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abbyromanoff · 9 months

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Hi 👋🏻 could u write gpWanda x reader x gpNatasha where Wanda is r gf and she doesn't know how to fuck reader properly so she ask Nat for help and N fuck r while W is watching?

I'm sorry if there are mistakes, english isn't my first language

ACQUAINTED

PAIRINGS: Wanda x reader, Wanda x Nat, Nat x reader

WORD COUNT: 3,697

WARNINGS: therapist/patient relationship, perv!Nat, nat and Wanda have dicks, subby!Wanda, Miss (N), threesome, exhibition, voyerisum, degrading, praising, breeding, therapist!Natasha, pet names, smut (obvi), pining, cunnilingus, dry-humping (kinda), bottom!R, top!Nat, Nat treating R like an object,

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Wanda sat on the couch with Natasha in front of her, sitting at her desk with a notebook in hand. The walls were painted a soothing gray, only adorning a few pieces of artwork. She had been seeing Ms. Romanoff for close to a year now after you suggested the idea of therapy, already having one of your own.

“I don’t know, it’s just hard I guess. I mean, I love them so much and I see myself having a future with them, but-” She paused, rubbing the back of her neck and adjusting her potion. Nat hummed, waiting for a response but speaking up when receiving none.

“But, what?”

“I- I want to- well, we don’t really-” She didn’t know why she was so nervous all of the sudden, she had been able to tell Nat almost everything but this seemed to be different.

“Trust me, I’ve most likely heard much worse here, whatever you say is confidential and free of judgment. Just take your time.” Wanda sighed and nodded, trying to figure out the words in her mind before speaking.

“I guess I just want to spice things up, you know? And don’t get me wrong, the sex is great but- but they were the first person I’ve ever done it with. I’m just scared they’re not satisfied and it worries me to think that I’m nowhere near as good as their past boyfriends or girlfriends.” She shrugged as if it wasn’t anything serious, but it was to her. She was a giving person, all she wanted was for you to be happy and well-pleasured, she wanted to impress you. But there was nothing to show off with, she had no skills in that aspect, that’s what she thought at least.

“Okay, that’s understandable.” Nat started. “Have you ever tried, say, having a conversation with them about this? I know you’re not great with communication but maybe just asking them what are some of the things they like or maybe even expressing your worries, I’m sure they’d listen.” She knew you would, but the idea of bringing such a thing up felt uncomfortable. She didn’t hate the thought of sex, but she hated the thought of talking about it. It felt like watching a sex scene on the television with your parents right next to you.

“I know they’d listen, I just don’t know how to, like, bring it up.” Wanda watched as Natasha moved her pen gently against the piece of paper, writing something down that she wished she could see.

“Alright, well, what if you invited them to a session, possibly our next one? We can bring up our discussion and your worries and maybe it could help ease them.” She spoke with such gentleness that it always made Wanda even more nervous. You had picked up on the way she’d always come home with a blush and a small smile after her appointments, but you just assumed she was happy to see you. And she was, but that wasn’t the full reason for her expressions.

“So it would be like couple’s therapy?”

“Yes, pretty much. I’ll have you two both share your sides and your feelings and we go from there.” Wanda could do that, she hoped so.

The one hour ended in what seemed like a few minutes as Nat said her goodbye’s to the woman, watching her leave as her eyes trailed down to her ass. The jeans fit her ass perfectly, it was impossible to stop the biting of her lip and the long sigh.

Truth be told, she had been planning this moment for too long. She remembered when she first ever saw you, Wanda showed her the picture she kept in her wallet of the two of you holding hands that were pointed to the camera with your lips attached in a sweet kiss. Before, she had been slightly upset when finding out that her client had a partner, even with the knowledge that it would ruin her career if she did anything. But then there was you, she didn’t expect you to be so beautiful.

The moment her last client left she went searching through your accounts, using your name to find anything on you. She was embarrassed to say she had stroked herself to multiple orgasms while scrolling through both you and your girlfriend’s photos. She was beyond ecstatic about next week’s visit, she could only hope you’d agree to go.

Luckily, you did. It took a little bit of convincing, when Wanda brought the idea up to you, you were frightened that you did something to upset her, but she quickly rushed that thought out of your mind. She didn’t tell you what exactly it was for, although you assumed it would be nice. You knew Natasha was an amazing therapist, she helped Wanda with all the things you struggled to help with. You were only human, and you didn’t have a degree like Nat, but your moral support meant just as much to your girlfriend.

“Wanda?” Her head shot up at the sound of Natasha’s voice, she quickly grabbed your hand and the two of you walked into her office. She closed the door behind you, her eyes catching a quick glimpse of your body. You were even better than the photos, she couldn’t wait.

“And you must be Y/N if I’m correct.” You nodded and shook her hand, giving her a warm smile as you removed your coat. Wanda did the same, grabbing yours and placing it on the coat rack in the corner of the room.

“So, I’m assuming Wanda has told you why you’re here?” When she looked down at her knees where her fingers rested, nervously picking the skin off of them, she knew her answer.

“Uh, not really. I was a little bit hesitant about this, but she told me there was nothing to worry about, so I’m hoping it’s nothing bad.” You shied away from Nat’s eyes, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks at the woman’s clear attractiveness. You didn’t exactly know what her therapist looked like, but now you wished you had done your research beforehand. She was stunning, breathtaking.

“Well, I can assure you that you have done nothing wrong, honey, there are just some topics we’d like to approach if that’s alright with you.” You nodded and interlaced your hand with Wanda’s, giving a small squeeze to assure her you weren’t upset. She had been planning what to bring up since the moment she left last week, but it seemingly all vanished by now.

“Do you have a therapist or a counselor of your own, Y/N?” It started off with simple questions, ones that you’d expect. That was until she started asking about your relationship and prior ones too. You shifted in your seat as she continued, feeling the immense pressure with both of their eyes on you.

“Now, tell me, Y/N, do you feel satisfied with Wanda?”

“Of course, I do. She’s such a great woman and I can really feel her love, I haven’t ever had someone like her.” You could see Wanda smiling next to you and you joined her. You truly loved this woman more than anything, you wanted to marry her someday and you hoped she thought the same.

“And sexually? Do you feel sexually satisfied with Wanda?” You nearly choked on your spit from her words, nervously chuckling in hopes to redeem yourself. She noticed your expressions and tried reassuring you, holding back as best she could when she patted your knee.

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, trust me. It’s normal to feel a sense of discomfort in these situations, but I promise that everything here stays confidential.” Her voice was able to soothe you and calm your nerves.

“Uhm, I’d say so, yeah. Obviously, there are some…things I’d like to try, but we haven’t approached that.” She nodded, as if she wanted you to go on. You didn’t know what to say, your words were stuck in your throat. You were experienced with the topic, but it wasn’t one you openly shared or talked about with others.

“Would you say your sex life is more vanilla than you want it to be?” You loved Wanda, you really did, but she wasn’t the greatest when it came to your intimate moments. You could feel her love through it, but you wanted to see her rougher side, you knew she was holding back on you.

“To be honest, yeah. I kind of like things to be a bit more..kinky, you know?” You could see the redness on Wanda’s cheeks and the tip of her ears as she shuffled her feet around. You felt sorry for making her embarrassed, but that’s why she brought you here in the first place.

“What would you consider kinky, darling?” Her pet name had your lips quivering ever-so-slightly before you came up with a response.

“I guess I just wish she was a bit more rough with me. And don’t get me wrong, I love that I can really feel her care for me but sometimes I just want her to, like, use me.” Nat scooted her desk chair closer to you two, placing her hand on your thigh softly. Wanda was still silent, she was probably too scared to speak up.

“You want to be used, Y/N?” You nodded slowly, feeling your eyes drift to her lips. You felt so dirty looking at her the way you did your girlfriend, but you also knew she was doing the same.

“Hm, who knew such a sweet little thing could be so dirty?” You could feel her hand rubbing small circles on your covered skin, her eyes staring deeply into yours. She trailed them over your body, taking all of you in.

“Does this turn you on, honey?” You nodded once again. “Yeah? Me touching you while your girlfriend watches, that makes you wet?” You gulped down your arousal as you felt her thumb teasing your clit through the fabric, your legs instinctively opening for more.

“Kiss them for me, Wanda; act like I’m not even here.” You looked in the brunette's direction, watching as she snuck glances between the two of you. She placed one hand on your cheek and the other on your lower back as you leaned in for her lips to meet yours. You moaned into the kiss as Nat rid you of your pants, dragging her fingers across your panties and smiling at the wet patch adorning them. The noise allowed Wanda’s tongue to slip into your mouth, the intrusion causing you to groan in pleasure.

Your fingers ran through Nat’s hair, pleading her to come closer. You could feel her hot breath teasing your slit as she slid your panties to the side, small kisses being pressed against your clit.

“Please, Ms. Romanoff.” You pulled away from Wanda to catch your breath, your head resting on her shoulder. Your eyes landed on her crotch as you noticed her palming herself, her hips bucking into her hand.

“You’re such a good girl. Say, why don’t we give Wanda a little lesson, okay?” She smiled when you complied without a thought in your mind. She stood up, guiding you to join her as she removed your shirt, grinning when she took notice of your lacey bra.

“It’s Wanda’s favorite, I was going to surprise her tonight.” She huffed out a chuckle and reached around behind you to unclasp it, shuddering as it fell and you were left in nothing but your panties.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you for so long, baby. Now I can finally get my hands on you.” She had been so desperate to be alone in her office with the both of you, she wanted nothing more than to mark you both as hers.

She led you to her desk, her kisses trailing from your neck to your chest where her lips wrapped around your hardened bud. Your back was met with the wooden table as she lifted you to sit on it, her palms lingering on your soft thighs after she guided your last piece of clothing off of you. She parted them, dropping to her knees in front of you and staring up at you with lust in her eyes.

“Watch closely, Wanda.” You looked over to the woman at the mention of her name, biting your lip with hunger as you noticed her unbuttoned pants and her hand hidden inside of her boxers. She shuddered when you cupped your breast, using Nat’s saliva to help create a small rhythm.

Nat blew a teasing breath onto your pulsing clit before leaning in, taking the bud into her mouth. She sucked delicately, soaking in your moans and twitches. She was too engrossed in your taste to take notice of her growing erection in her pants.

