprise, Sirius´ face always ended up being the main character. Sirius seemed much happier as well. He went out of his way to make you comfortable. For the past week now, he´d cooked you dinner and scolded you whenever you tried to help him out. He´d point his finger at you, his eyes comically narrowed and told you to sit down at the table.

It also seemed like he tried to be closer to you whenever he could. He´d stand closer to you, he´d sit closer to you, he´d guide you through doors by the small of your back. It all wasn’t helping your situation at all. He changed his behaviour towards you so dramatically, you weren’t able to stop your old crush from coming back. Not when he looked at you so dreamily sometimes, not when you both dissolved into laughter about some silly story, not when you thought about his lips on your skin.

Every time you thought about that night, your whole body started to tingle. The little flirts just came naturally to the both of you. So much so, that it was in no time, that the whole order noticed something was going on. Most of them seemed very pleased by the fact that they didn’t have to deal with Sirius´ outbursts anymore. Especially Remus. He regarded the two of you often with mirth in his eyes while Tonks almost ripped out his arm when she noticed as well.

The only thing that dampened the sugar high you constantly seemed to be on, was the fact that even though Sirius and you started flirting heavily, nothing ever came of it. In the last minute, either him or you, would draw back and either laugh it off or deal with a few moments of awkwardness. There was a magnetic pull forming between the both of you, and both of you felt it. It got stronger with ever shared meal and laugh.

These days, it got so much harder to fall asleep. Your heart beating against your ribcage so insistently that it was a herculean task to calm down. Apparently, it started to show.

You came down into the kitchen one Saturday morning with Sirius working on the stove. Even though you felt knackered, there was no way you would ever not appreciate his broad shoulders and lean back, covered by some raggedy old band-shirt. You smiled fondly at his back. He heard you approach and turned halfway around. “Good morning, darlin´.” Again, goosebumps everywhere and your heart going ballistic. “G´ mornin´” you yawned.

Sirius turned the stove off and turned to you fully. The smile on his lips vanishing when he saw you. “Are you feeling ok, ___? You look tired.” He rounded the table quickly and came to a stop close in front of you. So close. It took everything in you not to take a deep, deep breath.

“Fine. Didn’t sleep well last night” you said. Lie. You haven’t been able to sleep properly for a couple of nights now.

Sirius looked around your face worriedly. “Do you need one of those pick me up potions you always gave me? I can give you some money to go get them.” That made you chuckle. You lifted your hand and very gently ruffled the soft, black locks on his head.

“Oh, Sirius” you said smiling. “I didn’t buy them. I made them.” It took him a moment to let your spoken words sink in. His eyes went impossibly wide, then slightly damp. You retracted your hand from his head.

Sirius couldn’t hold on. In one gentle swoop he bent down slightly and pulled you into his chest by your waist. Your arms wound around his neck in an instant. Delirious with happiness you pressed your forehead against the side of his neck and felt the vibrato of his voice against it as he hummed contently. He smelled divine. A mixture of firewood, tobacco and something citrusy. It smelled like coming home and you felt your crush bloom into something much more valuable. It didn’t scare you at all. You were cradled in his arms, his cheek atop your head, his hands gently caressing the small of your back. You could´ve stayed like that forever.

“There´s nothing I could give you to make up for all the shit I´ve put you through” he whispered into your hair. “I don´t deserve the kindness you´ve given me or are still giving.” You shook your head against his neck and wanted to speak, but he was quicker. “You make it more than bearable to stay in this house, love. I don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t decided to move in.”

You stook on your toes to be able to hug him closer and he pulled you in with a desperate sigh against your ear. “I was such a fucking arsehole to you. I´m so sorry.” Hot tears formed in your eyes when you heard his tone. “You are lonely” you choked out. “And frustrated. I get it.”

“…was” he whispered and slowly withdrew just a little to look you in the face. His gorgeous, regal features were formed into a look of gratitude and longing.

“What?”

“I was lonely and frustrated” he emphasized. “Not anymore.”

His blazing silver eyes took in the entirety of your face before closing them and leaning his forehead gently against yours. “I´m glad you´re here with me” he said before kissing your forehead and almost sending you to the ground. The tears spilled over. Sirius noticed them and used his little finger to wipe them from your face.

“Why aren´t you able to sleep? What do you need?”

“I think it´ll be a little easier now” you said with a watery smile. Sirius nodded his head, for the time being, he was satisfied with your answer.

“Let´s eat breakfast before everyone shows up for the meeting. The moment I have to look at Snapes hair, I´ll not be able to eat for hours.”

_________________________________________

The meeting went quite well. Most of the time people were calm and the plans you´d made weeks before, finally came to fruition.

You were sitting beside Sirius who´s palm sat comfortably on your thigh underneath the table. It burned your skin and made you a bit drowsy with longing, but you paid attention still.

After the meeting, some of the members stayed for dinner and drinks after. Everyone had a great time. Sirius and you stood a little to the side, close together and smiling happily.

“Well, finally” came a booming voice from the table and your head swivelled towards Kingsley. He had a dopey grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows as he regarded Sirius and you. It was evident that he was quite tipsy.

“I really thought it would never happen. You two” he pointed at the both of you and with a hiss you gestured for him to quit it. “Kingsley” you whisper yelled while Sirius next to you just tried to bite back a huge grin. “What?” Kingsley slurred. “You could at least thank me, you know. For bringing you here. ´S the last thing you deserved after all these dumb howlers. Haha!” You felt the colour drain from your face. Oh no. Oh no. “Kingsley, shut up!” You hissed at him again. Sirius looked very curiously between you and Kingsley.

“What howlers did you send him, darling?” he asked in an amused tone.

“SO MANY HOWLERS!!” Kingsley yelled and nearly fell of his chair. “You´re lucky I started intercepting them when I became your mentor. If the committee had found out that the one terrorising them with howlers was actually an auror trainee…I tell ya. You wouldn’t be an auror today.”

“Oh Merlin, help me” you sighed. “Kingsley, please just drop it.”

Sirius´ face was filled with question marks. “What in Merlin saggy left nut is he talking about?”

Kingsley explained. “You see, dear Sirius. This one,” he pointed at you with a shit eating grin. “This one wouldn’t take no for an answer. She tried to send them anonymously and for the most part it worked. Until they set me on it. I found out it was you,” he playfully glared at you. You wanted to sink into the floor and never emerge again. “At this point I was already training you and you had so much potential. So, I made it work.” He sounded so proud of himself.

Sirius had walked over to Kingsley, still smiling and trying to figure it out. “What howlers did she send Kingsley? Why would they be so dangerous for her career?”

“Oh” Kingsley said, and his eyes went big. “Oh, you don’t know.” Sirius looked taken aback.

“I don’t know?”

“Yeah, the howlers, the letters she sent. They were because of you.”

Sirius went still, staring at Kingsley intently. “What do you mean, they were because of me?”

“Kingsley…” you tried again but your voice was too quiet. You could only let it happen. You´d try to explain it to Sirius later. That was, if he didn’t throw you out the house.

“They were trial demands” Kingsley said matter of factly and the air was suddenly too think to breath. You felt like drowning.

“Trial demands” Sirius whispered as he put two and two together. He turned to you slowly. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, embarrassment making your skin feel like it was on fire.

“Kingsley?” he asked in a dry tone without looking away from you. You felt his eyes boring into you. “Kingsley, when did you intercept the last demand?”

Kingsley hummed. “Hmmm…. the last one I got was about four days before your escape from Azkaban was made public. Before that, they came in once a week like c-clockwork.”

You heard Sirius take in a sharp breath. When he spoke next, he was calm, quiet and somehow sounded unsure. As if he couldn’t believe what he´d just heard.

“You…you tried to get me a trial…for 12 years?”

Your shoulders pulled themselves upwards as if you were trying to sink into your own body before you nodded, looking at the floor.

You heard a sniffle from somewhere to your right. It sounded like Molly Weasley.

“___” you heard Sirius say. His tone was choked up and still unsure. “Please look at me” he pleaded.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t bare the look on his face. He already knew about the crush you´d had on him in school and now he´d found out that even as a grown woman you tried so hard to get with him. He must be so appalled.

You shook your head no.

“12 years?” you heard him ask again.

You nodded.

“Every week?” His voice was closer now.

You nodded. His shoes appeared directly in front of you and you cowered back against the counter even further. “Don´t do that” he whispered. “Don’t…please, look at me.” His voice cracked and at that your head snapped up to look at him. The sight broke and healed your heart all at once.

Silent tears were running down his tinted cheeks. His eyes were swimming with something you couldn’t pin point. With a wobbly voice he spoke.

“You didn’t believe it was me?”

“Of course not” you whispered, throat tight.

“Why not? Everybody else did”

“There was no fucking way you´d betray James” you shook your head defiantly. “No way. It all fit too well. They used your family name and the reputation behind it. But I knew you couldn’t have been a death eater. I saw you…in school…” Your own voice began to crack when you thought back to the day you learned what´d happened to him.

Sirius nodded slowly. “Yes. You saw me. You saw me. You always have” Gentle, warm hands lifted to your face and encased it. Sirius looked at you like you were the only other living being in the world. Another tear fell down. “Don’t you ever, ever, call your feelings for me a simple crush” he said and smiled at you. “I didn’t know I had such a loyal warrior out there.” Your face was also tear stained by this point. You sniffed and Sirius gently shook his head.

“No more tears, my love. I´ve got you now.” And with that, he pulled your head to his and pressed his lips to yours. It was like a rubber band snapped in your chest. As your hands tangled in his hair at the base of his neck, he hugged you ever closer, lifting you a little and moving his lips more insistently against yours. This was right, this was perfect.

Open mouthed kisses were pressed against your lips slowly, thoroughly. There was no sound except for his breathing and his heart. A throat cleared itself in the background and with a groan Sirius let go of your lips, looking at you. His grin seemed excited. You didn’t have a chance but to reciprocate it.

“You know that it´s not a simple crush you have on me, right?” Sirius winked at you. You nodded in defeat and leaned your forehead against his chest. You felt his chuckle. “Come on, dove” he taunted you good naturedly. “Call it by its name. Please?”

Your eyes met his and they twinkled with a juvenile excitement you hadn’t observed on him yet.

“I´m in love with you” you said and smiled.

Sirius closed his eyes to let your words really penetrate his mind and soul. The hands around your waist tightened before he nodded with an equal smile. Again his lips met yours. This time, shorter, sweeter.

“So am I” he whispered against them. “I love you. My beautiful fighter. You´ve saved me.”

___________________________________________________________

thank you very much for reading. If you liked it, please leave a reblog or a comment so I can improve :) I´m grateful for every feedback I get. Thanks a lot

#sirius black x reader #older Sirius Black x reader #older sirius black #post azkaban sirius black x you #post azkaban sirius black #x reader #x you #x you fluff #slow burn #post azkaban sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #old sirius black x reader #ootp fanfiction #ootp #ootp fic

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slvt4lanadelrey · 10 months

Text

Champagne Problems | part two | Jenna Ortega

Warnings: Swearing, kissing

!you can decide whether you want the previous ending, or this one!

Part One | Champagne problems

"I'm sorry" you stood moon struck at the flawless beauty in front of you. To put it in terms of someone who wasn't completely head over heels for the women: she looked like a mess, her hair tied in a loose bun that had been in for far too long so loose hairs were flying around. Her makeup was gone, nothing but strands of the reminding mascara that still ran down her cheeks. Jenna, your jenna? Was she yours, was you hers. Well, Jenna was standing in front of you, looking as beautiful as ever.

She looked nervous, her fingers fidgeting and eyes unable to meet yours.

It had been a total of 3 weeks, 21 days, 503 hours, 1814400 seconds since you looked into the chest-nut eyes, the lagoon of brown that always sparkled whenever they looked at you; when you'd ask your friend's if they noticed the shimmer, the undoubtedly glistening in Jenna's eyes whenever she'd look at you, but they'd always say it was just the light. It wasn't the light, Jenna loved you, and her body acted accordingly: showing off her love with her eyes, her touches, her words. You were her muse, the oxygen she breathed and the music that she'd listen to wherever she felt overwhelmed.

Jenna coughed, her nose stuffy with the tears she'd be drowning in since you left. Her family were like leeches, ringing, messaging, self inviting themselves into her personal space and suffocating her with care; she didn't want their sympathy, she wanted you.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." You weren't going to stand there and let her apologise, not when you were the one who left.

"Why are you sorry?" Your voice cracked, croaking out into the room. You were yet to invite her in, embarrassed that you let yourself go after her sister picked up the boxes in your house.

"Because I knew. I mean, when I asked I thought you would say yes, I imagined our fairytale life together. But I knew, Y/N, you've never wanted that and you made it clear within our relationship." She whispered, her eyes were still leaking, tears falling from her cheeks freely. You wanted to make a move, wipe away the water that poisoned her cheeks. Even though she was a pretty crier, it still killed you seeing her in such a state.

Your head rolled onto the door frame, closing your eyes when a shaken sigh left your lips. She was right, you weren't shy about telling her how you pictured your life: she never cared, the only thing that mattered was that she was a part of it; in every universe, every picture you'd paint, Jenna was there.

"Don't cry, Jenna." Somehow, she missed you saying her name. Her name would roll off your tongue, touching the air with a satisfying hum to her ears.

She hiccupped away the pain, her teary eyes falling to the floor.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising." You pleaded, hands pressing into your eyes. You were stuck with a head aching throbbing pain slamming into your skull; the pain of the nauseating headache was almost enough to have you weep out in pain.

"I don't know what to say. I sort of came here in a hurry, my mom- my mom told me not to, she said you still needed space. I needed to see you, I had to know—" she stopped herself, knowing what she wanted to say would either break or make you. She wanted to scream, plead into the midnight breeze that you were hers, that she would do anything, absolutely anything.

"Know what?" You asked, you wanted her to make you uncomfortable, you wanted her to tell you what she wanted: who she wanted.

"I have to know that we're still—well, that there's still an us?"

Your heart sank, never in a million years would you ever expect such a question to come from Jenna's lips; the two of you were so sure about your relationship, where the both of you stand throughout the whole course. Jenna knew you loved her, that your love rose just like the sun would everyday.

"I just think-"

She didn't let you speak, she brushed into the apartment with a haiste that by the time you blinked she was already situated herself on the island chair.

"We need to talk, I know." She slid her hands up her face, dragging them back down with a slight groan.

You accompanied her, standing in front of the island so the both of your eyes could meet. Call it selfishness, karma, whatever, but you missed her eyes dearly.

"Then talk, tell me everything that went through your head." You mumbled, half heartedly, unsure whether you wanted to dive into the rabbit whole of emotions and questions.

She sighed, holding her hands interlocked with each other before talking.

"I wanted to marry you, I wanted to be able to claim you as my wife, I don't know call it old-fashioned but I just wanted to take that step in our relationship. I thought- maybe if you gave me a chance, maybe, I'd be able to show you that I would be an amazing wife. I supposed I was being stupid." She rolled her head to the counter, releasing a string of different curses.

"I was caught up in a fantasy, my family has made that picture clear."

You didn't say anything, due to the lack of words, the lack of oxygen filtering through your system, everything was too much.

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry that I asked you, in all places in front of a crowd full of people you weren't familiar with. Will you- can you forgive me, baby?"

The pet name, the soothing way she spoke, her words; she knew you weren't the best with large crowds, but she was admitting her wrongs.

"I'm sorry, Jenna." She looked up at you, tears staining her cheeks.

"Why are you sorry?" She asked, reaching out to collect your hand on her own.