“Oh, you look so pretty on your knees for me, Miss.” It was clear that she was still the one in charge, but her need for you was so great, she couldn’t care if she seemed weak. Wanda, while feeling a pang of jealousy, couldn’t deny the heat that was growing in her stomach. She felt as though she would burst any second, but she was trying to hold back. Her thumb would occasionally brush over her tip, causing her eyes to squeeze shut.

“Look at me, Wands; watch me.” She pried her eyelids open willingly, nearly whining when she saw you wrap your legs around her therapist’s head. You grinded into her face as her tongue tortured your hole, diving in and out repeatedly. She groped your ass in order to push you closer into her, her nose poking at your clit.

“Fuck! Fuck- right there, yes!” You covered your mouth with your hand in order to silence yourself, becoming ashamed of how loud you were. Neither of them were complaining though, they thrived off of your noises; it brought satisfaction knowing that they were the reason you were in such a deep state of pleasure.

“I’m- I’m gonna cum.” Nat smirked into your cunt as you were brought over the edge, your head falling back and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your silent screams filled the room as Nat continued to lap up your juices, Wanda watching with the wish that she was the one tasting you. You were addicting, a drug that she couldn’t get enough of. Every sway of your hips, every lick of your lips, every noise, and every word that left that sweet mouth was so alluring.

You were suddenly pushed to lie down, feeling the lumber underneath you bruise your back. You leaned up on your elbows to admire the woman as she undressed herself, running her hand through her short hair once as to fix what you tugged.

“Tell me, love, have you ever heard of breeding?” You nodded, receiving a slap to your cheek. Wanda widened her eyes at both the words and the rough contact, is this what you meant? Is this how you wanted her to treat you, like you were some no-good slut?

“Yes, Miss, I have.” She hummed, guiding her tip through your slit and gathering the wetness as a replacement for lube.

“When was the last time you ever pleaded to milk Wanda dry, hm? Beg her to slap you ‘till your skin turned black and blue? Or, better yet, when was the last time you got on your knees and asked her in that sweet little tone of yours to treat you like the dirty whore you are?” Your chest rose and fell with every breath you took, each one not feeling like it was enough.

“Never.” You shook your head as you answered, your eyes not being able to meet hers. She gripped your chin roughly, pulling you in close so her nose was practically touching yours.

“What was that?” She asked again, even if she had already heard you well enough.

“Never.” You repeated, this time louder. She clicked her tongue and shot you a disapproving glance.

“Mm, there’s always two sides to the matter. Here Wanda was not knowing what to do because you couldn’t communicate, do you think that’s fair on her?” The way she spoke, the light rasp to her voice was what caused the wetness already coating your thighs to increase.

“N-no, Miss.” She turned your head to face Wanda and she blushed in the moment you caught her. You could notice the stains now coating her boxers and the shameful look on her face; she had peaked with you. You didn’t know how you didn’t hear her, she was usually the louder one of you both. But you guessed that you were too far into your orgasm to care for anything else.

“Apologize to your girlfriend, Y/N, and tell her how sorry you are.”

“I’m sorry, Wanda, I’m sorry for not- not talking about my needs and wants when I should’ve. I’m sorry.” You stuttered over your words as you felt Nat’s cock prodding at your hole, her tip breaking way and creating a small stretch.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry too.” She spoke up, and for the first time this entire session, you were able to hear her voice. It was coated thickly with her Sokovian accent seeing as she had just moved here nearly eight months ago. You hoped it would never go away, no matter how long she lived in this country.

“See? You’re both already doing such a good job.” You both smiled at the praises, seeming to fish for them from the woman at bay. You sent a small ‘I love you’ to Wanda from across the room, although it was only mouthed out. Nat grabbed hold of your waist, pulling you towards her and causing her length to fill you up almost entirely. You gasped at the intrusion, crying out in pain as you clawed at the desk.

She continued to slowly lead you further, moaning to herself as your warmth clamped around her. Your tears only brought more delight to her heart, she could only grin when seeing them.

“You’ve been begging for Wanda to use you yet you can barely even take me? Aren’t you just a pathetic fucking slut.” Her fingertips ran along your face, her thumb rubbing gentle circles as a faux sense of comfort. She then brought them down to your neck, wrapping her palm around it and cutting off your airways. The only thing you could manage to get out were choked sobs and moans. The burning discomfort slowly eased into one of satisfaction as Nat slowly thrusted her hips into you, the sounds of skin clapping together ringing through all three of you guys’ ears.

“Did you know your girl likes to be choked, Wanda?”

“N-no, ma’am.” She chuckled at the title given to her. Her breasts bounced with every movement of her hips, her cock hitting your womb. There was a small yet noticeable bulge carved out on your stomach making her groan, she was so big compared to you.

“Hm, maybe in our next session we can teach Y/N a lesson too, what do you say?” She didn’t need another opinion to decide her answer, it was final. It wasn’t just the brunette at fault, you were required to voice your wants too, even if she’d have to force it out of you.

“Please-” You managed to get out when her hand removed itself from your bruising neck and found a spot on your waist, pressing down harder than before. She was practically resting her weight on top of you, causing the bone to struggle in holding her up.

“Shut your dirty fucking mouth, I don’t want to hear another word from you.” You were close, so close, and so was she. She was forcing her body to hold back, ensuring that you were to finish first.

Wanda’s erection only grew after her orgasm, her greed making her yearn for another. You were the only one who had ever been able to make her cum, she assumed there was no better. Shyly, she walked forward, her soiled clothing still masking her bottom half. She gave Nat a look, asking for permission to which she was granted.

“Don’t ask, sweetheart, force it.” She was so used to constantly asking if it was okay to do something to your body, after all, it wasn’t her choice. Every time you’d say yes, but there was always a nagging fear that you’d not want it and she had forgotten to ask. The thought made her sick, who would ever think to do such a thing?

“They want it, Wanda. Just rub yourself against them- perfect, just like that.” She praised when Wanda held you by the back of your neck and rutted her bulge against your face, the fabric rubbing against her hard length. She whimpered when your hand came up to rub her balls, your mouth peppering kisses over her cock.

“You close, baby?” You didn’t know who she was asking, but you both agreed. You continued to gently suckle while wishing you were able to truly feel her instead of the wrinkles in her trousers.

“Ah! S-shit, cum with me.” You followed her orders and let the coil in your stomach snap as you soaked her cock, feeling her release shoot deep inside of you.

You nuzzled against Wanda as you felt her twitching, only to notice a wet patch forming on her pants. She had leaked through her underwear while itching for more, the knowledge only fueled your pride.

You mewled as Nat pulled out of you, watching as the cum dripped down your cunt, some landing on the desk while other droplets fell to the floor. She didn’t bother looking for her clothes, instead pulling the younger girl in for a kiss before doing the same with you. It was passionate, both kisses were. You could sense the longing and the emotions in it that she tried to mask, only making you chase after her lips for more once she leaned back.

“Shall we plan your next appointment then?”

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swiftispunk · 11 months

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here in your doorway | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader + tommy miller x fem!reader exes word count: 2.3k summary: PRE-OUTBREAK/TLOU. your fiancé tommy breaks off your engagement. you seek comfort in the arms of your best friend, who just happens to be your fiancé’s older brother. mostly joel POV. warnings: angst, some fluff???, break-ups, hurt/comfort, piningggg, discussions of marriage, sweet joel kisses, light grinding, mentions of food and alcohol, pet names. NO USE OF Y/N. A/N: hiiii loves. i’ve been going through it a bit recently so i’m comforting myself by offloading my emotions into a fic wow! this is...the most i’ve ever self-inserted - sorry. “wrote this for me but you can read it too” kind of deal. also ily tommy i promise it’s not personal. one day i’ll write a version of this with smut maybe.

Joel’s been waiting up for you.

You’d stopped by for dinner last week with Tommy and left a pair of sunglasses on his coffee table. He’d smiled when he’d noticed you’d left them there, so forgetful you were after just a couple of drinks.

He knows that now, knows almost everything about you after six years of being in your life. Tommy’d scooped you up when you were just twenty-two, passing through Austin for college, sticking around permanently once he’d sewn you into his life. Joel couldn’t have been more thrilled with his brother’s choice, charmed by your intelligence, your sense of humour, your sincere kindness and all the love you held for his only sibling.

“She’s a real catch, Tommy,” Joel’d told his brother the first time he’d brought you over, the two of them watching with admiration at the way you’d happily played dolls with Sarah, singing loudly along with her to one of her favourite songs. You’d known every word.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Tommy had chuckled, bemusement painting his features like even he couldn’t believe he’d got so lucky.

Sometimes Joel can’t believe it either.

Joel’s always been fond of how seamlessly you’d blended into the Miller fold, the two of you developing a bond that Joel’s never had with any of his brother’s exes. You share a love of music, always open to jamming together when you’d come by for family functions, eager to gush over all your favourite records. Joel loves your voice, even though you’ve always felt self-conscious about it, loves the way your gentle timbre intertwines with the acoustic wail of his guitar, the way it always makes Tommy smile when the two of you effortlessly harmonize to some familiar Fleetwood Mac or Johnny Cash tune.

Joel’s also become something of a confidant for you, receptive and patient to your occasional complaining about his brother, always willing to listen without ever doubting your affection. Because, sure, you share a lot of love for the younger Miller, but you’re both also well aware of his various Boyfriend Malefactions. Tommy can be dismissive and self-absorbed, has a few too many vices he needs to learn to manage better. Joel’d already known all that, and it hadn’t taken long for you to learn too. Your ability to speak candidly with Joel about your relationship with his brother all these years has only strengthened your bond, your kinship almost as valuable to you now as your romance with Tommy.

For Joel, it’s just so natural with you, so easy. Hell, the only thing Joel doesn’t love about you - if he’s being completely honest - is that Tommy found you first.

But he rarely lets that intrusive thought in. Now he’s content just to have you as a friend - more than that, a future sister-in-law. Tommy’d popped the question two months ago now, forever solidifying your place as a Miller.

“About time,” Joel remembers telling Tommy when he’d heard the news.

So yeah, Joel loves you to pieces. Which is partly why he’s starting to get concerned you haven’t shown up at his place yet.

You’d told Joel earlier today that you’d be by after work to pick up your sunglasses but it’s well after ten now and still no sign of you. Sarah’s long gone to bed and he’s starting to tire of the reruns flashing before his eyes. He flicks off the TV, ready to call it a night, when he hears a timid knock from the front hallway.

He jolts up from his place on the couch, snatching your sunglasses from the side table and making to meet you at the door.