"You shouldn't be sorry for having a reaction, granted- it was embarrassing, but I understand." You sighed, she was too perfect, she was saying all the right things in the moment.

"Jenna, I want to be with you, more than anything. I'm just- we're so fucking young. If- maybe, what if we wait?" She peaked up at the question, the fate she deemed herself wasn't her reality, it was just her own insecurities.

"You- you want to be with me? Like, you still want to be mine?" She squealed, her tears steaming into nothing. She smiled, her dimpled sight filling your eyes, and your heart. She was gorgeous, an absolute sight for you to admire: you only, and that made you feel flushed.

"Yes. Of course, you're my life, Jenna. I'm just not ready to tie the knot, I'm- I promise, we can rethink this decision, we can take our time and not rush our relationship." She nodded to everything you said, taking in all the information you were quickly telling her.

"I am yours Jenna, you've claimed me in every way. I can't imagine, and I don't want to imagine my life without you." She lunged forward, her arms hooking around your neck and pulled you in.

Just your luck, for the counter crushed your ribs that sent an aching pain throb through your body. You hissed, pulling away from her warm embrace.

"Sorry, again." She giggled, letting you fall from her hold. You nodded, moving around the obstacle in your way. You collapsed into her arms, holding her for dear life: scared she would leave, scared she would release you was some type of damaged goods. Your lips surged into hers, she gasped into your sudden force.

You held her cheek, your lips plaguing hers. You kissed, slowly to let the kiss really take over both of your reality. Three weeks, three painful weeks spent without the warmth of Jenna, and having her near made you overdose.

You didn't want to pull away, so when she did you whined.

"Maybe we could settle with moving in with each other? Spend more time with eachothers family, get familiar with everything that may become our normal?" She asked, hope sparkling in her eyes. She leaned forward, kissing your cheek before you could speak again.

"You promise I won't become an afterthought, that you wouldn't prioritise your career over us?" You asked, biting your bottom lip in fear. She pulled away, holding your face in her hands.

"I would never, absolutely never do that. You're my universe, Y/N, you're the only thing worth my time." She promised, sealing the vow with a kiss.

Everything may change, you may change your mind on marriage and one day you'll be an Ortega and live among Jenna's crowd, but for now the both of you would settle for small dates, falling asleep In each other's arms and whispering soft I love yous into the midnight air.

She was your person, she was your Jenna, and she wasn't going to let a small disagreement get in the way of your whole relationship. Embarrassment be damned, Jenna could take the whole harassment off her family; if she had you, that's all that mattered. She asked, and she sadly got a no, but you were still in her arms at the end of the night; so was it that bad?

#jenna ortega #tara carpenter #lgbt #jennaortega #vada cavell #wlw #lorraine day #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem #jenna x reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #champagne problems #taylor swift

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eldritch-nightmare · 7 months

Note

howdy!! hope you're having a lovely day! may i request ticci toby and any other creeps of your choosing reacting to someone harming their s/o? thank you in advance!

a/n: hi!! thanks for sending the request!! hope you enjoy <3

reacting to someone hurting their gn!s/o.

includes: toby, nurse ann, homicidal liu + sully [separate], the bloody painter, and laughing jill.

warnings: reader gets injured, murder, blood, the murder isn't detailed but some of them may be a little graphic maybe, near-death experiences, it's implied that the reader doesn't know helen kills people.

TICCI TOBY.

He would not be a happy camper, that's for sure.

Toby has already had so much taken away from him, so if someone were to try and take away the one person he allowed himself to love? Yeah, no, not happening.

Toby has taken so many lives he doesn't even know the exact number, and he doesn't normally draw out their death unless it's something Slender wants him to do.

But seeing you passed out on the ground because some sick fuck decided to take their anger out on you... it brought Toby back to darker days, and all he could think about was eliminating the danger to keep you safe.

And let me tell you, Toby draws out your attacker's death. They hurt you, so therefore they deserve every ounce of pain he gives them.

Honestly, if he could, he'd probably keep the person alive over the course of weeks just to get it through their head just how badly they fucked up deciding to hurt you, but he needed to get you help as soon as possible so he leaves your attacker to bleed out.

Once the anger he feels subsides, it'll be replaced by panic and guilt as he rushes you to the nearest place you can receive medical attention, be it the mansion or the hospital.

He won't feel better until you wake up, and even after, this situation will definitely cause him to become a bit paranoid over your safety. He really can't lose you. That's not a pain he can go through again.

It'll probably take you weeks, maybe even months, to reassure Toby that you were okay.

This situation will definitely make him more aware of your safety. If he's not off completing tasks for Slender, he's keeping an eye on you. He's not trying to be clingy or overbearing, he just doesn't want to see you covered in your own blood ever again.

NURSE ANN.

Ann can't remember anything that happened before her death and... proxification, but she does know that you've been by her side through the entire process. You're one of the very small handful of people she trusts and likes, so there was no way she'd let anyone take you away from her.

So when she sees you on the ground, bloodied and bruised because some dumb group of wanna-be urban explorers she was hunting down freaked out thinking you were her? Well, let's just say there's nothing that can calm Ann's burning rage at that moment.

Not only have these people trespassed into her hospital, but they also dare to hurt the love of her life as well? There's no fucking way she'll show them mercy now.

You're barely clinging onto consciousness as you watch your girlfriend mercilessly slaughter the people who dared to even put you in such a state. It's not because you wanted to watch, you were just too exhausted and in far too much pain to look away.

The amount of blood alone was nauseating, and at some point, you couldn't even tell what color the floor was anymore.

But once Ann has dealt with the intruders, she'll oh so gently pick you up from the ground and carry you to the nearest (and cleanest) hospital room so she can treat your wounds.

Ann doesn't speak much, but you can hear her softly apologizing to you as she takes care of you. She tries her best to be careful, not wanting to make the pain worse than it already is. She doesn't feel as if this is her fault, she knows it isn't, but she still can't help but feel bad.

This experience will definitely make her realize just how much she cares for you. It's a little scary, to be quite honest with you. It's weird being attached to someone.

She isn't going to become overbearing when it comes to your safety, but she'll definitely be more careful about hunting down trespassers if she knows you're in the area.

Don't worry, a situation like this will never happen again.

HOMICIDAL LIU.

Oh. Oh boy, what have you done?

Liu is, as we all know, not the type of person to take another's life in cold blood. He only hurts others when it is self-defense because he doesn't want to be anything like his brother.

But keep in mind that Liu is also very protective and he has a lot of pent-up anger (among a variety of other emotions) that he keeps under tight wraps. So, believe me when I tell you that you really do not want to be on the receiving end of that anger.

Unfortunately, some sad soul was completely unaware of this and decided to hurt you.

Now, for Liu, he honestly blacked out the moment he saw you bleeding out on the ground. You, however, witnessed the carnage that was about to take place. Honestly, for a moment, you thought that Sully had taken over because of how violent it got. But no, it was all Liu.

Liu doesn't make quick work of this. No, by the time he came out of whatever stupor of anger he got put in, he was drenched in blood, and the person he killed didn't even look like a person anymore.

He didn't use his gun. He used Sully's knife. You've never seen him use a knife before. He always avoided them, he only ever used guns. But he used a knife. He broke the fucking knife.

Right. Well. You'll just have to sit him down and discuss what transpired later. Preferably when you aren't bleeding out. Luckily for you, Liu has taught himself medical care. He's pretty damn good at treating wounds like this as well, so you're in really good hands.

Just... keep pressure on the wound for a moment while he quickly washes off all the blood on his hands.

You'll be okay. He'll make sure of it. He won't lose you.

SULLY.

Now, I bet you're expecting me to tell you that Sully would also go absolutely ham on the person who hurts you. No. He doesn't. Unlike Liu, he doesn't become overcome with pent-up rage.

He does get angry, don't get me wrong, but that anger isn't important. You're hurt, and you need immediate assistance, so Sully doesn't even spare the person a glance as he pulls out Liu's gun and shoots them in the head.

Sully is... less good at treating wounds. He tries his best whenever he sustains an injury, but Liu is always the one who has to take care of it.

But he does know where a certain eyeless man tends to lurk around, so he won't waste any time taking you to get treatment from him.

He'll keep the conversation topic light as you get treated, joking around with you and talking about anything and nothing at the same time. It keeps a smile on your face, and it keeps you distracted from the pain you're in.

It also keeps Sully distracted from the fact that his hands are shaking.

For a moment, he's not really sure why he's shaking so much. You're safe, and you're getting treated. It's only when you knock out after taking some pain meds that Sully finally realizes that he was scared.

You could've died, realistically. You probably would've if he hadn't been there.

He's never been so close to losing someone before. The thought alone was making his stomach churn. He's... he's never felt scared like this before.

This is probably when he realizes that he loves you.

THE BLOODY PAINTER.

Now, Helen isn't the most emotionally expressive person out there. Just one quick glance at his default expression and you'll come to the conclusion that he's a pretty apathetic person.

But you know him. You've learned how to identify his microexpressions. He had dropped by your place and walked in to see you treating a pretty bad cut on your arm. It was just a very slight shift in his expression, one that only lasted for a fraction of a second, but you could see the worry and the underlying anger.

It's actually pretty awkward as you explain to him what happened, going into detail about how some guy had just randomly decided to attack you when you were in town today.

Helen seemed to be taking in every detail you provided, and when he finally spoke up, it was to ask if you could describe the guy for him.

You had just assumed he was going to sketch the guy's face to give it to the police or something, so you didn't see any real issue with telling Helen, doing your best to describe what the guy looked like. You were honestly over the entire situation. The cut on your arm was bandaged and it didn't hurt much anymore.

The situation ended there for you. It was never brought up again, and Helen stayed the night to help you with anything that may be an inconvenience to do with an injured arm. It was sweet seeing him worried for you, if you're being honest.

It may take a few days, but Helen eventually did track down the person who had hurt you.

He treats them like any other victim, though it's obvious to authorities that this person had a particularly cruel death.

There is nothing tragically beautiful about this person's death. It is not a piece of art like all the other deaths were made out to be. This one still had their blood.

Honestly, their death feels so out of place for the case of the Bloody Painter that authorities are hesitant to consider this another one of his victims. It could be a dispute that led to murder, and in a panic was staged to make it look like a serial killer did it.

And you stay oblivious to this, none the wiser.

LAUGHING JILL.

Look, Jill truly felt as if she would never experience happiness ever again until you came into her life and made her realize that she can still feel such a thing.

You've basically become a source of joy for her, so there was no way in hell she'd ever let that go.

And when someone hurts you? When someone makes your face screw up in pain? It's an image that Jill never wanted to see. She's already lost someone close to her, stolen away from her by a monster. She can't lose you too. She just can't.

She also makes quick work of whoever hurt you, slicing them with her chainsaw once or twice before tossing it to the side and hurrying over to you.

You'll have to reassure her that you're okay as she lets you use her as a pillar of support. Even if you aren't okay, you need to reassure her that you are.

Jill doesn't know how to treat your wounds, something that will definitely change in the future once you're able to get actual treatment.

Honestly, she'll probably burst into tears and apologize profusely even though you getting hurt wasn't her fault. She still should've been there by your side. If she had been, you wouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place.

She'll definitely be hyperaware of anyone who comes near you now. It doesn't matter if it's someone you're close to or if it's a complete and total stranger.

She'll immediately tense up and view them as a threat, sticking close to you just in case something happens.

It'll take months, maybe even years for her to move past this.

#anon #ticci toby x reader #nurse ann x reader #homicidal liu x reader #sully x reader #the bloody painter x reader #laughing jill x reader #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby x you #nurse ann x you #homicidal liu x you #sully x you #laughing jill x you #creepypasta x you #scheduled.

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pedroshotwifey · 5 months

Text

Christmas Countdown Day 11 - Too much Eggnog

Cravings

Pairing: Frankie Morales x pregnant!reader

Word Count: 975

Tags/Warnings: not much, no use of y/n, fluffy fluff, lil garnish of angst at the beginning, throwing up but not graphic/descriptive, Frankie being a sweetheart, reader is preggo, established relationship

Summary: Frankie comforts you after you ignore his advice

A/N: Hey babes, thanks for reading! I really do like this one. Every time I write fluff, it honestly surprises me that I can. Tomorrow's prompt involves Javi G, and it will be my first time writing him, so I'm not sure how that will turn out, but I'd appreciate whoever sticks around to find out <3

***

“Baby,” Frankie says hesitantly as he watches you gulp down another glass of eggnog. “Maybe you should slow down on that.”

You set your now empty glass down and shoot him a glare.

“I think I’m fine. Maybe you should slow down on telling me what to do,” you snark back and cross your arms. He sighs and shakes his head but doesn’t retaliate.

You know you’ve been a bit snippy with him these past few weeks with the pregnancy, but you can’t help it. You also see where he’s coming from on the eggnog; this is your fourth glass today. You’d never tell him that, of course.

You don’t even fucking like eggnog. Well, at least you didn’t before your dumb cravings started to kick in. Now it’s the only thing you seem to want half the time. That’s what you get for being pregnant during the holidays.

You get up to refill your glass and Frankie follows you. You huff an annoyed breath as you pull open the fridge and reach for the carton.

“Sweetheart, I–”

“Can you not?” you fume as you set the carton on the carton and shut the fridge with more force than necessary. You just want one more small glass; you don’t understand what the big deal is.

Frankie winces both at at the tone of your voice and at the sound the door makes as it closes.

“Baby, I’m just trying to help,” he says cautiously. “You remember your morning sickness phase…” He looks at you, watching your impatient expression as you wait for him to stop talking. He licks his lips nervously and carries on.

“I just don’t want you throwing up again, and that eggnog isn’t going to help.”

“Oh my god, I’m not going to throw up,” you say, whipping back around to pour some more in your cup. “I haven’t even had that much.”

You can tell Frankie disagrees by the hiss he makes as he sucks in a breath. He takes his cap off to run his fingers through his hair as he usually does when he’s anxious.

“Alright baby, but maybe just take a break after this one.”

You roll your eyes but comply.

“Fine, Frankie. If it makes you happy.”

You put the carton back in the fridge and sit back down at the table, Frankie resuming his seat in front of you. He watches you tiredly, one hand supporting his chin as you take a sip.

***

You’re sitting on the couch, snuggling with Frankie when you feel it. A rolling, nauseating feeling in your stomach, bile coming up to your mouth.

You throw the blanket covering you off and hop off the couch as fast as you can, heading straight for the bathroom. Frankie jumps up right after you, concerned about your sudden outburst.

When he reaches the bathroom a second after you, you’re already leaning over the toilet bowl, starting to puke. Frankie sighs and gives you a sympathetic look, but he’s right next to you in an instant to hold your hair up and rub your back.

“I’m sorry honey, I know it doesn’t feel good,” he says soothingly. “Get it all out, there you go, you’re doing good baby.”

You appreciate him so much in moments like these. You feel disgusting as you spit into the bowl, your entire body heaving, but having Frankie next to you makes bearable. The circles he’s rubbing on your back soothe you enough so that you’ve stopped panicking.

Once you’re sure it’s all out, you grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe your mouth. You look at Frankie with tired eyes, his expression full of both love and pity.

He lets go of your hair to embrace you, and you lean into him, letting out a quivering breath. You close your eyes and let him hold you.

“You okay sweetheart?” Frankie asks quietly. You nod into his chest.

“Alright, let's brush our teeth and get you to bed, okay?” You nod again.

He helps you up and plants a kiss on top of your head before leaning around you to flush the toilet. You wash your hands and look at yourself in the mirror, frowning at your reflection.

“You just look tired, baby,” Frankie assures you when he sees what you’re doing. “Working so hard to grow our little angel takes a lot, mama.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror, and he looks back at you lovingly, his deep brown eyes warm and inviting. You smile sheepishly at him.

He steps behind you and reaches for your toothbrush, picking it up and squeezing a glob of toothpaste on the bristles. He wets it, then hands it to you.

You watch him get his own toothbrush ready as you brush your teeth. You don’t know what you did to deserve him.

Once you’re both done, you put your brushes back into the holder and walk across the hall to the bedroom. Frankie helps you change into a baggy T-shirt for bed, and then he strips down to his boxers.

You both get adjusted under the covers, you with your head on his chest and your leg over his. He gazes down at you in the lamplight, and you stare back, your eyes having a silent conversation.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” you whisper. Frankie chuckles quietly and rubs his hand up and down your back.

“That’s okay, baby,” he says.

“I love you,” you tell him truthfully. He smiles warmly at you, almost amused at how quickly you can switch from being defiant to affectionate.

He leans his head down and you tilt yours up, your lips slotting together in a gentle and lingering kiss.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

He leans over and tugs the string on the bedside lamp, plunging the room into comfortable darkness.

*** Thank you for reading! Please consider liking, commenting, or reblogging if you enjoyed this fic <3

Also lmk if you would like to join the countdown tag list :)

FOTJC: @arcanefox207 @redhotkitchen @magpiepills @exquisiteserotonin @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo @morallyinept @beskarandblasters @tightjeansjavi @theywhowriteandknowthings @nerdieforpedro @maggiemayhemnj @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @ghostofaboy @joels-shitty-puns @elvinaa

WCC: @amyispxnk @melaninmommy @brittmb115 @mandoalorian

Link to prompt list

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #frankie morales #frankie morales fluff #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #pregnant reader #fluff #wifeys christmas countdown #christmas couple #christmas #christmas countdown

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sunflowersandsapphires · 6 months

Text

Shades of Pink

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, jealous/possessive Matt, underage drinking, Matt being a fool

a/n: Thank you all for being patient with me! My brain has not been feeling up to writing lately but I managed to get the next few chapters of this fic planned out! I have a couple more written so the plan is to post an update for this fic every 3 weeks. I hope that's frequent enough for y'all :)

(Beautiful divider by @firefly-graphics!)

w/c: 5.8k

Matt’s skull rattled as the machine in front of him gave a shriek, metal grinding on metal. Gritting his teeth, he ran a hand over the machine’s interface, growing more frustrated when the start button was rendered functionless.

The telling chime of an error message echoed in the damp basement and taunted him. “Fuck!” He cursed, kicking the reinforced frame in anger. Great, now he had no clean clothes AND his foot hurt.

Growling in irritation, he yanked open the door and began grasping handfuls of soaking wet clothes and dropping them into his hamper with nauseating splats.

The suds from his detergent quickly settled into a film over his skin, actively worsening his mood. Setting his jaw, he hefted the rapidly dampening laundry bag over his shoulder to trudge back to his room.

Each step sent shockwaves of tension through his frame, he was freefalling into overstimulation at this point. By the time he reached his floor, every cell in his body was rigid, trying desperately to hold back the rage-induced sobs building in his chest. Fumbling with his key, he managed to push the door open with a slam—startling Foggy and, unexpectedly, you.

“Hey man, we were about to come find you so we could grab lunch. You, uh, you ok?” Foggy asked skeptically, but Matt ignored him. Instead, focused on your soft footsteps from the edge of his bed to his stiff form in the doorway.

“What happened, trouble?” The name suggested you were hoping to lighten his mood, but he could practically taste the concern rolling off your skin.

“Washing machine broke. Didn’t feel like dealing with it, so…” Matt shrugged, biting his cheek fiercely to avoid becoming emotional in your presence.

You tutted in sympathy, reaching to his shoulder to slip the bag of laundry from his clenched fist. “Well, after lunch I can drive you to my place and we can do laundry there, if you want?” The warmth of your fingertips over his torso sent a shudder down his spine. “Matt..?”

“Yah, that…that sounds good. Let’s, uh, let’s do that.” Matt responded lamely, shuffling from foot to foot as he willed his tense body to slacken.

“I’m sorry your day started so poorly. Do you want a hug?” Your voice was soft, your posture hesitant as you asked Matt a question he didn’t know he needed to hear. Nodding miserably, he collapsed against you.

Your soft hands wrapped around his chest, pressing upwards between his shoulder blades with delightful pressure. Matt melted into the embrace, feeling the frustration flood out of his body with each of your inhales. Threading one hand into his hair, you scratched lightly, eliciting a dreamy sigh from him. Giggling in response, you squeezed him tightly before drawing away, much to his chagrin.

You chuckled, tracing a thumb over the deep furrow between his brows. “Wow, that bad?”

Face falling, Matt’s mouth fell open in a mixture of embarrassment and horror. Shaking his head profusely, he stammered. “N-no, not at all, I just—“

Lightly shoving his shoulder, you laughed brightly. “I’m kidding, trouble. It seems like you needed that. So…” Turning back to face Foggy (who Matt had forgotten was there) you smiled. “Lunch?”

“Foggy if you spill that in my car, you’re banned. You hear me? Excommunicated from my vehicular sanctuary.” You groused, glaring at the blond who was precariously balancing a large milkshake on his knees in your rear view mirror.

Blushing, Foggy quickly moved the cup to a more sturdy location as he finished his burger. “Yes ma’am.” He gave a mock salute, making you abandon your scowl for a satisfied smirk. Matt was smiling beside you, sipping his coffee carefully to avoid the same threats as his roommate.

The three of you were seated comfortably in your car, bags of both Matt’s and Foggy’s laundry stashed in the trunk as you inched closer to the building you lived in.

Your loft was hidden away in the back corner of a bland building about 8 blocks from Campus. The worn red brick stood about 15 stories tall, complete with the paint-dripped doors and crooked windows that one comes to expect when seeing cheap student housing.

The inside was drafty and humid, the insulation having rotted away through decades of storms and frat-style ragers. The walls were far from soundproof, given they were about 90% white paint, which had encouraged you to begin seeking refuge in Matt and Foggy’s room whenever you needed to study or, honestly, a moment of peace on a weekend.

Which is how you found yourself toting the two boys back to your spacious yet slightly dingy loft which, amazingly, had its own functional washer and dryer. And, thankfully, a really comfy couch given that Foggy hadn’t done laundry once since move in.

“How on earth have you made it this far in life without doing a single load of laundry?” Matt panted between giggles as Foggy’s face scrunched with a pout as he shuffled over to the washer.

“I don’t know! My mom always did it.” Matt failed to hold back a snort and Foggy crossed his arms. “It’s not that funny, Murdock!”

“Do your siblings know how to do laundry?” You raised an eyebrow at him, not even trying to keep your smile contained. Matt was in stitches beside you and his laughter was contagious.

“I mean yah, but—“ Matt guffawed and Foggy sank into his seat, sullenly glaring at the pair of you. “I hate you guys. So much for friendship.”

A bout of giggles burst out of you. “Don’t worry, Fog. We’ll show you how. It’s really not that hard, just need to know a few things.”

You opened the top of the washer. “I’m assuming you don’t have detergent then?” Taking Foggy’s indiscernible mutter as an affirmative, you pulled out your own.

“That’s fine, I’ll loan you some, but I expect you to buy your own next time, Nelson. This shit ain’t cheap.” You pointed a finger at him and he put his hand up in promise.

“Scout’s honor.”

Matt turned to you with a grimace. “Shit, I didn’t bring any either. It didn’t cross my mind.”

With a humorous twinkle in your eye, you pinched his waist. “That’s ok, Matt. You can use some of mine whenever you want. Not a problem.”

Foggy’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious!?”

Ignoring him, Matt gave you an overly gracious smile, clearly picking up on your mirthful spirit. “That is so kind of you, sweetheart. You have such a giving personality.”

Foggy spluttered in irritation, head whipping between the two of you incredulously.

“Anything for my favorite guy.” You purred, sidling up to him as Foggy choked. Matt couldn’t help the flutter of his heart at the implication of you preferring him over anyone else.

“Guys, c'mon. You’re being mean.” Foggy pouted. You chuckled but pulled away from Matt to wrap the other boy in a hug.

“I’m sorry, Fog. I love you too, scout’s honor.”

Foggy grumbled at your promise, but returned the hug. “Yah, yah. Sure ya do. Anyway, are you gonna teach me something or will I continue to wander through this world clueless about the wonders of clean clothes?”

Giggling, you pulled him over to the machine and launched into a thorough explanation of the process. While he was sure you were sharing good tips, Matt’s brain was not at all focused on your words. His mind was transfixed on the heat cradling his shoulder from your faded touch, and the steadiness of your heart when you’d called him your favorite guy.

It was hard to not let his thoughts wander, when the smell of you coiled around him like a scarf on a bitter cold day. Your heartbeat danced along as you spoke animatedly with Foggy—teasing, confident personality slowly beginning to reveal itself as you grew more comfortable with the two roommates. Matt was no stranger to his tendency to fall head first for quick-witted women, but it was getting harder to obey his rational side when you opened yourself to him in ways like this.

Trusting him, encouraging his teasing sarcasm with your own goofy humor, leaning into his touchy nature as if you wanted it too. The fact that he was about to be wearing your laundry detergent for weeks was not going to help quell his growing infatuation.

Your voice broke through the growing pile of thoughts in his mind. “Right, Matt?”

“Uh, what?” His face must have reflected his dreamy confusion because Foggy snorted.

“Doing ok over there, Casanova? Did we lose you in the intricacies of a habit you already have?” Matt rolled his eyes as he heard two hands land on hips, knowing Foggy was giving him a shit-eating smirk.

“Believe it or not, Nelson, I don’t have the most fun listening to you all day every day. Forgive me for letting my mind wander while you learned something simple.” His tone was meant to be light, but the nerve Foggy had unknowingly struck left his voice harsher than intended.

Stepping in between him and his roommate, you placed a hand on his arm gently. “Hey, it’s ok that you tuned us out and it’s ok that Foggy needs help with this. I was just letting him know that we were always here if he had any questions.”

Wincing as he realized you were mediating a conflict he’d accidentally created, he smiled sadly at the blond. “Sorry, Fog. Of course you can ask me. Always. I’m practically a laundry expert.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

His attempt worked immediately. “Aw, you sap. You’re forgiven.” Foggy smashed himself against his roommate, eliciting a grunt from the taller man.

“Thanks, bud. I appreciate you both dealing with my bad mood today.” Matt spoke quietly, a flicker of fear sparking in his chest.

“What bad mood?” You asked, joining the hug. The two of you squeezed Matt until he groaned at you to get off, setting off fits of giggles in you and Foggy both.

“Ok, now that we’ve started the washer, I can give you the tour!” You exclaimed, stepping towards the doorway. “This way, gentlemen! Prepare to be amazed.”

The act of doing laundry at your place shouldn’t have been as life-changing as it was for Matt. Your soft floral scent clung to all of him—his clothes, his sheets, his skin. Each inhale brought him closer to you, and it was more indulgent than any sensation he’d ever experienced. Connecting with you at all was incredible, but to have your presence melding into his belongings as if you had chosen him, claimed him. It was divine.

Unfortunately, as had been evident his entire life, all good things come at a price. The cost of feeling this close to you was the new pressure on his delicate senses. He adored the fact that he was able to carry a piece of you with him, it brought more emotional comfort than he could have imagined, but his nose and skin were less happy about the idea.

“Matt, I’m begging you, rewash your clothes, man. You’re, like, allergic to that detergent, I think.” Foggy bit his lip, circling his roommate as he looked at the irritation crawling across Matt’s back.

“‘M fine, Fog.” Matt tugged on a shirt, ignoring the worry emanating from his roommate. “My skin is just sensitive, is all. It just needs to adjust.” He left out the fact that this slight effect was nothing compared to the reaction his skin had every time his clothes were washed in coarse starch by the nuns. At least this was a symptom of your genuine care for him, rather than general disdain for his needs.

“And this has nothing to do with that fact that you’re adorably into our mutual friend,” Matt winced as Foggy teasingly handed out your name.

“I’m not ‘into’ her, Fog! What the hell?”

“Sure, that’s why you’re walking around using more control than I’ve ever had in my life to not scratch your skin clean off your bones?” Foggy shook his head as Matt attempted to inconspicuously slide his hand back into his lap from where it was itching his side.

“Like I said, sensitive skin—“

“Not to mention that you’ve had more headaches this week than in the nearly two months I’ve known you?” Matt remained silent at the allegation, hoping not to convey admission with his lack of words.

The headaches had been more of a nuisance than the scratchy fabric rubbing at his angry skin. He wasn’t used to this much exposure to scented items in his personal space, let alone pressed against him. But it was all worth it to hear the sweet little sigh you gave when you were close to him, comforted by the familiarity.

“Nothing to say for yourself? You realize the more you avoid this conversation, the more likely it seems that you like her, right?”

Matt just sighed. “I can’t like her, Fog. We are in our first semester at one of the most prestigious law schools in the country and she’s one of two friends that I have. I can’t lose that, and I don’t have the time to start a real relationship. So we need to stay friends.”

“I get it, Matt. You’re not really a long term kind of guy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn! She is so sweet I’m sure she’d be more than patient with you.” Damn Foggy’s intuition for constantly discovering the core of Matt’s insecurities.

“She deserves better than me.”

“Matt—“

“No, Foggy,” Clenching his fists, Matt let out a breath through flaring nostrils. “I’m not good enough.”

Foggy sighed, but dropped the subject.

Despite Matt being more than confident in his inability to treat you the way you deserved, he found himself growing incredibly envious of the attention you started receiving from other men. There was no doubt in his mind that you were attractive, he’d had more than a few conversations with Foggy (and enough time in class biting his cheek in anger as the men around you fixated) to know that you caught the attention of damn near everyone in the room.

Maybe it was the fact that you weren’t afraid of standing up for your beliefs or confronting an ignorant point raised by a classmate. It also could’ve been the fact that you were one of the only students who knew what was going on. Your intelligence was captivating, and the way your voice carried defiantly across the room seemed to encourage the affections of both your peers and the Property Law TA.

Explanation for their interest aside, Matt found himself practically swatting potential suitors away from you each day, irritation swelling in his chest as your heart fluttered at the attention. You’d shyly admitted to him that you’d never had a long term relationship before and that you weren’t used to being sought after. If he was an ounce more of a man, he would have confessed just how much you deserved the affection, even when it wasn’t from him. It wasn’t fair of him to keep you from happiness, he knew that, but every time your pulse skipped as another boy complimented you, it felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.

So he’d taken to stewing in his own silent fury, currently pretending to read ahead while actually listening intently to your bubbling laughter as a boy a few rows behind you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with some generic pick up line. Shifting in his seat to disguise the rumbling growl in his throat, his heart sank as the bachelor invited you to a party that evening. Giggling, you giddily accepted, writing down the details before scurrying back to your seat.

There was a noticeable warmth in the apples of your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Matt could practically feel the radiant smile you were wearing. As he was working up the dignity to break the silence, you turned to him gleefully. “Matty,” He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip at the new affectionate nickname. “What would you say to attending our first college party?”

Trudging back to the corner across the horrifically sticky wood floor, Matt set his jaw and chugged the disgusting alcoholic sludge he’d been served. Waiting impatiently for the buzz to wash over him, he glowered in a stiff armchair as you flitted around with the overly flirtatious host. Foggy had disappeared ages ago with a peppy journalism student, telling him not to wait up.