He throws it open with a sleepy smile and a quiet, “Hey,” his hand already outstretched with the shades.

Then he sees your face.

All splotchy and tear-stricken, brows furrowed together and mouth contorted into a devastated frown, your responding, “Hi,” so heartbreakingly desolate that Joel instantly shifts into protector mode.

“Do you - do you need to come inside?” he asks, panicked. You nod, a tiny, choked breath hitching in your throat.

He holds an arm out to you and you grip it like a life raft, letting him lead you into his home and down on to the couch.

“What’s goin’ on? You okay?” Joel presses, situating himself beside you and placing two big hands on your shoulders, assessing your face and catching the moment tears well up in your eyes and begin to spill over.

“Um,” you croak, seeming unsure where to begin. “I was just with Tommy. He, um - he kind of...broke off the engagement. I - I’m sorry - I didn’t know where else to go.”

A sob erupts from deep within your chest - it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud.

Joel’s expression goes slack with shock.

“He what?” he demands flatly.

You fight for air as the sobs come faster now, the reality of your situation seemingly hitting you full on. It’s also hitting Joel, hot rage slowly burning under his skin.

“He - he just - he said he didn’t see a future with me anymore - ” you manage between shallow gasps. “Said he - needed to be - alone for a while, I don’t - ”

Your voice cuts off as you struggle to find the words, but it doesn’t matter. Joel is already crushing you into his chest and wrapping his big arms around you, rubbing his palms over your spine as your tears begin to fall in earnest.

“That fuckin’ idiot...” he hisses to himself, burying his face in your hair. “He’s so goddamn stupid.”

You wet his dark t-shirt with tears, allowing yourself to be enveloped by him, to breathe in the scent that reminds you so much of his brother.

“What am I going to do? I moved here for him...all my friends are here. Where do I go? I - ”

Your words catch in your throat again as you pull back from Joel’s embrace to gaze at him hopelessly with wrecked, puffy eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you too,” you cry softly.

Joel is shaking his head before you can even finish your sentence.

“Not gonna happen,” he vows, his hands moving to cup either side of your face firmly, his eyes boring into yours with unrestrained ferocity. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

His words have a fresh round of tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, pouring out over your cheeks while you work to catch your breath.

Joel can hardly stand the sight of it.

He’s going to kill Tommy. He’s going to fucking kill him.

“C’mere,” he rasps, yanking you into him again and channeling all the unbridled animosity he’s feeling for his dumbass brother into a constricting, bone-breaking hug.

“Was I...was I not good enough?” you ponder despondently, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t you say that,” Joel growls, unable to bite back the ire in his voice. Fuck his idiot brother for ever making you think that. “You’ve been nothin’ but good to him. Don’t know what the fuck he’s thinkin’. You’re perfect - always been perfect.”

He’s rambling, never any good at this kind of thing, just rocking you in his arms frenetically and trying his best to say the right thing. You don’t mind; you soften against him, your body going limp as he squeezes you with all the force his body can muster. With a firm hand on the back of your neck, his next words slip from his lips before he can stop them.

“F’you were mine, I’d never let you go,” he finds himself saying, voice laced with so much palpable adoration that it makes another sob burst from deep within you, your body shuddering under his grasp. It’s a sound so agonizing to Joel’s ears that he can’t help but lean in and plant a solid kiss to the top of your head.

He catches himself then - tries a more constructive method of consolation.

“Maybe he’ll...I don’t know - maybe he’ll come to his senses,” he offers, patting your back comfortingly. You back off of him again then, shaking your head and rubbing at your eyes. His hands linger on your arms, fingers grazing your skin soothingly.

“Things have been...they’ve been off for a while, Joel,” you admit hoarsely. “I think maybe I - I saw this coming.”

Joel’s eyebrows knit together. “How come you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. And with the engagement just announced, I didn’t want to spoil anything but...” Your voice is tight as you wring your hands together between your bodies. “There were...signs, I guess. I should have clocked them sooner. I mean, who takes six years to propose?”

Joel scoffs at that - he couldn’t agree more. He used to badger Tommy about it all the damn time. Joel knows your worth; Joel would have never made you wait so long.

He’d have locked you down the second he’d met you.

“Always thought he took you for granted,” Joel confesses huskily, meaning it. Too caught up in his own shit, Tommy's often oblivious to your caring attention, failing to give back to you all the love Joel knows you deserve. It had mildly frustrated him all these years. Now, it enrages him.

You lean into him then, burying your face into the crook of his neck and snaking your arms around his waist as another wave of tears comes.

“I feel like I...I wasted six years of my life,” you whimper pathetically, chest heaving as hysterics threaten to overtake you again.

Oh, Joel is absolutely going to fucking kill Tommy.

“Hey, s’not true,” Joel whispers, voice shaky as he attempts to maintain his composure. “Least me and you met, right?”

You smile in spite of yourself. “Maybe that was the whole point.”

“What do ya mean?” Joel hums, clutching you into him and rubbing your hair absently.

“I mean, like, cosmically,” you sniff, and Joel can hear that faint smile in your voice even though he can’t see your face. “Maybe the universe only brought me to Tommy so I could find you.”

Joel’s pulse quickens at that, his heart pounding in his chest so loud he’s sure you can hear it where your ear presses against him. A strange and wondrous heat emanates from his diaphragm and up into his neck because, fuck -

He’s often thought the same thing.

“You’re my best friend, Joel,” you continue when he doesn’t respond. “And I don’t care if it’s weird now, I won’t lose you too.”

You unwind yourself from the cradle of his arms to face him, letting Joel see the conviction in your gaze. One of his palms finds your cheek, his thumb swiping away the errant tears there. Unwitting butterflies erupt in Joel’s stomach when you lean into his touch, your usually cheerful features dissolving into a mournful distortion that rips his heart in two.

“Tell me everything’s going to be okay,” you plead weakly.

Joel takes a steadying breath, his tone decisive when he replies, “Everything’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.”

Your eyes snap open at the endearment - hardly an irregularity from the sweet, Southern Joel. It seems to inspire something in you now, though, as you brazenly close the space between the two of you to press your wet, cracked lips into his.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he softly protests against your lips but you ignore him, clutching the sides of his face and holding him in place.

He hums into your mouth then, his eyes falling closed as he kisses you back instinctively, his hand on your face shifting to tangle in your hair. He moans openly when your tongue slips into his mouth, finally unlatching your lips with a quiet gasp.

“We shouldn’t - I don’t think we should do this,” he objects feebly, his face still close enough to yours that Joel can feel your warm breath fanning over his skin.

Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt as you gaze up at him with wide, red eyes, so agonizingly beautiful and broken, crumbling Joel’s resolve with ease.

You disagree. “I think we should.”

It’s a fair point.

He could do it. He could give in to his most desperate desires, indulge in the private dreams he’d never voiced aloud. The very worst part of him also thinks it would be one hell of a way to get back at Tommy for hurting you.

He doesn’t agree with that part of him - but it’s still true.

Joel swallows harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he considers it. “Is it...really over for you two?”

That’s all that matters to him, really. He’s not beholden to any kind of bro-code surrounding ex-fiancé’s, especially not after what Tommy’d done to you. He draws the arbitrary line at infidelity though.

“It’s over, Joel.”

He nods once and then he’s leaning in hurriedly, his lips finding yours with crushing force, years of pining seeping from his mouth into yours as your hands splay out on his chest and creep up over his broad shoulders.

Joel grabs hastily at your leg, pulling you easily into his lap, big palms feeling their way up your back, his heart panging when the action makes you moan softly into his kiss. Your lips part without resistance when he licks into your mouth, Joel’s head spinning at finally being able to taste you.

He tries not to think too hard about the way the flavour of your lips is tainted by the tang of salt - leftover from the tears you’d cried over his flesh and blood.

Your fingers explore his soft curls, and Joel’s skin prickles at the contact, arousal spiking in his core, hips bucking up into you of their own volition. You respond by grinding your own hips downward, colliding with the burgeoning bulge in his sweats and eliciting a ragged groan from deep in his chest.

“Have you thought about this before?” you ask, breathless as Joel’s lips wander down over your chin and along your jaw.

“Yes,” he admits in the form of a low groan, calloused fingers hooking under the hem of your shirt and digging into the flesh of your sides.

He’s thought about it countless times.

“Me too,” you whisper, connecting your mouths once more.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel killer x y/n #the last of us fanfiction

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lou-struck · 10 months

Text

They Said No... Part 3

Obey Me! Datables (minus Luke x MC!)

Featuring: Simeon, Solomon, Diavolo, and Barbatos

Part 1 HERE

Part 2 HERE

~We all get asked to do things sometimes that we do not want to do. And it's okay to say no, but sometimes you need a little extra help to get the point across.

Warnings: MC gets propositioned and S*ut shamed by a demon, threats, violence, sass, discussion of pact making, and other things like that.

Diavolo

The enchanted orchestra plays a haunting waltz as the Prince’s golden gaze scans the ballroom. The hundreds of well-dressed guests don’t capture his attention at all.

How could they?

None of them are you.

He has been so preoccupied with diplomacy and engaging with some of his more noble guests he hasn’t gotten to see you at all tonight. He misses you and your smile terribly, especially when a fake one has been plastered on his face all evening.

To help in his search and hopefully get a bit of alone time with you, he decides to drop his princely grin and walk about the room as if he has a set purpose. If he seemed preoccupied, no one would bother him for the time being.

It works like a charm and the crowded dance floor parts for him like the red sea. He passes what looks like Beel hunched over the buffet table, Satan chatting with a representative for the Animal Shelter, and Asmo playfully twirling a glass of demonus in his freshly painted nails as a crowd eats up every word that comes out of his mouth.

But where are you?

Finally, after minutes of searching the room, he finds you leaning against one of the pillars on the far side of the ballroom staring out the window at the purple-tinted moon.

He can’t keep his expression of indifference any longer; the grin tugs at his lips as he grabs two flutes of demonus from a passing servant. Ready to sweep you off your feet and hopefully into the gardens for a little stroll away from the party.

But someone beats him to it.

A long-haired Demoness with long deep blue curls saunters up beside you, “Well don’t you look sinfully delicious this evening?” She draws gently, trailing one of her gloved hands down your arm. You tense under her unfamiliar touch and subtly move a bit further away from her.

“Tell me, Little Lamb,” she coos, flicking her serpentine tongue in your direction. “What does a demon have to do to get you alone for an evening?”