The party was off campus at the house of your fellow Torts student. He and his large handful of housemates lived in a shabby 3 bedroom that felt fragile in design, as if the strong bass blasting from the beer-soaked speakers would shatter the foundation at any moment. Sweaty bodies pressed together in a pulsating mass, dancing to the ear-piercing techno music and slurping down cheap booze.

Matt was well aware that he was not explicitly invited to this soirée, but hearing you ramble excitedly at the idea of the three of you attending together had been too sweet to shut down. Your gracious host only seemed a bit miffed that two boys had shown up with you, taking no time to brush off Matt and Foggy’s polite greetings and whisk you away like the true gentleman he was shaping up to be.

James or Josh or whatever his name was, Matt could honestly care less, clearly intended to get in your pants, and was taking no time to attempt that. After pumping you full of Jell-O shots, he engaged you in conversation about the volunteer work he loved so much during high school. Matt didn’t need to hear his heartbeat to know that was utter bullshit, but you responded with elation, ecstatic to find another law student with a similar moral compass to your own. The dark haired law student was more focused on the fact that he could smell his rival’s arousal brewing, a set of wandering hands becoming increasingly noticeable despite the quaking music and overwhelming atmosphere. Hearing a nervous giggle spill out of your mouth as you shrugged out of an inebriated touch, Matt stumbled off the cushions he sat on, ambling over to you to ensure you were safe.

Before he’d even reached you, your attention landed on him and your pulse stilled. The relieved exhale that left your lips as your eyes found him in the crowd gave his ego a boost for the ages. Waltzing up to you with a smirk, he wrapped an arm protectively around your shoulders as you smiled up at him. “Hey, you! Long time, no see.” Your voice was cheerful despite the situation.

“You doing ok?” Matt asked, ignoring the brooding man to his left who had backed off a bit since Matt had walked over.

“Uh huh!” Your head bobbed with a nod, leaning into Matt, you waved towards your suitor. “Jake was just telling me about his work with the Red Cross after Hurricane Isabel.”

The buff man gave a condescending chuckle, eyes darting over your form. “The Peace Corps, actually.”

You gasped, “Oh, that’s right, I’m so sorry!” Jake simply smiled, his eyes darkening as Matt subconsciously clenched his hand around you.

“Quite alright, sweetheart,” He drawled and Matt’s small grin vanished. How dare he call you that? Only Matt was allowed to call you that. “It’s easy to get confused about that stuff. But, yah, it was just so…rewarding, ya know? Helping all those poor people who lost their homes. Can’t wait to do it again after graduating.”

“Oh, you’re going back to the Peace Corps? How noble of you,” Matt smiled, thinly covering his irritation at this jerk’s arrogance.

“Well, either that or a similar organization. It’s just so important to give back, ya know?” The tone of the other man indicated that he, too, was holding back a stream of anger.

As Matt was about to spit back a response, a drunk guy tripped into Jake, who promptly “spilled” (threw) his drink onto Matt’s pristine shirt. Jumping away from you, Matt stood up straight to let the excess liquid drip off his torso, trying not to scream as the damp fabric fused with his skin.

Jake, ever the charmer, let out a barking laugh. “Shit, sorry man. Wasn’t thinking.”

“Course you weren’t,” Matt muttered, flicking excess moisture from his hands.

“Oh gosh, you ok, Matty?” You hurried to grab paper towels from the counter behind you, pressing a wad into Matt’s hands while using another handful to dry his shirt yourself. Standing there frozen, Matt’s tipsy brain couldn’t fathom how amazing it felt to have your fingers pressed against his stomach as you tried to clean him up.

Realizing with a jolt that he hadn’t responded to your worried question, he placed a hand over yours gently. “Uh, yah, I’m fine.”

“Don’t worry about him, beautiful, he can clean up in the bathroom while we chat.” Heat pushed aggressively at his already sticky skin as Jake sidled up behind you, placing eager hands on your waist as the douchebag tried to pry you from Matt.

Suddenly, something in him snapped. He wasn’t happy with the immense amount of sensation he’d had to endure nor the fact that he’d been listening to a complete asshole flirt with you all night. Not to mention, said asshole seemed to be moving faster than you wanted and was now physically removing you from Matt’s safeguarding after pouring foul-smelling punch all over his clean shirt? That was just unacceptable. The dark force within Matt that was constantly simmering below the surface was ready to erupt.

Stepping forward with a snarl, Matt was ready for a fight, but he didn’t have to start one.

Pulling out of the grasp of your aggressive suitor’s hands, you intertwined your fingers with Matt’s. “Sorry, Jake, but I should get going. I have to be up for a scholarship event tomorrow, and I’ll need a good amount of sleep if I want to act not-hungover.” You giggled, smiling at him. “I’ll see you around?”

“Sure. Whatever,” Jake feigned a smile, stalking away but muttering loud enough for Matt to hear, “Stupid bitch.”

Matt growled, taking a firm step towards him, but you tugged on his hand. “Hey,” You murmured, squeezing his hand, “Let’s get out of here.”

Not wanting to upset you by giving away the other man’s shitty intentions, Matt trailed after you as you wove through the crowd and out the door. The grip of your fingers around his hand was grounding, allowing him to push away the less pleasant feelings from the party. Shoving past a group of people playing beer pong outside, you sighed as your lungs took in fresh air for the first time in a few hours.

“Wow, that was…” you trailed off, steps faltering slightly.

“Yah.” Matt agreed, trying not to blush as you linked your arms together on the path towards his dorm. “I’m…sorry.”

Turning to him, your footwork halted. “For what, Matty?”

“I didn’t mean to stop you from enjoying yourself. You and…Jake,” Matt practically choked around the name. “Really seemed to hit it off.”

You were quiet for a moment, your steady heartbeat echoing in Matt’s ears, before you burst out laughing. Giggles became chuckles which transformed into uproarious laughter. You had to pull yourself out of Matt’s hold to cradle your stomach as you cracked yourself up. Matt just stared blankly at you, brain flooding with pure confusion.

“Matt,” You wheezed. “He’s a total douchebag.”

“But, but I thought—“ Matt shook his head, breaking into his own set of giggles listening to your bright, infectious ones. “Stop laughing! He was all over you!”

“Yah because he’s a douchebag!” You exclaimed, as if it was obvious. Falling back against Matt’s side, you tucked an arm around his waist and began marching forward again. “He told me that bullshit story about the Peace Corps, but they don’t accept minors. So he was either lying about that or his age.”

“Why did you talk to him for so long? You had me fooled.” Matt ran a hand over your back, smiling with relief that you hadn’t been as smitten with Jake as he’d assumed.

“I don’t know!” You shoved him lightly as he snorted at your behavior. “I’m awkward, Matty! I kept trying to end the conversation and he just. Kept. Talking. And then I felt bad because he seemed like an ok guy, but then he started getting handsy and I was soooo over it.”

Growling deeply, Matt’s arm tightened around you. “I’m pretty sure everyone in the room was over it at that point.”

You just hummed in thought. “Well it’s a good thing I have my Matt in Shining Armor. Now let’s get you home so you can change.”

“About that..” Matt slowed his pace, not wanting to let you go quite yet. He needed a plan, and fast.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just…I can’t exactly tell, but I assume the shirt is going to stain?”

With a grimace, you traced a finger over the patch the drink had touched. Matt’s light blue shirt wouldn’t stand a chance after 24 hours. “Oof. It’s likely if it’s not treated tonight. That punch was eerily red. Like inedibly vibrant in color. But if you use a stain remover—“

“I don’t have that.” Matt blurted, “I, er, I just really like this shirt,” God, that was the worst excuse he had ever come up with. Nice going, Murdock. “and I don’t want it to stain. Would you, um, could you—“

“Is the great Matthew Murdock asking for my assistance with laundry?” He could hear the smirk you wore. “I thought you were an expert.”

“That’s hearsay.” He objected, teasingly.

You giggled once more. “Well, what kind of person would I be if I let my knight’s shining armor stay tarnished?”

Matt feigned a groan at your cheesy comment. “You know what, on second thought—“ He started to pull away from you, but you held fast.

“Nope! You want to hang out with me even though I say goofy shit. That’s your bad. No turning back now, you’re in too deep, Murdock.”

“Lucky me.” Matt remarked, but there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“C’mon, slowpoke!! Time is of the essence!” You pulled Matt up the last flight of stairs to your loft, laughing as he pretended to go limp so you would drag him further. “Hey! Be careful, trouble, you weigh more than I can handle.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Matt lurched forward, toppling against you as you opened the door. You squealed, but nestled into the contact anyway. The door creaked open and you both shuffled inside, there was no sign of anyone else in the apartment.

“My roommate went out with her boyfriend.” You explained, as if reading his mind. “They usually hang out here but I think they were drinking for free somewhere.”

“Good for them.” Matt snorted, being tugged towards your laundry room.

You instructed him to sit on top of the dryer while you opened the washer. “Your shirt, sir,” Holding out a hand to him, you messed with settings on the machine.

Removing each plastic button from its corresponding fabric loop, Matt was suddenly painfully aware of how intimate the action was. Biting his lip to keep his growing…feelings…at bay, he tried not to dwindle on the fact that you had asked him to undress. In your apartment. Alone.

You may have just realized the tension of the moment as well, heat flooding your body as your movement stilled. In one swift movement, Matt gracefully removed the dress shirt and placed it in your outstretched palm, imaginary sparks cascading up his arm as his fingertips brushed your bare skin.

“Thank you,” You nearly whispered, gaze lingering on his parted lips for a moment too long before you busied yourself at the washer. “Um, Hydrogen peroxide should fix the discoloration. It might smell a little, though. We may need to wash it twice.”

“That’s, uh, that’s fine.” Matt murmured, arousal becoming difficult to ignore.

“I can wash your undershirt too, if you want,” Matt’s skin jumped as your fingers danced over the fabric where the spilled drink had seeped through.

“Yah. Yah, ok.” Your hand rose and fell with Matt’s chest as he breathed. Time had slowed to a crawl, nothing existing outside the little haven you had painstakingly created for him. Tugging the garment up and over his head, he gripped it tightly for a moment before passing it over. “Here.”

You took the fabric gingerly, eyes not straying from his mouth. “Thanks.” Still clenching the shirt in one hand, you cupped his cheek and leaned in. Matt greedily followed your lead, nose bumping against yours for only a second before—

The sound of a door slamming made you both jump apart. Drunken laughter rang throughout the hallway but abruptly stopped as Oscar and Jen took in the scene before them. Eyes flitting between shirtless, panting Matt, and your embarrassed face, it painted quite the picture.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Jen giggled, pulling Oscar towards her room.

“Carry on, children!” Oscar guffawed, running after her.

Grimacing, you turned back to Matt. “Shit, Matt, I—“

“You know what, I should really get going.” Matt snatched his undershirt from your open hand, sliding off the dryer and beelining for the door.

“Matt, wait!” You called after him, but he was already gone.

Exhaling nervously, you clenched your fingers around the item you held before knocking firmly on the door.

Foggy’s equally anxious face appeared as the door opened. Tension ebbed from his brow slightly as he met your wide eyes. “Well, what do you know!” He greeted you in a loud voice laced with false surprise. “So lovely to see you, my dear. Please, come in.”

Stepping past Foggy with a grimace of a smile, your gaze quickly found Matt—tucked away against his thin headboard, looking like he wanted to vanish into the faux wood.

“Wow, would you look at the time. I really should be going.” Seizing his coat from the bed, Foggy scurried to the door.

“Where are you going?” Matt asked, frantically.

“Out. With, er, my other friends. Bye!” The slam of a door concluded his swift exit.

You avoided looking at Matt, shuffling from foot to foot for a moment before sitting at the edge of Foggy’s bed. The raven-haired boy had a skittish energy, like a feral cat, and you didn’t want to scare him off.

Biting your lip, you desperately scrounged for any remaining courage within yourself, trying to muster up the nerve to break the silence, but Matt beat you to it.

“I’m starting to think you two planned that.” He spoke quietly, toying with a stray thread on his comforter.

You gave a humorless chuckle. “Guess we need to work on our acting skills, huh?”

Matt just grunted. C’mon Murdock, work with me here.

You took a deep breath, “Matt, about Thursday night—“ Your sweet friend interrupted you with a wince.

“I’m sorry.” Matt’s face was practically mournful, but his apology left you confused.

“Sorry for what?” You tilted your head, honed in on him as he curled further into the corner.

“I…I made it weird. I didn’t mean to, it just happened! You were trying to do something nice and then I had to go and ruin it and then your roommates came home and—“

“Oh, Matty,” You launched yourself off of Foggy’s bed and flung your arms around Matt. Startled, he teetered for a moment before returning the hug. “You didn’t ruin anything. We were both…a little tipsy, and it was late. We weren’t acting like ourselves. We can just forget about it!”

Pushing down the disappointment that surfaced at your desire to move past the near kiss, Matt was a bit relieved that you didn’t hate him. “Really?” He asked as you settled against his side, nestling into the arm he threw over you as if you belonged there.

“Of course! If you’re willing, we can move past it.” Then, with a bit more vulnerability, you added, “I care about you a lot, trouble. I’m not going to let a little awkwardness keep us apart.”

Matt smiled as you rested your head against his shoulder, taking a moment to weave your fingers together. He basked in your warmth for a bit before curiosity outweighed his desire to hold you.

“What did you bring with you?” His voice was still soft, tentative, like he was still doubting that you cared for him.

“Oh!” Escaping his grasp, you leapt to grab the crumpled heap of fabric from the other bed. “I brought back your shirt.”

Matt gingerly took the clothing from you, wondering why he hadn’t smelled the strong floral detergent when you came in. Forgetting his manners, he brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply before running his fingers over it.

It was soft, more so than when he had worn it last. It held traces of your vanilla soap, and even fainter remnants of tequila and peroxide, but it smelled like…nothing. Or as close to nothing as any porous object could ever get with his delicate senses.

“I, um, I hope it’s ok. I used a new detergent. Fragrance and dye free, supposed to be good for sensitive skin.” You shifted on the balls of your feet, watching him turn the shirt in his grasp .

Taking your hand, Matt tugged you back against his hip, embracing you again. “Thank you.” He struggled to form the words around the lump of emotion in his throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Foggy may have mentioned that the clothes we washed last time were giving you a reaction.” You shoved him lightly. “You should have told me!”

Shrugging, Matt sighed. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”

Snuggling in closer, you frowned. “You never bother me, trouble. You ok?”

Matt scrubbed at his eyes hastily, “M’fine.” You clearly didn’t buy his bullshit, but you didn’t call him on it either, simply using a gentle thumb to wipe away a stray tear that his hands missed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Matty. But, if you want to, I’m right here.”

Eyes filling with tears again, he stifled a sob, waiting for the ability to pull himself together before he spilled his secrets to you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get emotional, it’s just—“ Your hand came up to stroke through his hair as a strangled cry broke free. “No one has ever done this for me before. I’m just…not used to it.”

“You’re my best friend, Matt. You deserve to be taken care of, and I’m happy to do it.” Pressing a kiss to his temple, you guided him to your shoulder and simply let him cry.

Tag list: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock

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abitohoney · 10 months

Text

Flustered - PT3

PT1 || PT2 || PT3

Ran x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, NSFW

Tags (for entire fic): Teasing, Voyeurism, Light Dom/sub, Master/Pet, Light Bondage, Impact Play, Dom Ran, sub Reader, Blindfolds, Begging, Praise Kink, Light Sadism, Light Masochism, Scratching, Ice Play, Vibrators, Orgasm Delay, Aftercare

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: PT1: 3 times Ran definitely made you flustered And 1 time you made them flustered (you think)

PT2 and PT3: After losing a bet with Ran, their resulting “prize” leads to precisely the thing you’ve been dreading. But worse than that, it’s also precisely the thing you’ve been craving.