Wha, excuse me?” you blink.” Your behavior is uncalled for.” You take another, much larger step back. “You should go now.”

“Oh, come now,” she laughs, tossing her head back haughtily. “Don’t think I haven’t heard of your reputation MC, a mere human seducing their way through the Devildom. Surely you can make an exception for one more?”

The glasses in Diavolos’ hands shatter violently, and their contents drip onto the marble floor Barbatos took such care in polishing earlier. “What do you think you are doing?” he growls, filling the room with his overwhelming aura.

“L-lord Diavolo,” the demoness shakes, her violet gaze wide and darting between you and the Prince, no doubt trying to figure a way out of the punishment that awaits her. “I was just joking around with them; that’s all; humans are too sensitive.”

“You continue to insult Mc,” he frowns. “Do you not wish to keep your tongue? Leave now before I take more drastic measures.”

They nod hurriedly and rush away from the ballroom, leaving you and the Prince surrounded by onlookers. Your eyes brim with unfallen tears, but you keep your composure beautifully. “Thank you, Diavolo.”

The rage inside him dulls as he shakes the demonus off his hands and escorts you away from prying eyes.

Barbatos

“Sorry for the wait, Mc,” Barbatos says, leading you into the lounge outside of Diavolo’s office. “The young master has been tied up in meetings all afternoon, but once he is done, the three of us can go out to dinner.”

You smile brightly as the butler, your hand lingering on his own, not wanting to let go. “That’s alright; I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You’re just too precious; it makes his ancient heart skip a beat. “I just have one last chore to do, and then I’ll be all yours.”

“Oh,” your slightly disappointed tone fills him with pride as you glance around the room. “Can I help with anything?”

“Absolutely not; you are a guest. All I require of you is that you relax and enjoy yourself until I come back,” he says, placing a hand on your lower back to lightly guide you into the comfortable seat in the room. “I promise I shall only be a few moments.”

He leaves quickly, making sure to be near enough should you require anything. With a steady hand, he wipes a vase far older than himself faster than anyone else would attempt to. The ancient porcelain still shines like new under his careful touch, but as he looks into the rich colors within, he can only think of your eyes.

His ears twitch as the sound of footsteps is much heavier than your own. They thud down the hallway stopping at what seems to be the door to the lounge, and step through the freshly oiled hinges.

A weary feeling settles over him for two reasons,

Firstly, The young master isn’t expecting any more guests today.

And Second, You are completely alone in the room with a strange demon.

Instinctually, he places the vase down and rushes down the hall to check on you.

He pauses just outside the door catching the scent of the son of a well-known Noble Demon. His green eyes peek through the crack in the grand double doors, it may be impolite to eavesdrop, but as a Butler, it is quite the perfected skill.

“You there, Human.” the pompously dressed Demon sneers in your direction. “Go make yourself useful and fetch me something to drink.” They smirk confidently at you and lounge back into the chaise as if they own the place.

It grinds Barbatos’ gears, but he doesn’t interfere yet; the mantra ’a good butler does not make a scene.’ replays in his head as if it is a warning, but his hand is already on the doorknob before you even reply to the rude Demon.

“Excuse me?” you say with a composure that makes his heart flutter, “But I believe you have mistaken me for someone else; I do not work here; perhaps one of the Little D’s would be able to assist you.”

He scoffs as if he had never been told no before. “I am a very important guest of the Crown Prince; you are nothing. If I want you to grab me something, you will get it for me.”

“I already told you I do not work at the palace; I have business with Lord Diavolo just the same as you do,” you explain again.

“You speak as if we are equals; perhaps I need to teach you a lesson,” they spit, uncurling their barbed tail and pointing it threateningly in your direction. Your eyes widen a bit, and you subtly shift in your seat; Barbatos spots thin tendrils of magic already at your fingertips in case the entitled demon attacks.

He can watch no longer- Stepping into the room without his usual polite smile, “That’s quite enough; your disrespectful behavior is not tolerated in this castle.” At Barabatos’ entrance, the Demon begins to shake something fierce as whispers of what the butler does to threats to the crown replay themselves in his ears.

Barbaots tries to hide the softness he feels when he sees the way the fear of your features falls away in his presence.

Although it is immensely satisfying to watch someone who was once so proud and entitled backtrack and blubber out a seemingly endless stream of apologies and excuses to you, Barbatos is in desperate need of your quality time, and this imbecile is getting in the way of that.

“Furthermore, why would you ever ask them to do something for you that you are clearly capable of yourself,” he asks, smiling maliciously, leaning close to the trembling Demon’s ear. “Are You Helpless? If that’s so, why should someone as pathetic as you ever request an audience with the future king?”

“R-right, s-sorry,” he mumbles, scurrying out of the lounge as if he were a rat. The thought of such sends a shudder through him as he turns his attention back to you. Your shoulders are stiff and rigid, your breaths come out shakily, but you are unharmed, and that’s all that matters.

“Little Rose,” he asks in a feather-light voice, crouching down to your eyes level and taking off his white gloves to hold your hands properly. “Are you alright?”

You nod slowly as he rubs gentle circles into the back of your hands. The contact soothes him just as much as it is soothing you. “I’m okay.” you say at last, “Thank you for being there for me, Barbatos.”

“When you need me, I will always be there for you- I promise,” he says softly, meaning every word.

Simeon

Simeon is all smiles as he walks down the cobbled streets of Majolish. How can he not be? He’s going to have lunch with you.

A part of him feels bad about not telling Luke about this little date, but he really wanted to have some alone time with you.

As of late, It seems as if everyone else has no problem getting you alone; it pulls at his heartstrings to know that he isn’t as present in your life as he wishes to be.

Some may call his feelings possessive, but in all reality, it is love, true unadulterated love. Every time he sees your face, he wonders if falling from the celestial realm would really be that bad of a thing.

Just as he approaches the Bistro told him to meet him, he notices you off in the distance. You walk quickly across his path, a look of irritation on your pretty features that has the Angel wondering if he himself has done anything to upset you recently.

He hasn’t, but the feelings of insecurity persist, and he gets closer.

“No comment,” you say aloud, your hand swatting at the air around you as if there was a bug. “I told you I have nothing to share.”

He may not be able to see the other presence around you, but he can feel it. One of the tiniest Lesser demons he has ever taken note of buzzes around your head like a fly around a bowl of fresh fruit.

“Come on, sweetheart; you gotta tell the people what they want to know.” The voice says in a comically high-pitched voice.

You stop and stare at the little bugger. “I have nothing to say to you about the brothers, the prince, or anyone else for that matter,” you say defiantly.

“Listen, MC; I’m a busy demon. The kind of Demon who has deadlines. If you don’t give me something good, I’m done for.” He pleads, circling around your head once more.

Simeon takes a careful step forward, more than ready to come to your aid when the Demon opens his mouth again.

“What about the Angel? You gotta tell me something about him. No one is that good, that pure. I’m sure my readers would kill for a story about how one of the highest-ranking angels of the celestial realm is being corrupted right here in the Devildom.”

Simeon stops in his tracks. The accusations may be false, but those rumors are dangerous, especially to him. If his superiors heard a story like that was gaining traction, they could take him away. He would never get to see you again.

The Angel knows he has told you many secrets in the late hours of the night that would satisfy this pest of a reporter. But those secrets were exchanged in hushed tones with many tears. You would never betray him like that.

Would you?

His heart feels so tight in his chest as you stare at the Reporter in shock. “at first, I thought you were just annoying. “You say calmly, “but it seems to me you are more than that; how stupid can you be? Simeon is one of the kindest beings I have ever met; your story has no substance; leave me alone.”

The emotions that welled up in Simeon’s chest when you took his side were indescribable—making the sweet Angel feel as if he were falling for you all over again. He feels rejuvenated and ready to help you get rid of this Reporter once and for all.

Despite the pissed-off look on your face, the Reporter does not back away, throwing up his tiny hands and changing the subject.

“Okay, nothing special there. But how about Belphegor? Is it true he was kicked from his exchange program early as a result of sleeping through his classes?”

“I may not know too much about reporting down here, but I am fairly certain the best information comes straight from the source,” he says in his calm and cheery voice. With his presence known, he sees the Reporter fly out of your personal space bubble quickly. You look visibly relieved that there is no longer buzzing in your ear.

Now that you are feeling better, the Angel continues his lecture, “As for me, I have nothing to say to someone who works with such a lack of integrity. Please leave the two of us in peace.” Although he speaks with a smile on his face, his words are not a friendly suggestion. The lesser Demon flies away quickly, not wanting to face the wrath of the Angel.

With the pest gone, he turns and gives you the biggest, most sincere smile he has to offer. Feeling an emotion he cannot name with your knees buckle at the sight of him.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” you say softly, taking his outstretched arms for balance as you make your way back over to the Bistro. “I kept telling him to leave us alone, but he would just keep pressing with these awful questions.”

“I know,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly, “But I would like to thank you for sticking up for me.”

“And you, me,” you giggle, glowing with a light all your own.

Solomon

The great sorcerer finds himself continuously drawn to the clock, the slow-moving hands taunting him as he comes to a disappointing realization.

You’re late…

You’re never late.

He looks back at the fully prepped conjuring station and fiddles with the covers of a few of the jewel-encrusted spellbooks longingly. Your magic lesson was supposed to begin ten minutes ago, but you are nowhere to be found. He spots his DDD lying face down on the end of the clean countertop and reaches for it.

Perhaps you messaged him, and his ringer was off. He picks it up only to see his blank lock screen. Your pixelated smiling face does little to ease his mind. With one last glance at the clock, he turns and walks out the door. His cape flows behind him as he walks through the hallway of Purgatory and out its doors.

He’s out on the street, walking towards the House of Lamination with vigor, using his arms to propel his speed walk forward like he is a mom walking the track at their child’s soccer practice.

The thought does cross his mind that he had forgotten a possible time change the two of you had agreed upon earlier, but as he rounds a corner, he is able to make out your figure through the light fog that settles on the ground.

But you are not alone; in front of you, there is something large in your path, the fog makes it difficult for him to see exactly what it is, but the aura radiating off of it reveals that it is a lesser Demon who is currently on their knees in front of you.

‘Well, this certainly looks intriguing,’ he thinks to himself, stepping closer. A wave of his hand sweeps away the fog, but neither you nor the begging Demon seems to have noticed his presence yet.

“Please, please, please. Mc. You just have to accept me.” it begs, a clawed hand creeping forward, trying to grab ahold of your shoe pathetically. “I’d do anything for you, Protect you, worship you, anything.”