AN: Already on AO3, just finally getting it on here.

“You’re not going to make me wear that stupid costume again, are you?” you ask in a hushed tone as you follow Ran down the hallway of the same brothel they’d taken you to not more than a few weeks ago. However this time, it’s not business. Strictly pleasure. Ran’s pleasure. Although as much as you hate to admit it to even yourself, most likely your pleasure as well.

Ran steps through an open door and into one of the rooms. A different one than last time.

As you pass by Ran, side-eying them suspiciously, they shake their head ‘no’.

Even if you ignore the tiny smirk tugging at their black-painted lips, you still feel the nauseating unease at the possibility that the costume may have actually been the better option over whatever Ran has planned instead.

“Am I right to assume you have no intentions of explaining any of your plans?” you ask as they close the door and drop a bag- containing Janna knows what- onto a small table.

“Yep.”

Lovely.

You scan the small room, roaming aimlessly as you try to find something to focus on besides Ran as they rummage through their bag. There’s a large settee situated at the back wall- an ornately carved wooded frame covered by a smooth white seat that wraps over the armrests. You drag your fingers over the surface of it as you walk past it.

“White leather,” you scoff in disgust, “These Piltie pricks are so fucking fancy it makes me sick.” You hear Ran release a short, quiet laugh from behind you. Curious, you glance over your shoulder.

What was that saying you heard Topsiders always using? Curiosity killed the cat. Yeah. And you must be a cat, because your curiosity reveals at least part of Ran’s plan, and Janna is it going to kill you.

Ran stands in the middle of the room on a small footstool, threading a soft red rope through several hooks fastened to a large beam spanning the length of the room.

Before those mischievous dark eyes of theirs can catch you gaping, you quickly turn away.

Why did you agree to that damn arm wrestling bet? Hell, why did you agree to Ran’s prize of picking up where you two left off at the brothel? You could have simply said no. Demanded that they pick another reward. But everyone was watching you two. Ran would have surely made it known that you were reneging on the bet. And the boys would have never let you live it down. But really, you wish that was the only reason you agreed. Hell, you wished it was the main reason. But it wasn’t.

You wanted this.

Every fucking night since that fateful evening you’ve been having dreams, and not just while asleep. Daydreams too. Dreams about how that evening could have gone if that disgusting man hadn’t been there. If the two of you had been alone. And hell if those thoughts didn’t get you so fucking wet-

“Hey.”

Ran’s low voice from behind you startles you from your daze. With a jump and a small squeal, you turn to Ran. You’re met with the curl of dark lips, no doubt amused with how ridiculously jumpy you are.

What an asshat.

The eye not covered by their angled bangs twinkles with mirth.

An undeniably alluring asshat.

Ran nods toward the rope dangling from the ceiling and you reluctantly, but obediently, follow. You stand, noticeably stock still and rigid, with your back to the ropes. The lump returns to your throat yet again as you watch Ran bring a black blindfold into your view and carefully slip it over your head.

You’re plunged into darkness, and it’s almost instantaneous how every other sense is heightened as a result. You can smell Ran’s subtle, yet familiar perfume. Cloves and patchouli as always. You can hear Ran’s calm, steady breaths, as well as your starkly ragged and nervous breaths. And you can feel the cold metal of Ran’s fingers as they slide over your own before slipping something into your palm.

“Drop this if you want to stop,” Ran says quietly against your ear.

Their warm breath tickles your ear and you shiver despite how terribly warm you feel.

You experimentally squeeze the object in your hand– a soft, malleable ball of some kind. And it’s a damn good thing it’s so forgiving, because when you feel Ran’s lips brush against your ear when they speak again, you nearly crush it against your palm.

“Or say denial.”

Denial? Why the hell did they pick that word of all the possibilities?

There’s a long, silent, and very awkward pause before you realize Ran is waiting for you to confirm you understand their instructions.

After trying- albeit failing- to swallow the godforsaken lump in your throat so you can speak clearly, you instead nod several times, hoping that will be enough to appease Ran. You don’t need or want to give them any more fuel to tease you with. A soft hum comes from in front of you as metal fingertips languidly trail up your arm and across your collarbone.

Metal and flesh fingers deftly move to unbutton your blouse, gradually working down from the collar. The cool air that skims over your exposed skin as Ran slips the shirt off your shoulders is a welcome relief to your warm chest, but does nothing to calm your nerves. Not when you feel Ran’s flesh fingers ghost up and over your shoulder as they move behind you to unclasp your bra.

You allow it to fall to the floor at your feet, and your cheeks burn with the knowledge of your upper half being fully on display.

“Up,” Ran instructs with a tap against one of your arms.

Obediently, you raise your arms above your head, allowing Ran to wrap and secure your wrists to the rope suspended from the ceiling. They pull the rope tighter, adjusting until your arms are held high above your head, but still bent comfortably.

“Good?” they ask.

Define good.

Your body is on fire, yet covered in goosebumps. You’re excited, yet nervous as high hell. And you’re horny as fuck for your partner in crime, yet you dread acknowledging that fact. Is that good or bad?

Regardless of what the definition is, you do NOT want Ran to stop now, so you give them another nod.

Ran saunters back around to your front, this time ghosting metal fingers across the newly exposed skin of your breasts.

They slip their fingers beneath the waistband of your pants and slide them down, helping you step out of your shoes and pantlegs one foot at a time. You’d think a task like that would be easy enough to do on your own, but it’s not. Not when your legs are already aching with your growing arousal.

Then you feel those contrasting cool and warm digits slip beneath the band of your panties. And this time, Ran deliberately slips them down your legs unhurriedly. Even though you can’t see Ran, you just know they’re eyeing your obvious arousal, and the heat spreads from your cheeks straight down your neck.

You hear Ran toss your underwear aside, followed by shuffling of the bag they’d brought with.

Fuck, what else did they bring?

Ran’s fingers unexpectantly tap against the inside of your legs and you release another unseemly startled squeal.

Ran huffs a laugh before issuing the command, “Spread.”

Oh Janna, no!

Now your body really heats up. Clear from head to toe.

You hesitate. You fucking want to do this. But you also feel incredibly self-conscious, to be so vulnerable and on display for Ran like this. Again!

“Don’t be shy,” Ran teases from their crouched position before you.

“I’m not shy!” you croak, voice cracking from the goddamn lump still threatening to choke you.

Ran’s breathy laugh is quiet, but it’s more than loud enough for you to hear. If your face gets any hotter, you’re certain it will spontaneously combust.

“Fuck you, Ran,” you murmur, but your frustration at least gives you something else to focus on as you finally spread your legs. Something soft and smooth wraps around one of your ankles, then around the other after Ran spreads them further apart, so much so that your arms are pulled tighter above your head as your body lowers.

When you hear Ran rise to their feet and take a step back, you try to adjust your legs, finding your suspicions confirmed.

Your legs are being forced to stay apart by a spreader bar.

So evil!

Even though you can’t see Ran, you can feel their eyes roaming over your now completely naked body.

"So pretty," Ran says quietly and traces a cool, sharp finger along the side of your jaw and down beneath your chin.

The sound of soft footsteps moving to your right side catches your attention and you suck in an anxious breath.

"So soft."

That same finger drags down your neck, then across the swell of a breast.

Oh Janna, the praise. The sinful caresses. You wish those didn’t affect you the way they do. They make your legs weak and your head spin. They make you feel like you’d do anything Ran asked you to, just so you could have more.

Then you hear them move to the opposite side.

"So delicate."

Two fingers pinch and tease the hardening peak of the other breast.

You suck in another sharp breath.

Ran's finger trails down and along your waist as they move to stand behind you.

"So breakable," they whisper against your ear.

You nearly moan at that, but freeze when the word finally sinks in.

Breakable? What the hell are they talking about?

You no more than finish that thought when Ran suddenly backs away, and without warning- SMACK- you're hit with something right across your bare asscheek.

The squeal that leaves your mouth isn't the only awkward reaction you have. Your damn toes curl so hard you lift yourself up off the floor a good couple of inches.

"Fuck, Ran," you whine, and unfortunately that was supposed to be a lot more chastising, and a lot less pathetic.

"Metal or flesh?" Ran asks, once again teasingly bringing their mouth to your ear.

Mind reeling at the stinging sensation along your bottom, you don't quite grasp the question.

"What?" You choke out.

"Metal," Ran repeats as they brush cool metal digits across your tingling skin. "Or flesh?" They make the same motion, this time with their human hand.

Oh.

You think the press of cool metal against your prickling hot skin would be most soothing, but you also crave the intimate touch of their human hand. More afraid to confess that you want that intimacy, you whisper a shaky, "Metal."

Ran hums softly, almost tauntingly, but takes a step back again to run the smooth backs of several cold fingertips across your heated skin. It certainly is soothing. So much so that you can't contain the shaky breath that leaves your chest.

Something- or rather some things- drag teasingly over your shoulder and along your collarbone as Ran slowly stalks around your body. You realize, as the end of the soft, leather-like pieces fall and graze across your cleavage, that it must be the object they'd used to hit your backside. A flogger. And sure enough, just as you feel them remove it after dragging it over the opposite shoulder, another resounding SMACK fills the otherwise quiet room. Followed by another sharp yelp that pulls from your throat.

"Damnit, Ran!" Your complaint quickly devolves into a whimper as cool fingers smooth over the marks left on your other cheek. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you couldn't be any more grateful for the mask covering them. But the pain quickly subsides, replaced with a pleasant tingling sensation as Ran continues to use that blessed metal hand to caress your bottom.

Such sweet torture. Why is this so good?

Just as you start to relax again, you feel Ran's hand leave your body and they step away. Your entire body tenses in anticipation and the hand above your head holding the ball squeezes it in a death grip.

Even though you're prepared, or at least expecting it this time, the sharp smack of the flogger still rips an embarrassing cry from your pained throat. You don't need to see to know Ran is smirking triumphantly at your reactions as they watch you writhe and pull against your restraints.

This time, as Ran runs their cool digits across the curve of your ass, they bring their lips to your ear to taunt you. “You still going to deny it this time?”

“D-deny what?” you stammer. You’re pretty sure you know what Ran’s fishing for, but you hope- no, pray- that they will pity your feigned naivety and just leave you be. But you know Ran better than that. And at that moment, you realize why they'd chosen 'denial' as the safe word.

“You’re enjoying this,” they reply as they drag the tip of a finger down and dangerously close to the apex of your thighs. Your very spread and noticeably wet thighs.

You say nothing and attempt to close your legs, just to be thwarted by the damn spreader bar at your ankles. You know, that Ran knows, that you are definitely enjoying this. Yet, they refuse to let you get away with keeping quiet about it.

Warm breath tickles your other ear, making the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“I’ll stop.”

You’re not sure if Ran’s words are a threat or a promise, but what you do know is that you do NOT want Ran to stop. And when you feel them step away, their soothing hand disappearing with them, you finally break.

“No!” you blurt out, far louder and more desperate than you had intended. Lowering your voice to a breathy whine, you add, “Please don’t stop.”

“Why not?” Ran taunts, humming softly as they start to pace around your body again, dragging the long, leather falls of the flogger along your waist. It tickles your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, which only makes concentrating that much more difficult.

“Because I- I like it.” You quietly murmur.

“What was that?” Ran teases from behind you.

“I- I said- because…” your words trail off, your mind distracted by the sensation of the flogger gradually skimming up the inside of a thigh.

“...because I li-” You pause again as it’s merely an inch from your weeping cunt, and your mind just blanks, your breath held in anticipation. You squeeze your eyes shut behind the mask.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

And then- it’s gone.

“Ran, ple-” your cry of protest is cut short, transformed into a shrill yelp as the flogger hits the very bottom of an asscheek. Much harder this time.

“Answer me,” Ran says cooly. As if they hadn’t just smacked you hard enough to leave you seeing stars.

Ran’s demand barely gets through to your ears over your own sobs. Tears now fall freely from your eyes, soaking into the soft mask where it rests against your cheeks. You squeeze the ball in your hand and push up onto your curled toes as your skin throbs, heats, and prickles.

“I like what you’re doing,” you finally confess with a choked sob. And the reward makes it entirely worth it.

Ran hums in approval before running their hand over your tender flesh. Only this time it’s with their human hand, and it’s fucking divine. It may not be cold like their metal hand, but it’s so much more soft, smooth, and tender.

“Knew you were a masochist,” they quietly jeer, but you couldn’t care less as their hand continues to caress the curve of your ass. “Aren’t you?”

Before the question can fully register in your lust-laden brain, you feel the sharp press of several metal fingertips against your shoulder blade. And then they drag so ungodly slow down your spine, with just the right amount of pressure to dance along that line between pain and pleasure.

“Oh fuck yes,” you groan and you let your head fall back in pure bliss. Those delightful fingers rake clear down to the top of your ass before finally lifting away. Your body visibly shudders as a wave of pleasure courses through your body like an aftershock.

Their hands trade places, the metal one soothing over your still-tingling asscheek, while the flesh one traces appreciatively over the marks the other just left behind.

“Pretty,” Ran hums in admiration.

Your body gradually relaxes under their ministrations. The soothing feeling of their stable breaths across your bare shoulder helps you settle your own breathing. Unfortunately, you relax a little too much, and realize it all too late as the ball slips from your hand and drops to the floor with a deafening thud.

Ran’s hands freeze, as does your breathing.

No. NO!

“Ran! Ran- I didn’t mean to drop it! Please don’t stop!” you blurt out. At this point, you don’t give a shit how desperate you sound. You are desperate. You’re so damn worked up you’d be willing to get yourself off right here in front of Ran if it meant you’d finally relieve the growing tension that’s taken over every fiber of your being since you first set foot in this room. Rather, since whatever the two of you have going on started months ago.

Ran’s airy laugh from behind you makes you jump.

Damn, you’re so high-strung.

“Ran, please!” you beg and turn your head towards them as you hear them walk around you.

Fuck, they’re going to stop.

“Calm down,” Ran teases as they slip the ball back into your other hand.

Calm down? CALM DOWN?!

Easy for them to say. They aren’t the one buck-ass naked, tied up with their legs spread. Nor are they the one being teased, tortured, and brought to the brink of insanity by their secret crush. Okay, maybe it’s not so much a secret anymore, but yeah- you're a bit panicked, and with damn good reason.

“Looks like you need to cool off,” Ran adds as they swipe a finger across your sweaty forehead.

As you listen to Ran's receding footsteps, you realize just how right they are. You can feel the fine sheen of sweat that covers your forehead and chest. And unfortunately, that's not the only wetness giving away just how excited you are. There's evidence coating the inside of your thighs as well.

Ran returns, and you hear the familiar clinking sound of ice hitting the side of a glass.

Oh, thank Janna, a drink!

You are beyond parched. Your lips part on instinct, tongue darting out to lick them. However, when Ran comes to stand mere inches from your body, it becomes pretty clear, pretty quickly, that they have other ideas.

A freezing, wet cube is suddenly pressed against your collarbone just below your shoulder, withdrawing a startled yelp, and you reflexively attempt to back away. Your restraints keep you in place, forcing you to endure the torture of Ran running the ice slowly across to your other shoulder. Droplets of cool water collect at the center of your collarbone before dripping down your chest and disappearing between your cleavage. Goosebumps immediately follow in its wake, but when you open your mouth to protest, Ran slips the remainder of the cube into your mouth. It melts almost instantly, but even that tiny bit of water sliding down your throat is a welcome sensation.