Solomon has no clue what is happening right now. Is it perhaps another demon professing their love to you?

No, if that were the case, you would have politely turned this poor Demon down with a kind look on your face. But instead, he sees you look uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, as you take a step farther away from the Demon’s outstretched hand.

“I have already told you no,” you say at last. “I am not interested in making any more pacts.”

Solomon immediately understands why you look so uncomfortable. When making a pact with a demon, it does more than grow one’s powers. It creates a bond.

Many Demons do not understand just how draining it can be to have a pact with a demon who doesn’t deserve it.

Although Solomon may desire pacts with strong demons so that he can be strong enough to protect the human realm should the need ever arise? You are different- you have your own reasons for making pacts with the brothers. These pacts are a symbol of your love. Something he is certain this little pest is undeserving of.

Solomon decides that he would like a bit of attention now…

“Oh my,” he says, walking around the Demon as if he were as insignificant as a fallen tree branch. “Do watch your step Mc; it looks like no one has come by to clean up these paths after last night’s storm.”

You look visibly relieved to see another friendly face, and Solomon kisses the back of your hand tenderly. The Demon stares at you both angrily but knows better than to say anything in response. Solomon smirks and looks down at the pushy Demon with a narrowed gaze.

“Why would MC share a part of themselves with a demon who is too stupid to understand the meaning of the word no?” he says with his silver tongue. “They may be kind enough to turn you down politely, but me? Not so much I’d leave if I were you.”

Wordlessly the Demon picks itself off the ground and runs off with its curly tail between its legs. Not wanting to anger Solomon the Wise any more than he already has been the smartest decision they have made today.

As they scamper off, you look a bit embarrassed as you check the time. “I guess I’m running a bit late to our lesson today, aren’t I, Solomon?” A soft giggle slips past your lips, and Solomon wonders if he will ever get tired of hearing that sound.

“You had a good reason,” he replies simply.

You groan. “Still, I had been trying to shake them for at least thirty minutes, but they wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Hmm, then how about we do something else today?” he offers. “Take a break, maybe, sneak up to the human world for some frozen yogurt or a soft pretzel?”

Your eyes light up at his proposition. “Could we get a drink?” you ask, “Demonus isn’t gonna cut it today.”

You’re just too cute sometimes. It makes him feel much younger. He looks at you with an almost boyish grin and laughs, “I think we can make that happen.”

#obey me!#obey me nightbringer #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me writing #obey me x reader #diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #barbatos #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader #simeon #obey me simeon #simeon x reader #solomon #obey me solomon #solomon x reader

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miedvma · 6 months

Text

MEDDLE ABOUT

l. williamson x awfc!r

summary: jealous leah but she’s just a softie really

sharing hotel rooms with daan has always meant being up for anything she would come up with at half-past eleven at night, including painting her nails orange— and, of course, she’d have to paint yours too.

“yeah, for the netherlands!” danielle immediately reasons, her choice of colour still causing a disappointed frown on your face. “cause, you know, oranje leeuwinnen—”

you scoff. “i know, daan! it’s just.. orange is, uh, too much, no? plus, we’re like mid-season now— we should paint it red, for arsenal.”

danielle’s speech is followed by her expressing nothing but displeasure towards your suggestion, arguing that she’s constantly repressed by both her girlfriend beth and your girlfriend leah’s patriotism, insisting that you should stand by your roomie and best friend, getting your nails painted orange to rebel against the proud englishwomen’s system.

there is very little to discuss: dedonk can be particularly persuasive when she wants to win an argument, and so you find yourself with no other option than to settle your hands over her crossed legs and hope that neon bright orange suits you.

—

“hi love” leah peeps as she places a lovingly peck on the side of your neck, sitting down next to you for breakfast.

despite your strict no pda at work rule, the defender can’t really bring herself to be any less affectionate towards the girl she loves the most— and you eventually gave in on that once mutual agreement.

“hi love” you mock her tone, earning a roll of eyes and a shoulder nudge. “hi babe.” you quickly correct yourself, a satisfied smile taking place on your girlfriend’s lips.

as the defender devours her characteristic ham sandwich, her curious sparkly eyes watch closely as you sink a silver spoon on your berries bowl— most noticeably, your hands; more accurately, the weird coloration your fingernails are washed in.

“did you get your nails done?” asks a pouty leah, instantly shoving you out of the conversation you’ve gotten in.

you leave viv and her remarks about the game you’re about to attend on hold and turn your girlfriend, “mmh, do you like them?”

she doesn’t seem to like it. in fact, leah hates it when you get your nails done by yourself and don’t do hers as well— but as this had never happened before, you don’t really have any way of knowing it.

“you got them done without me.” she pouts again, her voice bathing in gloom. “oh, i’m so sorry babes, i’ll get yours done soon as we get home, yeah?” you use your nose to caress her cheek, then her own nose, and then manage to place a millisecond long kiss to her lips— causing the blonde to run out of words, cheeks blushing at the sudden interaction.

nonetheless the flushed older girl’s emotions, it doesn’t take too long before she’s back at cherishing her thoughts on the game ahead of you, herself quite really excited to attend to her favourite london derby.

as the morning progresses and you finally step into the pitch, leah’s excitement seems to fade away. which is a little strange, since you are well aware that beating spurs is still one of her greatest pleasures— so it does turn out weird for her to start acting a bit off out of nowhere, right?

well, not exactly. unbeknownst to you, leah’s got a pretty good reason to keep her distance from you (or at least that’s what she tells herself)—

“leah come on, you’re warming up with me” beth chimed in, causing the other blonde to furrow her eyebrows. “thought you’d team up with daan?”

“yeah no she’s taking the piss cause i said her nails look weird” beth’s eyes rolled as the defender worked the situation out on her head.

unable to settle for the other girls’ silly argument, leah’s gaze perked around the pitch just until she could evidence danielle’s neon orange nail polish.

it hit her harder. you getting your nails done without her? bad. you getting your nails done without her, with daan instead? worse. way worse.

—

“i literally scored a winner and you’re not even going to gimme a kiss?” you pout to your girlfriend, the both of you about to head home in her still parked car.

leah isn’t one to play differently or give any less of herself to win, but as soon as the whistle blew, there was no way of hiding it: the green monster inside her hadn’t really gone away.

“there’s um.. people here,” your girlfriend replies, nonchalant. indeed, there are people around the parking lot— teammates and staffers, all of them knowing about your relationship. besides, it’s not like she had ever cared about being seen anyway.

“right.” you mock her tone, leah giving you a stern stare until she realizes she had done the exact same thing before.

leah drives surprisingly slow, contradicting her clenched jaw and bitten lips. her lack of physical and verbal interaction, particularly in such moments, is highly unusual— especially considering arsenal’s victory, largely because of you. it’s easy for you to sense her irritation, and that is why you don’t exchange any more words the whole way home.

as soon as your girlfriend pulls up to your house you swiftly jump out of the car, hastening your steps to leave the girl alone, hoping some time apart might heal whatever conflict she’s found herself in.

it doesn’t. long after you’ve completed your extended skincare routine (usually a joint activity but not a good idea at the minute) and changed into comfortable clothes (opting not to wear leah’s, just in case), the house remains terribly silent.

your bed is empty when you leave the ensuite bathroom. the corridors are silent, and a peek into the guest bedroom reveals it to be just as empty. stepping into the dining room, you finally spot leah’s still-intact ponytail.

her head hangs down, probably slouched on the sofa; the tv is off, hinting that she’s mindlessly scrolling on her phone. you allow yourself to swallow your pride and prepare sandwiches for both of you before walking towards her.

as you hand her a plate, a mumbled “thank you” is all you get— her eyes still avoid meeting yours, or even your hand.

your girlfriend lets out a sigh before picking up the telly remote and switching on some rubbish reality show in an attempt to dispel the palpable silence— prudent, but ultimately ineffective.

“is something wrong?” you ask, your voice soft as always. leah usually finds your natural tone charming, but this evening even that doesn’t seem to be enough for her to open up about her troubled emotions.

she replies with a simple “nah,” but the distance between you speaks volumes to the contrary: even though the sofa can easily accommodate up to five people, your girlfriend always ensures there’s not a single atom between the two of you.

frustrated by the girl’s nonchalance, you decide to test how far her grumpiness can go. you remove both your plates and place them on the coffee table, hoping she’d take the hint— but she doesn’t. not at all.

the blonde remains in her original position, spread out on the sofa, elbow on the armrest, supporting her head against her fist, eyes glued to the screen, oblivious to your approach.

it is normally up to her to initiate closeness, drawing you in or melding you both together— so the fact that you’re moving closer on your own should prompt her to react, but nothing really happens, so you audibly huff as you stand up to leave the room in nothing but defeat.

“you’re sleeping on that sofa tonight.”

her head shoots up to look at you in disbelief. “no i’m not!”

“oh yes, you are.”

the blonde’s eyes roll back almost instinctively, and you shoot her a sharp look. “hey, no fair! you get other girl’s nails done, and i’m the one who’s supposed to sleep on the sofa?” her voice sounds genuine, yet tinged with frustration— and here she is, leah, in her purest and most absolute form, feeling nothing but betrayed by not having her nails done by her girlfriend.

“oh my god lee, is that why you’re all grumpy?” leah’s eyes dart around the walls, as if pretending you hadn’t just guessed it right. “danielle is my friend, our friend, you know that..” you chuckle, settling down next to her again.

“i know but— it’s our thing! and i mean, you’re pretty and all but that orange is just not it.” the defender glances at you with that one nonchalant expression that always reveals her disappointment, and you can only look back in amusement. how could you ever tire of how adorable she sounds when she’s jealous?

“just so you know, i’m really offended by you saying i don’t suit orange. and i do forgive you for being an asshole today.”

leah folds her arms, her look at you not good— but you had guessed earlier that calling her an asshole might irk her more (she kind of deserves it anyway). “you should be the one apologizing for breaking our rules!” the blonde hisses, though she couldn’t seem more harmless.

either way, you’re never willing to argue with your loving girlfriend. especially when you’re seeking a reward for your hard work after a tough game.

“okay, i’m sorry. i’m so sorry i let danielle do my nails, and i’m sorry i did hers. can i get a kiss now?”

a wide smile brightens the older girl’s face as her hand reaches for your hip, guiding you to lie down on the sofa with her on top of you. as she leans in and you blindly reach for her shoulders, a breathy laugh tickles your face, causing your eyes to widen.