Ran trails a second cube over the swell of each breast, delighting in how your body jerks away on instinct. And when they swirl it around each hardening nipple, they release a quiet hum of appreciation while you squirm and bite back the wanton sounds that threaten to escape your mouth.

“Open,” Ran commands as they press the tiny piece against your lips.

You happily oblige, welcoming another teasing amount of cool water to quench your thirst, just the tiniest bit. The sound of ice shifting and hitting the glass reaches your ear, and you realize it’s coming from much lower now, closer to the floor. You fidget with the ball in your hand, wriggling against the rope in anticipation of what Ran will do next. Certain Ran can see far more than you ever expected to show them from their position at your spread feet, you shift nervously, You want desperately to close your legs and hide your obvious arousal. But it seems Ran is having none of that.

The sudden chill of another piece touches the inside of a calf and you suck in a sharp breath. Then quickly release it in a shaky whimper of Ran’s name as they start to trail further up your leg.

Oh fuck. Please Janna…

You’re honestly not even sure what you’re pleading for. All you know is that Ran has that freezing cube inching closer, and closer to your needy cunt. And you can feel it shrink smaller and smaller with every inch it glides further up your thighs. Unknowingly, you bite your bottom lip and hold your breath. Your entire body tenses and time stops as the tiny cube melts to nothing, leaving just Ran’s chilled fingertip at the very junction of your thighs.

Light flashes behind your eyes the moment Ran strokes the tip of their finger torturously slow through your wet folds. A pleasurable ache emanates from your core, pulsing through your lower half. Your knees buckle and your left hanging with all your weight on your bound wrists. But that’s the last thing on your mind as the sudden drop causes Ran’s finger to graze over your clit.

“Oh Fuck, Ran,” you keen and your head lulls back in ecstasy.

And then- just like that– that divine finger is gone.

“No!” you cry out, head jolting back upright. Your eyes fly open in your panic, but you’re still unable to see anything behind the damn blindfold. However, you can hear Ran’s light laugh as they drag their wet finger down your chest and between your cleavage, basically using your tits as a rag.

Evil, vile, sexy little devil!

Ran’s footsteps recede to someplace behind you, and once you regain your strength, you force yourself back onto your spread feet.

“You know-” you pause, realizing how fucking hoarse your voice is, and clear your throat.

Janna, you’re wound so fucking tight. Figuratively and literally. You can feel that coil-like sensation deep in your abdomen. The one you get just before you feel that sweet release. Which you are currently in desperate need of. And somehow Ran has gotten you there with far less touching than anyone else who has ever had the honor of doing so. Yourself included. It makes you wonder just how… experienced Ran is with this.

A noise behind you draws your attention back to Ran. They’re shuffling through their bag, looking for Janna knows what this time. Their next torture device, no doubt.

“You know, even though you won that stupid bet, that doesn’t give you a pass to torture me all fucking night,” you finally get out. Unfortunately, it’s far more broken and pathetic than you had hoped for. So of course it doesn’t phase Ran one bit. Not that anything ever does. They're always so damn calm, cool, and collected.

Ran approaches you again, standing behind you as they tap your hand- the one still tightly gripping the ball- and whisper into your ear, “I can stop.”

Not that again.

“You’re evil, you know that?” you grumble under your breath.

“You like it,” Ran teases.

You want to deny it, but at this point, how can you? As if your sweat-slick skin, labored breathing, and pathetic whimpers, whines, and pleading weren’t enough of an indication, the wetness between your legs is a dead giveaway.

You’re suddenly ripped from your thoughts when Ran removes your blindfold. Even though the lighting in the room is dim, it’s still a harsh adjustment after being in the dark for so long.

Just how long has it been?

Blinking several times, your eyes finally adjust. You turn your head to watch Ran slowly circle you. Their lips are pulled into a tiny amused smirk as they observe your expression. You start to question your earlier analogy of who is truly the cat in this situation. With the way Ran deliberately stalks around your vulnerable body, you can’t help but feel like a small defenseless mouse being toyed with by a powerful cat. They’ve got you trapped, weakened, and clearly at their mercy, yet they won’t attack. Not yet at least.

Something in Ran’s metal hand catches your eye and your attention drops to find them playfully twirling something in it. The combination of unique shape and material leaves no doubt in your mind what it is, and your breath catches in your throat.

A vibrator.

Your gaze darts back up to Ran’s just as they’re rounding your other side, making their way to your back again. Their impish smile grows at the sight of your worried expression.

“How long can you last?” Ran taunts from behind you. “Should we make another bet?”

Not trusting your own voice, you shake your head. Not that it matters. You likely don’t get a vote in this. Ran will make a game of it regardless of your answer. But you’re done with the denial. You’re going to gain just as much pleasure, if not more, as they are.

Another one of their airy laughs sends shivers down your spine, but that's quickly replaced with heat when they step close enough for the front of their body to brush against the back of yours. That heat suddenly pools between your slick-covered thighs when you think of what they're about to do.

"Let's find out," Ran whispers as they glide the tip of the vibrator across your bare abdomen before ever so slowly descending.

Your breath hitches as the tip reaches your clit. The moment it slides over, you take your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to bite back the weak mewl that threatens to escape. Your body shudders at the wave of pleasure.

Fuck, you could lose it before Ran even turns the damn thing on!

Your mind and body suddenly seem to lose communication when Ran's flesh hand snakes around and up your stomach to pinch a hardened nipple, all while the other hand presses the head of the vibrator through your wet folds. Your hips jerk forward and your back arches to press further into both points of blissful contact without your permission. Not that you care. Your body knows what you want.

Ran tugs on your nipple while dragging the toy back up and over your clit, sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

Your head falls back against Ran's shoulder. Without realizing it, your grip on the ball loosens, but thankfully it remains secure. You release your bottom lip, allowing a breathy moan to finally slip past.

The moment Ran turns the vibrator on, you immediately lose all control. All your restraint. All your inhibitions. The ball finally slips from your grasp, but neither you nor Ran takes notice. Or at least you don't. Perhaps they just take pity on you and continue anyway.

Your mind is gone entirely. Everything else in the room has disappeared. It's just you, Ran, their deliciously deft fingers rolling over your nipple, and that blissful toy vibrating against your swollen bundle of nerves.

Your head rolls to the side until your sweaty forehead presses against the cool skin of Ran's neck. Moans and mewls fall freely from your slack mouth as you feel that familiar pressure low in your belly grow stronger with each passing second.

Unbeknownst to you, you begin moaning Ran's name as you get closer to that lovely peak. The one you've been dying to reach since this whole thing started between you two months ago.

Ran turns their head, their lips brushing against the top of your forehead as they teasingly whisper, "Already?" When you're too lost in your own pleasure to reply, they add, "Maybe we should draw this out?"

Now that makes its way through your hazy mind, but only because you feel Ran start to slide the vibrator away from your aching clit.

Your eyes fly open in horror. "No! Ran, please!"

Janna, you couldn't possibly take this much longer. You've been waiting- wanting- needing for far too long. And you're so fucking close.

Ran's breath fans across your damp forehead when they release another breathy laugh through their nose. "Shh," they whisper, "I'll let you have your release."

Oh, thank Janna!

"-but you'll have to ask for it. Properly," Ran adds and you can fucking hear the fiendish smile in their voice.

So fucking evil!

"Ran, please!" You beg again. You helplessly pull your wrists against the rope restraints as you try to reposition your body to get the toy back where you need it. "Ran, I-"

Fuck, what the hell does Ran want you to say exactly? How can you even think when your mind is so clouded? When their fingers continue to twist, roll, and tug at your sensitive nipple. Or when the vibrator sits just on the edge of that sweet spot.

"I want to- I need to cum," you whimper and buck your hips toward the toy. "Please let me cum, Ran."

Those must have been the magic words, because not only does that earn you the returning stimulation direct against your clit, Ran also turns the intensity up a notch.

It's enough to finally, finally, push you over the edge that you've been teetering on for far too long. The pleasure that races through your body is maddeningly good. It leaves you seeing nothing more than a bright flash of white behind your tightly shut eyes. You bury your face into Ran's neck as much as you can. Your cry of ecstasy is nothing more than a near-silent scream as all the air in your lungs escaped moments before. But as you suck that oxygen back in, it comes as a pathetic, choked sob.

Ran- bless them for taking pity on your pathetic ass- helps you ride through your high, but ceases their ministrations the moment it ends. Once you fall back against their body, limp and dazed, they turn the vibrator off, but keep it pressed lightly against your throbbing clit. Their other hand slides down to wrap gently around your waist while you attempt to recover and catch your breath.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stand like that, with them gently holding you upright and your body limp against theirs, but when you start to come to and open your eyes, reality sinks in.

Ran just fucking got you off. Got you most of the way there without even laying a hand on you. At least not where you would normally need it. They got you to confess you like being flogged. And now you’re standing- albeit barely- in a brothel completely nude, legs spread, covered in sweat and- other bodily fluids, all while Ran is one-hundred-percent fully clothed, dry, and shame-free.

“What the fuck, Ran?” you breathe.

“Complaining?” Ran asks as they slide the vibrator through your folds before lifting it and holding it out for you to see. It’s absolutely coated in your release, just glistening in the dimly lit room.

Your cheeks grow hot again, but you don’t have the strength nor the case to claim you’re complaining about any of what just happened. Not when Ran is so proudly displaying the indisputable proof right in front of your face. But you’re also just too exhausted to play along in any aspect.

“I’m tired, Ran” you sigh and give your restraints a weak tug.

Ran might be a bit of a sadist, but not cruelly so. They know when to stop, so they set the vibrator aside before moving to your front side and crouching to remove the spreader bar.

You watch their dark gaze travel up the inside of your legs, your very wet legs. The heat in your cheeks intensifies when you catch how their lips tug upward at the sight. You quickly turn away and pretend to wipe your sweaty forehead against one of your raised arms.

Even though your legs are free, you can’t seem to muster the strength to pull them back together as Ran stands to untie your hands.

“Ran, I’m not sure I can stand-” You can’t get your confession out soon enough as the rope releases your hands and all your weight falls to your trembling legs. They give out and you gasp as you collapse forward.

Ran, thankfully, reacts quickly enough to slip their arms beneath yours and catch you. However, they’re unable to hold your weight for long and carefully bring you down to the floor with them. They sit cross-legged and help pull you sideways across their lap.

If you thought your predicament was embarrassing before, this was downright humiliating. You're so weak! You can’t even look at them in the eye right now. Instead, you stare at the contrast between their white skin and the soft fringe of their dark hair hanging along their cheek.

“Sorry,” you murmur, but to your surprise, rather than teasing you, you feel Ran gently stroke your hair and scalp with their metal fingers. You rest the side of your head against their shoulder and breath in deeply. The scent of their perfume leaves your head feeling cloudy, almost high, and eventually, your body relaxes further into theirs.

The two of you sit like that, in silence, for some time. Long enough for your embarrassment to mostly fade away. In all honesty, you’d expected something wild to happen tonight, but this part- the aftercare- hadn’t even occurred to you. And it was admittedly just as good.

Ran is the first to break the silence with a softly spoken, “On the seat,” as they slip an arm around your back and under one of your arms to help you up onto your feet.

With their help, you manage to stand and move- albeit wobbly- over to the white leather settee where they carefully lower you onto it, stomach down. You’re about to ask why you’re lying that way when you feel them ghost their fingertips across your asscheeks. The skin is still terribly sensitive, and judging by Ran’s devious little grin, you're still visibly marked.

You watch as they head back to their bag on the table near the door to grab several items. On their way back you spot them carrying a dry cloth- it’s use obvious- but they also have a small jar of some kind. You glance up at them and from this angle, you can see both of their dark eyes from beneath the angled curtain of hair covering the front of their face. To your surprise, there is something there besides their typical mild amusement. Something you haven’t seen before. Or at least you hadn’t noticed it. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it seems… soft.

Soft? Definitely not a word you ever thought you’d associate with Ran’s demeanor. Soft skin, soft hair, soft lips– sure, but soft feelings? No way.

Ran taps the side of your hip and you scoot over, giving them enough room to sit at the edge of the seat beside you. Using the folded towel, they gently wipe away the sweat from your forehead, neck, and back before folding it in the other direction and wiping up the inside of your thighs. They set that aside and open the small jar. It quickly becomes apparent what it’s for when they scoop out a small amount of salve with their flesh fingers.

They take one of your hands into their own and inspect your wrist, gently running a thumb over the marks. The skin is raw, but not from Ran’s inability to properly bind your hands, because they certainly were comfortable in the beginning. It was your own doing, your squirming and writhing that rubbed them raw. And you hadn’t even realized it, hadn’t felt any pain. You were too caught up in all the other wonderful sensations.

Ran carefully applies the soothing lotion to each of your wrists. But the act itself isn’t even what’s most moving. It’s the gentleness, the care that they put into it.

Why does that make your heart flutter?

You try to avoid eye contact with them, suddenly feeling oddly giddy and instead focus on their hands as they work.

Once they're done, they scoot further down the seat towards your legs, and it dawns on you what’s next.

Oh, here we go.

You quickly turn your head away from them and towards the back of the settee, not trusting your ability to keep a straight face as they start carefully rubbing the healing balm over your sore bottom. And oh Janna does it feel fucking good. You release a long, relieved sigh as they gently work the cool salve into your heated skin.

“Good?” they ask when they finish.

Fucking great.

“Mhm,” you murmur dreamily.

Ran gives your ass a playful little pat before wiping the excess balm onto the towel from earlier and heading back to the table again.

You turn your head to watch Ran through heavy-lidded eyes, and now you’re feeling incredibly soft as you see them carry back the glass of ice water from earlier. You turn onto your side and prop your head up on a hand. When they kneel before you to help you drink, you don’t bother to try to hide how your lips pull into a dopey smile.

Ran holds the glass to your lips, wearing their own soft smirk as they watch you chug down the entirety of the refreshing drink.

“Thank you,” you say softly and your eyes drift back down to stare at Ran’s lips. They look incredibly soft.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask without thinking.

Shit. SHITSHITSHIT!

You mentally slap yourself. What the hell is wrong with you?

Ran laughs, but it’s that damn breezy laugh they always do, just through their nose, and you’re just now realizing that you never truly hated it. Even when they were teasing you. You fucking love it! And that realization is not helping your situation whatsoever.

“You didn’t ask last time,” Ran teases.

What?

Oh.

Oh yeah. That.

That time in the alley, when you two were running from the Enforcers, and you decided to grab Ran and kiss them. Yeah. Of course you didn’t ask, but still…

“Sorry about that. I was just kidding anyway,” you reply sheepishly, but unfortunately not convincingly.

Next thing you know, Ran’s metal hand is pressed firmly against the back of your head and you’re pulled closer until your lips meet theirs.

The kiss is brief, but it’s just as electric as last time. On instinct, you close your eyes and moan softly as the side of their nose brushes along yours. Soft definitely applies to them in this context. Their nose, their lips, but also the way their mouth presses so gently to yours. It’s not ravenous, or wild, or lust-fueled. It’s just… sweet. Yet another word you never thought you’d add to your inner ‘Ran dictionary’.

When Ran pulls back, a tender smile on both your faces, they turn the tables right back around and say exactly what you would expect them to say.

“Same time next week?”

#arcane #Ran #arcane Ran #ran x reader #arcane ran x reader #fanfic #honey writes

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onewildwrites · 2 years

Text

Dirty Little Secret [ Eddie Munson x Reader ]

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: You find Eddies actual secret stash.

Warnings: 18+ no minors, sub!Eddie, femdom!reader, afab reader, slight degradation, Eddie has a big ol’ praise kink, use of restraints, oral sex (m receiving), p in v penetration, brief orgasm denial, corny VHS porn, Eddie is a terrible liar, Eddie fearing rejection, friends to lovers.

A/N: I truly don't know why this took me so long to write but I hope you enjoy it!

Much like any other day Eddie invited you over to his place after getting kicked out of class for what seems like the 100th time this week. I’m telling you Mrs.Highsmith has it out for me! Or, maybe wearing a shirt with ‘avid sperm donor’ on it wasn’t your brightest idea to date. Whatever, it was funny! Do you wanna come to my place or not?

You were kinda on Eddies ass lately about graduating so you could finally fulfill your plans of moving out of this hick town together. This plan was supposed to be in motion two years ago when you were hoping to graduate together; I mean what was the point of moving if you were just gonna leave your best friend there to rot? So you decided to stay until the moment Eddie snatches his diploma.

You pulled up to Eddie's place, school wasn't out yet but you already knew where he hid the key. Making yourself at home was never hard here. On days off when you felt particularly bored you would spend entire school days there, just waiting for Eddie to get back. Watching TV, raiding the fridge, occasionally playing Eddie's precious guitar (you were the only other person Eddie allowed to touch “her”). But today you felt like mixing it up a little.

Through all your 10 years of friendship you never once snooped through Eddie's things. Eddie on the other hand had done it to you many times. Nice thong princess. God Eddie you're stretching it! What, red isn’t my color? Can’t tell with your jeans on, now take it off please. My Jeans? Wow I didn’t know you were that desperate to see me naked sweetheart. The thong you moron! Maybe you were afraid of what you could find, but after knowing Eddie for as long as you have, it would shock you if you found anything unexpected.

Starting off simple you went through the bathroom first. Nothing too interesting catches your eye off the bat, although you were impressed to see a separate bottle of shampoo and conditioner instead of the 3-in-1 bottle you were expecting. Unable to find anything else in the bathroom, you head to Eddie’s room.

As soon as you enter through the door frame, you're greeted with the familiar smell of weed covered by cheap cologne. The smell might have nauseated others, but it comforted you. It was most likely the element of nostalgia that made you immune to the scent. Most of the memories made between you and Eddie were in this very room. The first time you got high together, Eddie teaching you a few chords of his favorite song, being forced to watch some of the most grotesque horror movies you've ever seen, etc.

Scanning through the bedroom there was nothing popping out that you haven't seen before (you still don’t know where he got those police grade handcuffs from). First instincts told you to search the most basic hiding spots.

Back of the closet? nothing. Night stand drawer? nope. Sock drawer? nada, unless we're counting a few suspiciously crunchy socks.

This left you with one last place to check: under the bed.

You sunk down to lay on your stomach, lifting the blanket that covered the space between his bed frame and the floor. Due to the poor lighting in the room you thought there was nothing there, but after a few seconds of adjusting to the light you saw it. A whole Family Video right there under Eddie's bed.

You scooped as many of the VHS tapes from under the bed as you could in one motion. Jesus it was a real collection. These weren't just your run-of-the-mil VHS tapes, oh no, no, it was porn. Each title more provocative than the last. You looked through them giggling like a schoolgirl while kicking your feet in the air.

Picking them up one by one and seeing the cheesy posters you started to notice a pattern. The women were always in a dominant position; standing over the men, pulling their hair, even wearing the occasional latex body suit and whip. Maybe Eddie was better at hiding things from you than you gave him credit for...

Eddie swore this was turning out to be the longest day of his life. Getting back the results of a failed chemistry test, no Hellfire club, the lecture he got for showing up to class late only be be kicked out of class seconds later-- what a colossal waste of his time.

Now was finally the time of day Eddie looked forward to: returning back to his humble abode and seeing you. There were few things in Eddie's life as consistent and reassuring as you. Every time he felt like a failure you were there to pick him back up and make sure he knew that flunking a few classes didn't make him any less worthy of respect. He would never understand why someone like you could put up with him but he was grateful.

Eddie practically ran out of his van to the front door, eager like a puppy awaiting the arrival of its owner. Bursting through the entrance he was worried when he didn't immediately see you sitting at your usual spot on the couch. Were you running late? No, you were punctual to events you weren't even invited to.

He called out your name. No reply.

He did it again, hoping you were just in the bathroom unable to hear him the first time.

“Yeah, in here,” you called back calmly.

Eddie let out a quick sigh of relief before walking over to his bedroom. Pushing the slightly opened door, its hinges release a horror movie like creak as finds himself paralyzed by fear. Here you were, standing in front of his bed, surrounded by a small mountain of porn and holding one in your hand with a knowing smirk plastered on your face. A title he is very familiar with: Bad Boys Get Punished.

God he didn't know what to do, he could barely think a cohesive thought. This was the most mortified he had ever been around you; not even the time you accidentally caught him getting out of the shower singing Cindy Lauper could have compared to how bare he felt in this moment. You had exposed his guilty pleasure.

“Hi Eddie,” he could hear from your tone you were holding back a river of giggles.

“H-hey,” his voice hoarse as he spoke. Eddie felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead.

You waltzed towards him slowly, as if you were afraid that moving too fast would scare him away.

There was something about this moment; despite the fact that he was scared shitless Eddie had the strange sense that he was becoming turned on. He wasn’t gonna stand here and pretend he never felt this way about you before. Of course he has. You occupied 80% of his thoughts and all his dirtier dreams. He never dared to make a move though, if you didn't feel the same way he did he couldn't stand to lose you over a simple crush. But when you looked at him the way you were right now it was really hard to care anymore.

“Why do you look so nervous Eddie?”

“I don’t know- I just have that type of face I guess...” could his voice stop quivering for five seconds?

“Does it maybe have something to do with the fact that I found your porn stash?” you cocked your head slightly.

“That's not mine!” Eddie found himself shouting defensively; smooth.

You huffed out a laugh at him, “It’s not?” You questioned while pushing the tape against his chest. “Then why is it under your bed?”

Think, think, you moron!

“It must be Uncle Wayne's- yep, that's his,” He nodded vigorously at his excuse.

Your eyes rolled at his obvious lie, shit. “Come off of it Eddie, you really expect me to believe sweet old Wayne hid kinky porn under your bed?”

Eddie looked down at the floor shaking his head, “Sorry, I panicked,”

“It's fine Eds, I’m just teasing you,” your hands fell from his chest, still holding the tape.

An awkward pause filled the room, the phrase deafening silence had never been more befitting to a moment in time.

“I actually noticed a little recurring theme in your collection Eddie,” This made Eddie’s head snap back up to face you. At this point he was convinced this had to be some sort of nightmare; that if he pinched himself hard enough he would wake up and laugh at the odd dream.

“W-what do you mean?” he stuttered.

“Just a little- let's call it unconventional, that all the women in these videos seem to be in the usual man’s position, ya know, dominant.” you said, beginning to move close enough that Eddie could feel every exhale you released against his neck.

“Oh yeah, that,” he brought his fist up to his mouth coughing to clear his throat, “It was all they had at the video store so I just got them, better those than nothing.”

“Are you trying to tell me, the adult video store had only female domination porn?”

“I know it's w-weird, right?” Eddie began nervously fidgeting with his short nails to distract himself from how close you were.

“Mhm...” You bit your lip as you hummed in doubtful agreement.

“So,” You backed up slightly, attempting to make direct eye contact with Eddie, “You don't like this kinda stuff?”

“Nope.” Eddie pursed his lips after the lie spilled from his mouth.

“Okay, so you wouldn't care if we watched it together?”

Eddie’s eyes must have popped out of his head with the force he shot them open at, “What?”

“Well I just figured if you don't actually enjoy this stuff it wouldn't bother you if we made fun of it together, like when we rent those bad movies from Family Video.”

Every excuse in the book was running through Eddies mind but before he had the chance to get one out his mouth worked faster than his brain (as per usual), “Um sure I guess that could be fun,”

He wanted to slam his head through a wall.

Your face instantly lit up with excitement, “Great! You make us some popcorn and I’ll pick the ‘movie’,”

Eddie was right, this was gonna be the longest day of his life.

He felt like his whole body was in autopilot mode. His memory from moving into the kitchen to making the popcorn was a vague blur; too caught up in his thoughts of how he let himself get into this situation.

You had to know this was torture to him, right? Eddie had done his fair share of teasing towards you but he didn't think he ever took it this far-- he didn't even rag on you about the vibrator he found in your room! He knew you weren't naïve enough to believe his lies about the tapes, but maybe you did just want to make fun of them, no ulterior motive...

Eddie had just finished spilling the last of the popcorn into the bowl when you announced from the couch that the movie was starting. Without even having to turn and look at the TV screen he recognized which movie you picked-- the intro music giving it away immediately: Mistress Mindy. It was one of Eddies most prized erotic possession, and you are going to make fun of it while he tries desperately not to get a boner.

Great.

“You coming Eds?” you questioned while patting the spot next to you on the sofa.

“Yeah, sorry,” he grabbed the large bowl of popcorn and slowly made his way the short distance from the kitchen to the living room; feeling his skin perspire more with every step closer.

Finally making it to the couch Eddie placed the bowl between your bodies, praying it would be even a slight buffer from your warm skin. He knew if he felt you against him while the tape was playing he would be done for. How could he be expected to watch porn while sitting next to the person he thought of while he got off, and not get hard?

You briefly turned your face away from the TV, glancing at Eddie with the most sincere smile he had ever seen. God you’re so pretty.

The title sequence barely ended before you started cracking jokes: “How much money do you think she spends to look like knockoff Elvira?”

Eddie tries his best to play along, “Probably too much to look as cheap as she does,” but all he can think about is the amount of times he's imagined you in that exact outfit; from the latex bra all the way down to the ridiculously high heeled shoes.

The scene starts off with a couple panning shots of “Mindy's” body while metal plays, and as much as Eddie wants to look away already and save himself the humiliation, he can feel your gaze watching him just as much as the movie.

There is a quick fade into a new scene, your eyes are greeted by the sight of a lean man whose wrists and ankles are handcuffed to a board, completely nude.

“I don't think this is what the Christ lovers have in mind when they talk about crucifixion,” you laughed.

It took Eddie a moment to realize you were talking, too caught up in avoiding reliving the feelings he got when he watched the film prior, “Y-yeah no kidding...”

Mindy moves slowly into frame, taking her time and letting the flogger in hand drag behind her like a cat's tail; nothing but the man's frantic breathing and loud click of her heels fill the mostly concrete room. She finally reaches him, gliding her perfectly manicured red nails down his chest causing the man to shiver, “Are you ready to be a good boy for me?” she asks condescendingly. He simply nods and whimpers, clearly she’s not satisfied with his response. “I said,'’ she grabs his face, squeezing his cheeks tightly, “are you ready to be a good boy for me?” he moans weakly, “Yes mistress,”

This has officially set Eddie off. He frantically adjusts his jeans in hopes it will make his hard on less obvious but to no avail. If anything he just made it more obvious to you what was going on.

“You okay Eddie?“ he couldn’t tell if your concern was genuine or not.

Eddie found himself unable to form coherent words, “Mhm,”

“Are you sure?” you moved the popcorn onto the floor, crawling to fill the now empty space between Eddie and you, “Because it looks like you do enjoy these kinds of movies after all.” you pointed out smugly, the humiliation only making Eddie’s jeans tighter.

“Fine, I lied alright? I didn’t want you to know I liked this…stuff,” he gestured to the tv screen, “because I didn’t want you to judge me.” he looked down shamefully, shaking with nerves.

“Oh Eddie,” you pulled yourself onto his lap, which really didn’t help his whole boner situation, “I would never judge you. Besides, how do you know I don’t like this stuff too?”

For the fifth time tonight Eddie felt truly shocked, he moved his head back up to see if you were just pulling his leg again, “Do y-you like this stuff?”

“Do you trust me?”

Your reply made Eddie think he had accidentally asked you a completely different question that he couldn’t recall, still he answered honestly, “Of course, more than anyone.”

Smiling at his response, you grabbed his right hand, moving it down to the waistband of your pants. Eddie's heart had never pounded so hard in his life. Pushing his fingers past the band you let him feel the wet patch coating your underwear.

“Jesus,” Eddie gasped, he didn't think he could be any more attracted to you than he already was, but clearly he was wrong.

“Does that answer your question baby?” you whispered into his ear.

“I...think so,”

“Have you ever actually done this before?” you ask not to be cruel, but to gauge his experience with something you've thought about far more often than you would ever admit.

“No, I tried to hint at wanting to try it out with people I’ve hooked up with but they thought it was weird and gross.” Eddie explained.

“Would you wanna try it...with me?” your voice came out far less cocky than before, almost meek.

“I thought you'd never ask,” he laughed, the stress that previously filled his body dissipating with your reassurance.

Eddie quickly connected his lips to yours, pulling you closer to him in the process so you were chest to chest. There was no hesitation from you, lips interlocking as if it was a natural instinct. The kiss became more sloppy as it progressed quickly. Spit stringing from your mouths as moans leave your lips. God it was everything he ever dreamed about.

Eddie’s large hands began exploring your body, moving from your lower back to your clothed ass. Your hands clasped his, pulling them away from their current resting place. He whimpered as you broke the kiss, “Did I say you could touch me there?” you asked, there was no trace of teasing in your voice.

“No- I’m sorry, I didn’t thi-“ his voice was panicked and cracking as he spoke.

“But that’s the problem baby, you never think, do you?” you mocked.

“No…”

“So what if we put the pretty little head of yours to rest and I make your hands stay where I want them to, would you like that sweetie?”

A lightbulb went off in Eddie's mind realizing where you were going with this. His head shook in agreement.

“You know the rules, I need you to use your words with me,”

“Y-yes please,” he mumbled.

“Good boy,”

Eddie moaned at your words, who knew he could be so desperate.

You stood up off his lap and pulled Eddie to his feet; your hand reaching for his to migrate towards the bedroom. Entering the room you pushed Eddie down onto his mattress, an “oof” leaving his lungs. You turned to grab the handcuffs off the wall and Eddie could feel excited knots start to build in his stomach.

You looked back in Eddie's direction, “We should probably set up a safe word,” you suggested, “how about red?”

“Okay,” he agreed.

“Put your hands up baby,”

Eddie lifted his arms above his head as instructed. You lifted your left leg over his chest adjusting to sit with your legs wrapped around his torso.

“Doing such a good job for me already,” you praised while clicking the handcuffs shut around his wrists. His cheeks heated at your words, he wanted to pinch himself just to make sure this wasn’t just another wonderful dream.

“Until I say otherwise, your hands will stay handcuffed above your head.” you trailed your hands up and down his chest as you spoke, “You will not touch me until I let you. Your job is to lay back and let me take care of you, can you do that for me?”

“Yes, fuck, please,” he whined. Whoever was out there in the universe looking out for him, Eddie was ready and willing to get down into his knees and kiss their ring for the rest of his life in gratitude.

“Already begging for me baby? You’re more desperate than I thought,” you chuckled lightheartedly.

“Always desperate for you,” Eddie was unsure of where this newfound confidence was coming from but from the look on your face you seemed to enjoy it.

“Yeah?” you teased, “You thought about doing this with me before?” you scooted down, getting closer to the obvious tent in his pants.

“Everyday,” your fingers were playing with the zipper on his ripped jeans. Now laying flat on your stomach with your head resting on Eddie’s upper thigh.