“soon as you take that ugly-ass colour off your pretty nails, babe,” the blonde suggests, thinking she’s hilarious as she pulls herself off the mess she’s already made of you.

you scowl and toss a pillow her way, but she simply shrugs it off, fixed on watching the trashiest show imaginable.

realizing you won’t get any favours from her unless you get rid of the questionable colour on your nails, you rise from the sofa and set off to find some nail polish remover. “want me to bring the red one so i can do yours?”

you spot a smirk forming on the lips of the girl lazily lounging on the sofa. “no need love, gonna save my hands for other kinds of activities now.”

#leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson #awfc #engwnt

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tadc-ragatha · 6 months

Text

Them Receiving a Drawing of Themselves

TW: breakdowns/shutdowns, gender dysphoria, crying

Type: Headcanons

A/N: "Reader discusses what they and the members used to look like, and decides to draw an artist's interpretation of that description with startling accuracy." As of posting, requests are open. Includes only the main six (who I shall now call the digital six/circus crew). Spoilers. Body-sickness = homesickness for body.

Pomni

I'm going to make this interesting for myself and go with the theory that when she saw herself in the mirror she got a bunch of gender euphoria because she's trans. So, for this, she probably wouldn't even bring up her old appearance on her own unless heavily prompted to. Even then, she's really awkward about it, and everyone probably gets the memo that she's at least insecure about her old looks.

Not you, though. You decided to take it upon yourself to draw her. You paid attention to every detail she said, and compiled it all together to create a drawing/painting of the real-world Pomni. She was...Less than enthusiastic. At first, she's angry, even. But once she realises you didn't know, she just turns to going down a crisis of reality and homesickness instead.

If we don't go with that theory, then she still has a crisis. She'd finally started to push her thoughts of home to the edge of her mind, and now it's brought up to the front again. It's best to just not make art of her.

Ragatha

You probably found out about Ragatha through a breakdown of hers. She'd been holding up the happy-go-lucky, optimistic, cheery persona for so long that it was bound to snap. And so, one day the dam had a leak that turned into a full-on collapse. She was crying and talking about how she missed home and her real body. She was starting to forget what she looked like, and it was driving her to the edge.

In an effort to not have her abstracted, you took it upon yourself to give her something to hold on to. You took mental notes of each thing she said about herself and once everything was safe, you went to your room. Taking out your art equipment, you got to work on trying your best to recreate what she looked like.

In the end, you made a bunch of different ones. Presenting them to her, she was surprised and sad. It fueled her homesickness even more. But she covered it up and accepted it; she knew it was out of love, after all. And after she calmed down she did get to looking at them properly and it did give her some comfort to recognise herself and know that she wouldn't forget herself just yet.

Jax

I feel like Jax cared a lot about his appearance. Really, this is just based on that moment where he checks his non-existent nails, but I digress. Either way, he was probably just complaining like normal when it happened. He didn't really care about what he was saying (on the outside, at least); he was just bored and wanting to talk. But you made it your mission to make him feel better about his "body-sickness".

When he received the gift, he would've tried to play it off real quick. Truth be told, depending on how long you had been in the DC he probably would've made fun of your art. But you could see his initial reaction being one of surprise. Still, he would've tried to twist it and tease you about supposedly having a crush on him or trying to be his friend (a "useless attempt" is what he would say).

He probably tried to just chuck it under his bed when he got to his room. But after a little while the temptation was too much and he grabbed it. Looking it over, it was creepy how on point it was. To be honest, he was half-convinced you had known him outside of the digital world. Either way, he was secretly pretty grateful for it and glad you had had that otherwise useless conversation. But he would never tell you that.

Kinger

Kinger would've just asked what you looked like and that would've led to talking about him. I feel like he's got a sort of dad vibe in the way that he'd make up grand stories about himself. Like, he was a world-famous Broadway star or something. But he'd drop the act and tell you he was just joking. Either way, he ended up telling you about his looks.

When drawing him, you realised just how old he was. Not in a bad way, but you did still feel bad for him. He had lived half a life already before being trapped in the DC, and then he had been there the longest. Who knew what had happened to him; what he had lived through, who he had cared about before all this happened. It made you sad.

Giving him the present, though, he was very grateful and told you such. It had been so long since he had seen anything that looked like him, and to have something so accurate seemed nothing short of a miracle. He was sure to show it off to everyone and soon the whole circus crew was wanting their own.

Gangle

Gangle is an artist herself, and you were likely drawing together when the conversation of drawing each other came up. At first, you just made art of each other's current bodies, but soon you were discussing what you looked like before being trapped in the DC. Thankfully for Gangle, her comedy mask hadn't yet been broken by Jax, so she wasn't too depressed when talking about it.

I bet she put a lot of effort into drawing you. Though, her style isn't realistic, so it looked very anime-ified. Still, the hair and eye colour matched. You put a lot of effort into making art of Gangle, too. Though, you were almost photo-realistic (when you had the time and resources) in your art, so yours turned out much more accurate.

When Gangle saw what she looked like, her comedy mask came right off and she started bawling. She hadn't seen herself in forever, and just couldn't handle it. She was so, so grateful, though, to have the opportunity to see herself again. But she didn't dare tell anyone; she wasn't sure that you'd want everyone bugging you for a picture.

Zooble

Zooble doesn't strike me as someone who'd want to talk about their past. She seems to me like someone who's very in-the-present (well, as in the present as someone who's been thrown into a digital world can be). You'd have to really be friends with her and encourage him to talk about what they looked like.

Still, when he does, she goes into some detail. You listen like a bat to every word they say. And once you leave, you rush straight to your room to start on the project. It's a bit weird imagining Zooble as a living, breathing person in the past instead of an abstract collection of living shapes, but it's also humbling to be reminded you weren't the only person to really lose your body.

Receiving the completed project, Zooble is pretty calm about it. Something along the lines of "oh, wow, you didn't have to do that" is what they'd say. But she takes it from you anyway and is sure to keep it in a safe and secure spot where Jax won't be able to ruin it. And oh boy, if he does, they will be after him.

#amy's writing #not requested #the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc x reader #tadc spoilers #the amazing digital circus spoilers #x reader #tadc headcanon #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #tadc jax #tadc kinger #tadc gangle #tadc zooble #breakdown tw #dysphoria tw #crying tw

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shegatsby · 1 year

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Can i request a smut of obsessed hannibal x shy student reader ( im obsessed with him lately). He is obsessed with her while she has a small crush on him and then he invited her to her house and just cant get enough of her (if u know what i mean *wink wink*)

A/N; Hi! Thank you for this request ;) I hope you like it.

Warnings; Smut! Sexual encounter, pussy eating etc.

Pairings; Hannibal x Y/N

Doctor Hannibal Lecter walked into his classroom with his leather bag, and his attitude. The dean of the university has been requesting, demanding to have him there and finally the dean put Will Graham on the job and Will convinced him to do it. Now Hannibal had three jobs; being a psychiatrist, helping the FBI and recently he has been teaching. Whenever he entered to give his lecture he would observe his students. Most of them were scared of him because he was a monster when he was grading papers, he never liked the way his students dressed, so informal and untidy. However, one of his students, Y/N, she always looked energetic, ready and put together. She had this type of feminine energy which made him navigate towards her, the perfume she wore filled his nostrils every time. The most attractive thing about her was that she would get so shy around him, red cheeks, always looking away whenever their eyes make contact. Hannibal was close to figuring her out, or so he thought. ‘’Hello.’’ He said with a dominant tone, he watched Y/N sitting straight, fixing her hair, ‘’Where did we left off last week?’’ he asked even though he knew where they were he was just checking to see if the students were interested, only Y/N replied. ‘’Thank you Ms. Y/L/N, shall we continue?’’

The rest of the class was as usual, he gave his presentation, executed swiftly, watched Y/N take notes, she looked adorable when she was focused on something. When he was finished he had a strange thought, his fox like mind was moving at a speed which he wasn’t used to, he waited for other students to leave the room so that he could be alone with her. ‘’Ms. Y/L/N,’’ she lifted her head to look, she was startled because a second ago he was at his desk, now he was right in front of her, ‘’Yes Doctor Lecter?’’ she said kindly. ‘’I’ve realized that you are quite interested in what I have to say about this lecture, would you like to come over to my home and discuss the upcoming topics? I want to feed your hunger for knowledge.’’ His hands were in his pockets, never loosing eye contact, he watched her go red with his last sentence.

‘’I- I would love that Doctor Lecter.’’

Y/N and also other students knew Doctor Lecter’s infamous dinner parties, she always imagined to be invited by him, just to see how he entertains his guests, also to be near him. Yes, she had a small crush but so did everyone. He was a brilliant man with great knowledge of his field and he was so polite to her all the time. Last week he brought coffee just for her, the other week she couldn’t make it to the lecture because she was extremely ill and Doctor Lecter sent her that weeks notes. She thought He does this to every student.. oh how wrong she was.

That evening she dressed to impress, black dress with a smooth make-up and high heels, when Hannibal opened the door in his expensive suit she realized she dressed right for the dinner.

Hannibal’s maroon eyes roamed over on her body, ‘’A work of art,’’ he thought ‘’all for me’’

‘’Please, come in. I must say, you look ravishing tonight.’’ Y/N tried to hide her face as she walked inside.

She knew he was rich but damn, his house was something else. He had a dark taste in colors and art, she found herself looking at the painting on the walls, as if she was at a museum. ‘’I assume you’re a fan of fine art?’’

He gave her a glass of red wine before dinner, ‘’Yes, I often visit art galleries and museums. I’m in awe of what people can do with their hands and imagination.’’ Hannibal lifted his eyebrow with a smirk look on his face, ‘’Shall we go to the dining room. Dinner awaits us.’’

He guided her by placing his large hand on the small of her back, she felt her heart at her throat.

The food was placed elegantly on the large table, the fireplace was lit, it gave a warm atmosphere to the place but she could feel the tension hanging in the air. Hannibal, as a gentleman, pulled her chair for her, she thanked him and sat.

The dinner conversation was casual, they talked about the university and classes, she was curious of his work with the FBI so Hannibal explained it generously. He usually had his dinner alone by the fireplace but having a company wasn’t so bad, he could feel the feeling of obsession rising from the back of his dark mind to the surface, it happened before and it didn’t end well. But maybe this time…

Y/n didn’t know exactly when and how she ended up in this position but she wasn’t complaining when Hannibal’s thick fingers found her wet clit and started to gently rub it. She was on top of the table, legs spread and Hannibal between them. His smug smile and his eyes will always be printed in her mind.

‘’Have you been wet like this during the dinner darling? If I knew… I wouldn’t have waited so long.’’ And she whined in pleasure because he started to finger her slowly, it was too slow for her liking. This pent up tension between them had to explode tonight, otherwise she felt like she was going to die.

He knelt to give her soft lips a kiss, which turned into a long make out session, she cupped his shaven cheeks with her hands, feeling his skin, his free hand went to squeeze her neck, he wasn’t rough but it wasn’t gentle either. They locked eyes, ‘’Let me taste you princess.’’ And with that he knelt on his knees and lifted her skirts. She had black lacy panties, he didn’t take them off just pushed them aside and started to give her small kisses, not there but her inner thighs. His slowness and the grip he had on her was driving her mad. ‘’Hannibal,’’ she said panting, ‘’please-‘’ he stopped and looked up, ‘’Please what princess?’’

He could see her cheeks, her parted lips and that expression her pretty face, she looked as if she was under a trance, a trance which Hannibal put on her. ‘’Use your words.’’ He demanded. He was certain that if she kept silent he wouldn’t move a muscle. ‘’Please eat me, use me.. I’m all yours.’’

A hungry smile planted on his dark face, ‘’As you wish princess.’’ And he dived into her treasure.

Hannibal had a taste for finer things in life, as soon as he got that intimate, warm taste of her he knew that he made no mistake in letting her into his space. She was so sweet and tasty, so soft and the sounds she made…

Even though she was wet Hannibal spit on her and also started to play with her with his fingers.

Y/N couldn’t believe her situation right now, her professor was eating her out at his home. Well, not like she didn’t have dream of it, but she never thought it would be this good. His tongue was skilled, his fingers hit the right spot.

Hannibal Lecter, even though he didn’t want to admit it, he too had dreams of her frequently. While he was treating a patient or giving his lectures he often thought of her, bent over on his table or on his kitchen counter. He pulled away from her, which made her whine in need. He pulled down his pants because he couldn’t wait anymore, he had to be buried in her sweet, juicy core.

He wrapped his dick and buried himself inside her fully, which made her freeze, ‘’Relax,’’ he knelt to give her a long kiss, ‘’I’m here.’’ They locked eyes as he started to move in and out.

''You like that princess? Look at you, legs spread for your professor. Such a whore.'' His shameless words and his pace made her legs shake in pleasure, Hannibal was rough with her hold on her this time, his hand chocked her throat and she saw stars.

Her body was moving with his fast speed, legs warpped around his waist, as she came undone she screamed his name over and over again.

''Now,'' his movements stopped slowly, ''You belong to me.''

#hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal the cannibal #doctor hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal x oc #hannibal x reader #hannibal x y/n #hannibal x you #hannibal smut #hannibal fan #hannibal fanfic #hannibal fanart #hannibal fic #hannibal fandom #hannibal fanfiction

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ilovetopgunsstuff · 1 month

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night shift

bradley bradshaw x reader

prompt- training for the mission is underway, and y/n has slept in bradley bradshaw's bed for more nights than she'd like to admit. when rooster has a bad dream next to her, it gets a little more personal than no strings attached should get

warnings- angst, cursing, ptsd mentioned, sex mentioned, not exactly smut

An: may be some typos, please give feedback and don't be afraid to request!

Y/n stared at the ceiling, enjoying bradley's arm wrapped tightly around her middle before they had to go back to pretending theyre just friendly collleagues during the work day.

She hadn't meant to have anything start between the two of them, but a drunken night at The Hard Deck changed that a few weeks ago. Rooster smelled good that day, tan and sculpted by the sun. Maybe his tank top was a little too tight, Hawaiian shirt a little too flowy. She had always thought he was attractive, but the alcohol really brought it out of her. They had been talking all night, rooster bought Y/n a drink. She cracked a tipsy joke and a lopsided smirk grew on his pretty face as he looked at her, head tilted. That's when she knew it was over for her.

Y/n thought she was in the clear when they all left the bar. She just had to go grab her charger from inside his house. Then he asked if you wanted water to sober up before driving home. Harmless. Then you couldn't reach the cup in his cabinet to get said water. Then he came up behind you to grab it for you, brushing against you slightly as he mumbled a "sorry" under his breath right beside you, almost touching your ear. It was then that your last shred of self-control somehow diminished, landing you right into his bed for the night.

It's been a few weeks since then, and you keep ending up here. It was supposed to just be friends with benefits, no strings attached. But sometimes it wasn't, even though neither of you would admit it. The way he splayed his massive hands across your stomach as he fucked you, gently pushing down so it'd feel better for you. The way that he would trace across your skin with his finger until you fell asleep, whispering praises in your ear, telling you how good you did. It was when he thought you fell asleep that he went to take a shower, kissing you on the forehead while running his thumb gently across your cheek. The two of you never really discussed what you were, you just were. These nights seemed to be doing more harm than good for you. It was hard to stay detached from something like this, spending your nights with someone so often. He didn’t feel like you did, you were sure, so you’d settle. You would take the nights over nothing, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting during the day.

The glow of Bradley’s alarm clock read 1:34 AM. His room was nicer than you’d expect. More than two pillows on the bed, light blue sheets, ivory paint on the walls. Your favorite part though, was the decor that made Rooster who he was, the decor that nobody else on the team had probably ever seen. Old baseball photos, pictures of his graduating class, polaroids of the beach, of his bronco. It made the room feel warm.

Now here you were, trying to soak it all in before it was a secret again. He hadn’t taken a shower tonight, and wore only boxers next to you. He had fallen asleep on top of you, holding you tight, though he had since rolled over to beside you. He looked so peaceful sleeping, his face void of the serious expression he usually took on. You were laying pressed against him, his arm around your middle holding you in place. You had pulled on some clothes since the hookup, and you now donned one of Rooster’s big t-shirts and your underwear. All your other clothes were trailed around his house somewhere. All you could hear was the combination of your breaths in the late night, and you began to doze off again.

Then his breath hitched. His arm snaked away from you as he shifted in his bed. His breathing became more rapid, and a sheen of sweat show on his forehead. His dog tag glistened in the night as they jingled across his bare chest. He was having a bad dream.

This was normal for the military. Bad, traumatic memories linger in the back of your head. It hits you when you least expect it. It even taints your dreams. Everything you refuse to remember when conscious comes to haunt you at night. You have it too, and seeing him like this made your chest ache. He was mumbling now.

“No no no,” he mumbled. You sat up. He had his jaw clenched; his whole body was tense as he continued mumbling. The breathing didn’t slow.

“Rooster,” you said out loud, putting your hand gently on his and squeezing. “Rooster,” you said again, louder.

He stayed dreaming.

“Bradley.” You spoke loud enough but gentle. It was hard coming out of these dreams.

He drew a sharp breath in and sat up, muscles rippling across his back and stomach as he moved. He used the heels of his hands to rub his eyes as he seemed to catch his breath. Your hand hadn’t left his.

“It’s okay, It’s okay. You were just dreaming,” you say as he tries to get his bearings. You push his hair out of his eyes. It’s messy from sleeping. Still holding his hand, the rapid beating of a pulse can be felt coming from his wrist.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. The covers were pooled at his waist and he looked up at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for- I don’t-“

“Don’t apologize. Here,” you handed him your water from his bedside table. In a quieter voice, you say, “You’re not the only one it happens to. I usually wake up a lot less graceful than you.” You try to let out a small laugh, more nervous than amused, but it wasn’t really funny. Many times have you woken up, tangled in the sheets alone, struggling to get away from something that’s not even there. It’s PTSD, and the military can only do so much to help. The damage is already done, the memories already happened. He looked at you, watching everything you did. He looked exhausted, even though he’d been sleeping. Drained.

“Thank you,” he whispered, like he didn’t want to disturb any more peace. “Did I wake you up?”

“No.” You didn’t really have any explanation other than that. Oh I was staying awake to remember your touch so I miss it less during the day. Yeah, like that would’ve gone over smooth.

He nodded. “That’s good,” he said. He ran his hand through his hair, the other that you’re holding still limp in the bed. You (tried to) smoothly let his hand go and put your hand back in your lap. You wanted to do something for him, to help, but thats not what you were here for. It wasn’t your place. You were just a girl in his bed to him. Your hands itched to run through his hair, across his skin, but you couldn’t. “I’m probably gonna go take a shower,” he said.

And off he goes again, didn’t even wait for you to fall asleep this time. You nodded, suppressing the sigh that wanted to erupt out of your chest.

He gets up, kicking the covers off. He stood in the middle of the hard wood floor of his bedroom, boxers only. The only light was from the moon and the glow of his alarm clock. His muscular silhouette walked towards the bathroom, then faltered, seemingly looking back.

“Oh. Are you not- uh…” he trails off in the dark. Did he want you to come?

“Oh…I didn’t know I was allowed to.”

You couldn’t see him, but heard a low chuckle in the dark. “..allowed to?”

“Oh shut up,” you said as you rolled out of bed, but you couldn’t help but smirk a bit. You squinted as he flipped on the lights to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door since you were both in there. You took a chance and looked in the mirror. Your hair was wild, with your mascara running down your face in faint lines. What a charmer.

Bradley had his back turned, turning the shower on. He turned, thumbing the waistband of his boxers to take off. You began to strip as well, and all of a sudden felt shy. He did this to you all the time, but doing it yourself while he watched made your cheeks tinge pink. The overhead light reflecting off the white tile walls didn’t help either. You slid your panties off easily and they dropped to the floor. Then the shirt.

He pulled you by the hand, and you both stepped under the hot water.

Once again, he met your gaze. He was being so quiet.

“What are you looking at?” He tilts his head at you with a slight smirk, his eyes still seemed tired.

“Just…you.” You’re guessing that you’re not hiding your worried expression very well. Your eyes flicked downward and you bit your lip.

“I’ve still got a pulse, you know, darlin’. I’m gonna live.”

“I know,” you mumbled, shy. You held one of his hands in yours, keeping from looking at him as you trace over his palm. “I was just…”

“Nervous?” he asked quietly.

“Mmhm,” you hummed. He took your hand that held his and pulled you towards him. The rush and warmth of the water relaxed you slightly. He pulled you close to wrap his arms around your waist. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. This is the most personal you’ve ever gotten. This pained you; somehow being closer to him made it hurt worse, being seen as just a hookup. You would’ve been better off without any of this, any of him, but you weren’t without him. You were right here, undressed in front of him night after night like clockwork, like having a night shift. You almost groaned out loud.