“Well,” you sigh seductively, “you don’t need to just dream about it anymore.” Finally, you unzipped him from his pants, his cock almost fully upright through his plaid boxers.

You thought men with porn-like proportions were one in a billion. Maybe a trick with lighting and cameras because there was no way these guys would be that big. But here Eddie was, laying in front of you to disprove all of your previous beliefs.

Your eyes widened with shock, “Jesus Eddie, how could you hide this from me?” Pulling off the final layer you saw it in all its glory.

“I-“ Eddie was cut off by the vulgar sound of you spitting into your hand, placing it around the tip of his cock. “Fuck!” he groaned as you began lightly stroking him. You certainly knew what you were doing, thumb coming up with each stroke to caress the slit on his tip.

“You like it when I play with you like this?” you asked as if the answer wasn't obvious.

“Yes, so much,” Eddie propped his head up higher on his pillow to get a better view of you.

“What about if I did this?” You leaned forward and began giving his shaft kitten licks, never breaking eye contact for even a second.

Eddie was at a loss for words, “Mmmh,” he banged his head back onto his pillow.

You moved on from licks to kissing your way from the base up to his tip, following the line of a vein on the underside. When you reached the tip you continue your torturous teasing by opening you mouth and sticking your tongue, lightly slapping his cock against the wet muscle.

“Fuck- you’re killin’ me baby,” Eddie’s voice is trembling as he speaks.

“Sorry, you just look so pretty when you squirm for me,” you explain, a grin on your lips as the words fall out of your mouth.

The visual of you smiling with his dick right next to your mouth is a sight Eddie will treasure for the rest of his days.

All thoughts left Eddie’s head as you slowly swallowed his cock down your throat. “Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie's voice cracked with every syllable. The obscene slurping noises filled the bedroom, ringing off the walls and back into Eddie’s ears making him overwhelmed.

You took joy in every second of it, a pridefulness making its way through you at making Eddie feel so good. Similar scenarios to this had crossed your mind when your hands were shoved between your thighs. You hadn’t even noticed your hips were now moving against the mattress below you, searching for friction.

Eddie hips gently bucked up to meet your mouth causing you to moan around his length. The vibrations went straight through him.

“’gonna come,” he warned.

With that you quickly pulled off Eddie’s cock.

“Hey, wha-“ Eddie was cut off by you.

“You’re not the one who decides when you come, remember?” Your voice dripping condescension only made Eddie harder (if that was even physically possible).

“M’sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay baby,” you cooed, “You’re doing so good for me,” you sat up to kiss his temple.

Sitting back on your heels you grabbed the hem of your shirt pulling it off and unclipping your bra.

“You’re so beautiful,”

You want to scoff and blame his words on the fact that you are topless but the soft look in his eyes tells you otherwise.

“Shut up,” your fingers grip his hair as you lay a wet kiss on his lips.

Removing your final layers of clothing you began pulling off Eddie’s clothes starting with his jeans. By the time you got to his shirt you realized you had made a grave mistake by handcuffing Eddie before taking off his shirt.

“Do you like this shirt?” you spoke while playing with the frayed collar of the Metallica top.

“No, not really it’s kinda old and has moth holes in it-“

With the vague permission he gave you, you ripped it from his chest, tearing it in half with a promise: “I’ll buy you a better one.”

In all its glory you had a full view of Eddie’s tattoos chest, his happy trail leading to his currently pulsating cock.

“That was really hot…” he admitted shyly.

“You haven’t seen hot yet baby,” with that you grabbed the condom from his bedside table, ripping open the wrapper and rolling it down his length.

“You ready for me, Eds?”

“Please, please, please,” Eddie begged, his brows raised in desperation, “I’ve been so good for you, please!” his eyes were so wet it almost looked like he was crying.

“I guess you’ve been a good boy for me…” you were now rubbing up against his cock teasingly.

“Yes, I’m your good boy, please,” he was babbling at this point.

“Okay, okay, I won’t torture you anymore I promise,” you lined him up with your entrance, sinking down into his tip.

“Ohmygod,” it all left Eddie in one breath.

slowly making your way down you moaned at the stretch, you’ve never felt this full before.

“Fuck you feel so good sweetie,” you praised him.

Your right palm rested on his peck while your left was making smooth circles on your clit. You began moving carefully so as to not overwhelm Eddie.

“Go faster please,” Eddie requested.

“You sure you're ready for that big boy?”

“Fuck me, I need you to,”

Eddie watched in awe as your tits started bouncing with your speed up pace. Your face scrunched in pleasure as Eddie’s cock hit that sweet spot inside you. “You’re so big Eddie,” it was your turn to whine.

“M don’t say that,” you could tell his vocal cords were strained from begging and moaning already. His knuckles were turning white as he squeezed his hands into fists.

“It’s true, you’re the biggest I’ve ever had, you stretch me out so well,” you started moving more frantically.

“Please, stop talking I’m gonna come too fast,”

“No you won’t,” you pushed yourself all the way down to the base of his cock, stopping your movements completely, “You’ll come when I say so and not a second sooner.” despite your cocky words you were still trying to catch your breath.

Eddie just whined in response.

Getting right back to it, you returned to your previous pace, You could already feel the warmth growing in your stomach. You had never felt so close to orgasm so soon, but it was only slightly humiliating. The thought that Eddie had this effect on you just egged you on more.

“You get to come when I do, okay? I wanna feel you come with me,” your hands grabbed at Eddie’s back, pulling him into an upright position. “And I want you to look at me when you do.”

Your walls squeezed Eddie tighter, both of you moaning at the sensation.

“Com’ere,” you instructed and of course Eddie obliged, his face moving closer to yours. His hands still made no contact with your body despite how desperately he craved it.

“Kiss me,” you didn’t need to tell him twice, his lips crashing against yours. The kiss was much softer than the sex you were having. Eddie did always know how to make you feel special.

Eddie’s lower abdomen rubbed against your clit causing you to whimper into his mouth.

“Are you close?” Eddie asked, fully out of breath.

“Mhm, that means you have to come too, can you do that for me?”

“Yes- shit,”

Your movements became sloppier, you couldn’t tell if the sounds of pure ecstasy that echoed off the walls was all your own doing, or the VHS that was still playing on the living room TV.

“M coming!” you gasped, the rubber band in your stomach finally snapping. Eddie’s moans and the feeling of his cock twitching inside your pussy was a good enough indicator that he followed you, but you could barely notice over your own pleasure.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” a mantra leaving his lips as he came down from his orgasm, still bucking up into you.

Your vision had gone completely black, too caught up in the ecstasy of it all: the orgasm, his body against yours, finally making a move on Eddie.

Eddie collapsed back onto the pillows, pulling you down with him. You stayed like this for a while, your head on Eddie’s chest, his in the wedge of your neck, slowly catching your breath.

“Shit,” you heard Eddie sigh.

“Couldn’t have said it more eloquently myself,” you joked making both of you huff out weak laughs.

“I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you I’d like to be more than friends,” Eddie confessed.

“Well good, because I’m not sure I could ever just see you as a friend after this,”

“Me either,”

Eddie lifted his chin from the crook of your neck to give your lips a gentle smooch; he suddenly pulled away from it, panicked.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” you questioned suddenly, anxious at Eddie’s clear fright.

“I probably should have told you sooner but, better late than never,” he let out a nervous laugh, “I don’t know where the keys to these handcuffs are…”

“Are you serious?!”

“And Uncle Wayne is gonna be home in…” he glanced at his watch, “about 15 minutes,” he chewed on his lower lips.

“Jesus Eddie! Well come on let’s look around. I don’t think your Uncle will believe us if we tell him we decided to do an impromptu magic trick,”

God, what were you gonna do with this boy?

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #stranger things #cjs.fics

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deartouya · 2 years

Text

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS — HAWKS

no matter how rough the patrol, keigo always knows he has people who love him to greet him at home. i.e. you and your son greeting keigo when he comes home from patrol.

★ pairing: hawks x afab!reader (biological child, they/them used)

★ word count: 1.4k

★ content: fluff, kid fic, established relationship, children (oc son kaito, around 3-4 years old), food/eating mention, use of petnames (dove/ie, birdie, angel), a nauseating amount of fluff.

i saw a panel about hawks coming home to an empty apartment and it made me sad ;-; so i impulse wrote this. have this soft bird dad in an attempt to make everyone love keigo and doubles as me fighting for my hawks moot right <3

It’s been raining periodically all day — all week actually. Heavy clouds and dark skies shaped miserable conditions for patrol. Conditions made worse by how uneventful they are, filled with petty criminals and runaway pets. Keigo wastes nearly his entire lunch perched on top of an office building glaring at a pair of pigeons who’d tucked themselves in the of a patio; dry and warm.

Keigo’s always despised the rain. Water soaking his wings, weighing them down, curling the ends and matting the down of them. His hatred for the weather only grew when he knew you and Kaito were at home, swaddled in the warmth of your apartment and working through the lingerings of a cold.

He’d sent you a text a little after your own lunch, a pitiful picture of him far too close up hiding behind a Miruko billboard. His hair wet and clinging to his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

You gave him very little sympathy. You'd answered with a photo of you and Kaito in the kitchen wearing matching fluffy robes and holding mugs of hot chocolate.

He keeps his collar up against his neck, burrowing his face into the fluff of it. It smells like you, detergent and perfume clinging to the fabric from when he’d tucked it over your shoulders the day before.

Keigo finds himself watching the clock the closer his patrol’s end becomes, using the awning of a coffee shop as an umbrella. It’s odd, he thinks, how quickly he melted into his — domesticity. It happened slowly, without him even realizing it had until you were already moving in. Until he’d started counting the minutes until he was home again.

When six finally does hit, Keigo’s fighting off a smile, shoving his phone back into the damp pockets of his jacket, and taking off for your apartment.

He used to check-in at the agency first before returning home. He'd finish up whatever paperwork was created throughout his shift and utilise the oversized showers which were perpetually empty. Now, he always found himself rushing to get back — even if it meant earlier hours to do the paperwork from the day before.

So it’s also expected of him. The ease with which he accepted you — your change, love. He’s spent years longing for something a little simpler, softer, kinder. Keigo’s never been someone to take things slowly and he loved no differently.

The apartment — one you’d helped him pick — is quiet when he pushes the door open, peeling off his overcoat and heavy boots, “I'm home!”

He barely has both shoes tucked under the entry table when he hears laughing, small and light. Your answer comes as he rounds into the living room, “welcome back!”

The couch is gone. Or it’s covered at least. Obscured by large throw blankets propped over the dining room chairs and spilling over with pillows and soft-looking throws. The TV’s on too, playing a manta ray documentary and bracketed by patterned cushions.

Kaito’s golden eyes, softened echoes of Keigo’s, round in excitement and he nearly trips over a sea-turtle printed blanket in his haste to get to him, “daddy!”

Keigo makes an exaggerated sound, a huffed little oof, when Kaito collides with him and his tiny arms tangle around his legs. His pudgy cheek smushes into Keigo’s thigh and his fists curl into the fabric of his pants.

“Kaito!” Keigo echoes the boys’ excitement, smoothing his bangs from his forehead as Kaito giggles. He chases his hand and the little plumage of red on his back ruffles.

Both of their attention shifts when you finally detangle yourself from the couch, moving to cup the softness of Keigo’s cheeks with warm palms. Your thumbs brush over the bones before warm lips connect with his forehead. He huffs a soft laugh when you continue the kisses, dotting them over the freckles coating bridge of his nose, the divots of his dimples, the apples of his cheeks.

“Aw, did’ya miss me?”

“Mhm, ‘course I did,” you answer, combing through his bangs as he ducks to Kaito, “always do.”

Your affection is repeated when Keigo finally pries Kaito from his leg, hoisting the boy into his arms and settling him on his hip. Kaito’s grin broadens, nuzzling his cheek against Keigo’s and pressing a messy kiss on his brow bone.

“Saw the fight on tv, birdie,” your voice is quiet — reflectively, like any louder it’ll shatter the intimate little bubble, the warmth — as you trace his features with your eyes. No injuries.

Keigo leans in to knock his forehead against yours softly before he grins at you, “did I look cool?”

“Aww, of course you did!” His eyes narrow, your tone playful as you run your fingers along Kaito’s ribs, “rigghhhtt after you got your butt handed to you.” Kaito giggles softly, nestling into the crook of Keigo’s arm to escape your fingers.

“You wound me, dove — what, did you two spend the whole time celebrating my pain?” His free hand fists over the fabric covering his heart when you hum and Kaito lets out a happy ‘yep!’ “I can’t believe you two!”

“But you looked so cool!”

It’s immediate, the way Keigo’s entire being brightens. His eyes narrow in a smile and wings puff up behind him as he nuzzles his cheek against Kaito’s, turning to you with a faux accusing glare, “at least one of you loves me.”

A soft blurb from the stove pulls you away from them, knocking your forehead affectionately against Keigo’s this time before moving to lower the heat and continue your previous stirring.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you hum, feeling a soft cheek squish into the side of your neck and a chin hook over the other side, Keigo’s free arm winding around your waist.

“Ooo, you’re an angel, dovie,” Keigo’s arm tightens around you, lips brushing your temple, “what’d ya make?”

“Chicken noodle,” you reply cheerily, turning to wind your arms around his waist. “Kaito and I just got over that cold, we should make sure we’re getting all our fluids, isn’t that right?” Kaito ruffles at your cooing, leaning in to tap the point of his nose against your own.

“Mmm, sounds amazing, angel,” he presses a soft kiss to the round of your cheek, “I didn’t eat lunch — I’m starving.”

“Y’know just because I forget to pack you something doesn’t mean you get to just skip eating,” your chastising falls on deaf ears as he watches you finish off the soup, ladling it into tall mugs. “You have to take care of yourself, Kei.”

“Awww, c’mon — you take care of me plenty! I was totally fine. Drank some coffee and everything.”

He quiets at your glare, jutting out his lip when Kaito laughs, “ooo, you’re in trouble!”

You move into the living room to eat, all three of you nestled in the plush nest you’d helped Kaito make, mugs of soup warm between your palms as you watch the ending of another documentary.

Kaito falls asleep first, bundled up on one end of the sectional snoring softly — a habit picked up from Keigo.

“I’m really glad you’re okay.” Your fingers find the red and gold bead bracelet around his wrist, fraying and poorly strung together courtesy Kaito, “it looked rough.”

You’re propped up against the arm of the couch now, both of Keigo’s wings sprawled over you and dragging against the carpet. He huffs, propping his chin against your chest, “aww, you know I can’t get taken out that easily.”

His voice is playful but you know he means it. He always does. So you smooth a hand through his curls. “You better,” pinning him with a teasing glare, “it’s not too late to get a divorce.”

Keigo laughs, wiping his smile into your shoulder and humming contentedly when your fingers thread through his hair. Your other hand smooths down his back, brushing through the down at the base of his left-wing. It flutters minutely underneath your touch and he presses himself closer.

“Like you’d ever want rid of me,” his tease is undermined by the tone, cooed and full of adoration. You can’t help the smile, shuffling down the couch so your lips can connect with his. It's tender, slow and you hope he knows that you meant it, your worry for his health. The way he responds, enthusiastic and through a grin, tells you he does.

Keigo’s ear settles over your heart, arms wrapped around you and fingers rubbing soothing circles into your hip bones. His wings tuck fully around you, overwhelming himself with you — the gentle puffs of your breath, the beat of your heart, the rising of your chest. This is nice, he thinks. Slowing down, being content.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #hawks x reader #hawks fluff #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo x reader #✶ writes #✶ writes.bnha #✶ writes.hawks

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