“You gonna be stiff as a board this whole time or…” There he was teasing you again.

“Sorry.” You were flustered, and exhausted, not because it was one something in the morning, but exhausted mentally. Who knew no strings attached was so much work? Well, it is when one of you is attached, you guessed.

You let out a sigh, tiredly resting your chin on his tanned, warm shoulder. He tightened his arms around you, his chin in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured. His mustache and breath tickled your neck, causing you to shiver, and you began to melt all over again. “I don’t want you to be jumpy around me now. I didn’t scare you off did I?”

You picked your head up, moving back slightly to look at him. He has the hint of a smile on his face, but his eyes are serious. You let out a breathy laugh, releasing some tension. “No you didn’t scare me off. Still here.”

He smiled, an especially knee-buckling smile, and he pulled you close again. “Good,” he murmured. “I’d be lonesome if I did.”

You sighed, and a small, shy smile crept onto your face as you rested and leaned against him. “I think you’d find yourself more company in no time.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he laughed out his words. You just hummed in response.

“I’ll have you know I’m a gentleman.”

“Mmhmm.”

He squeezed your hips playfully. “I cant believe you,” he whispered in your ear, as all space previously between you two went elsewhere.

The night shift would do.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #hangman x reader #top gun fanfiction #fanfic #jake seresin #miles teller #pete maverick mitchell

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gffa · 6 days

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So, I fucking loved The Living Force, I found it to be one of the most Jedi-positive books out there, and look I can't guarantee you that you'll feel the same way, this book only gets the Lumi stamp of approval, not the "you'll definitely love this as a fan of the Jedi" stamp of approval, so take that as you will. But this book took such care to give the Jedi Council members different fun personalities, that even when Saesee was a total grump, he was a funny grump and one who clearly dove right into helping people, that even when it was Qui-Gon who issued the challenge, the book showed it as an excuse for the Jedi Council members to take some time off to go do what they were choosing to do, that their good acts were their own, not Qui-Gon's. This book took such care to give moments to the Jedi discussing why they put their efforts where they did and showed that they all loved helping people, none of them felt this was beneath them for a moment, only that they felt they could help more people by doing their regular Council duties most of the time. The discussions they had weren't about castigating themselves, but about discussing where their balance should be, that their work as a Council was always seen as necessary, that they very much did need to look towards the future, but that they as individual Jedi sometimes needed a reason to do something more individual. Because of that good-faith feeling in the narrative, other things also came off really good-naturedly, like Ki-Adi-Mundi often was stilted or just did not understand the point of some of this ridiculousness, but he was never painted as uncaring, but instead very much came off to me like he was on the spectrum and that that was fine, it was part of the feeling of how each of these characters is allowed a different personality and allowed to see duty and the Force and their lives differently, that there was emphasis put on how the Council prized those differences because it helped make them stronger.

And the author clearly had an absolute blast writing Yarael and Even Piell especially, they were hilariously fun and there is SO MUCH FUNNY BANTER, like there's so much friendly teasing between characters, there's so many little moments that show these people care about each other and have fun with each other, that there's no doubt that this Council is full of life and light. I also really enjoyed Mace and Depa's dynamic, that it's clear he cared about her and still worried about her, but he trusted her to take care of herself, that Depa's part of the storyline was a bit more subdued in a lot of ways, but she was thoroughly competent and trusted to understand what she was getting into. Mace does fuss over her a bit in the end, but she's strong enough to stand up for herself and he takes it in stride because she's a Jedi Master now and knows what she's doing, that she's trusted to be right about what's going on and how this should be handled, as well as her deep care for the people she gets involved with around her.

The only real heads up I would give (other than to caution that the opening chapters might make you side-eye a bit, but I ask a little patience with the book) is that it's in a specific worldbuilding genre, that it's not really about the spiritual aspect of the Jedi Order worldbuilding, but instead more about administrative worldbuilding and the action plot. But if you're into that (and I was so into that because I love worldbuilding detail!) and into the Jedi Council being hilarious and getting time to basically take a vacation, then I hope you'll enjoy this book with me, too. I know what the interview from the author said, but honestly I felt none of that with the book, it felt like a story that really understood the increasing complexity of the galaxy around them and that there weren't any easy answers, that the future does matter, even if so too does the present, that what the Council does as a Council is vital to the good work the Jedi Order does, but that this provides them with the breathing space to balance it with their own individual ways of being a Jedi, which is simply giving them some breathing room and letting them flourish on their own!

#lumi.txt #star wars #the living force #the living force spoilers #novels: the living force

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marlynnofmany · 3 months

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Food Choices

Normally when I’m in a room with the entire crew of the courier ship, it’s either for an important debriefing by the captain or because of some emergency. We’d never all been at a restaurant together before. I kept having moments of worry that the ship was unattended, and having to remind myself that it was fully locked. Any of our biometrics could unlock it, and no one else would get past the hatch. It was fine. We could celebrate how good business had been — with the captain paying for everyone’s food — and there was no need to fret.

It was still bizarre, though. Almost as bizarre as some of the food I’d seen on other tables as we made our way to this one. The city was a cultural hub like few others. (Well, probably like many others, but they were very proud of themselves on that count. And this restaurant was a fine example.)

“The server will bring appetizers first,” said Captain Sunlight, scaly hands folded on the table in front of her with infinite dignity. “There’s no charge for these, and the server will likely decide for you what you want. They were pretty good at guessing last time I was here.”

“We shall see,” Zhee said with a flick of his antennae. He sat on an angled mat instead of a chair, since the restaurant had seating accommodations for all body types, including praying-mantis-shaped bug aliens. The mats were even adjustable, which was good because Trrili was taller than he was. She sat on the other side of the circular table — whether that was for more elbow room for the pinchers, or to make a maximum tripping hazard for people walking past, I couldn’t say. Either seemed in character for her.

“What’s the panel in the floor for?” Paint wanted to know. She sat next to the captain, scales a shiny orange to Sunlight’s yellow. I think she polished them before leaving the ship. She pointed now at the seam that I hadn’t noticed: a smaller circle inside the open center of the table.

Captain Sunlight said, “That’s the server’s entrance. They bring the food up from the kitchen downstairs.”

“Oh, nice!”

At my left, Mimi the mechanic grumbled about what an unnecessarily flashy choice that was, and how the restaurant had better keep on top of their maintenance. He gestured with his tentacles as he talked, sounding like he spoke from experience. “Anything that moves can stop moving, and usually at the worst time.” He also sounded like he gargled with engine grease, but he always sounded like that.

Fast-moving tentacles from further down turned out to be Wio and Mur, who’d discovered a game I didn’t recognize on the digital menu panel set into the tabletop. They were slapping away at something with competitive speed, and Mur seemed to be winning. Which was probably nice for him, given how often he lost at card games against the captain.

On my other side, Blip wrinkled her fishy nose. “I was about to say something smells good, but…”

“Then you smelled that?” asked Blop. “What is that?” He turned to look at neighboring tables, nearly elbowing Coals in the head and immediately apologizing. It was a good thing he’d missed, since that much muscle would have hurt.

“No harm done,” said Coals with his usual calm. I don’t think I’d ever seen the little lizardy guy upset. Which was probably for the best, given that he worked on translations with Trrili, and that had to be an exercise in patience.

Eggskin sat on his other side, similarly scaly and calm, but with far more opinions about food, since they were the ship’s cook as well as medic. I was only catching snatches of conversation from where Eggskin discussed the menu with Kavlae, but it sounded like a lengthy explanation for something. Kavlae didn’t look bored, though (head frills waving with interest), so it was probably good information. As a pilot, she didn’t spend much time on food prep.

I’d helped Eggskin in the kitchen plenty, both as part of the assistance rotation and because I found it interesting. The crew ate a range of foods, and most of it was edible for humans, though there were a few dishes that I wouldn’t touch on a dare.

A gentle chime sounded. Before I could ask what it was, the trapdoor sank down an inch then slid aside. A column rose into view that turned out to be a Waterwill, the gelatinous aliens that followed very few biological rules that I was familiar with. This one had less murky innards than most, with a bunch of things floating in there that could have been organs, recent meals, or personal belongings. The voice sounded vaguely male, and it hardly burbled at all.

“I hope you are all having an excellent day/night cycle! May your experience here only improve things.” He kept raising up, then when the platform cleared the floor, it folded out into a ring of serving dishes. The Waterwill sank back down in the center and everything locked into place. “Now, whose idea was it to dine at our fine establishment?”

Everyone pointed at Captain Sunlight.

“Ah, then I will serve you first!” The Waterwill didn’t turn, since he didn’t have visible eyes or even a mouth to be talking with, but somehow I got the impression that he had focused his attention in that direction. A stubby armlike shape reached out to set a bowl in front of the captain. “Our finest Heatseeker cuisine. And for you as well, madam. Also you, and you; don’t think I missed you over there.” Several arms passed out similar dishes to the other lizardy members of the crew.

I tried to peek around Blip and Blop for a look at Coals’ food, but couldn’t get a good angle. Might have been pasta and meatballs; might have been worms and worse.

“And!” announced the Waterwill, turning back to Zhee, “I hope this will be to your liking. And yours as well.” Goo arms set identical plates in front of the two Mesmers, and I could see from a distance that they held dead animals with the heads removed.

Zhee’s antennae were doing a complicated dance, but I couldn’t figure out if he was pleased or not before the server moved on.

“Only our best for the Frillians present!” He set festive arrangements of shrimp-things in front of Blip, Blop, and Kavlae. Really artistic; good presentation. The variety of colors and sizes made the plates into works of art. I hoped they tasted as good as they looked.

I murmured, “Ooh, fancy,” as the server came up with three more dishes.

“The Strongarm special!” he announced, laying them out in front of the three tentacle aliens to my left. Meat and plants of some sort; I couldn’t tell what.

Then he was back in front of me, and I realized I was the only one without food yet.

“Last but not least,” he said, “Featuring ingredients straight from Earth, we have a meal our chef has named the ‘Mother and Child Reunion.’”

The plate held a chicken breast, a hardboiled egg, and a pile of corn.

While Captain Sunlight thanked him generously, I stared at the plate with my hand over my mouth. When the server had packed everything up and disappeared back into the floor, I still didn’t know what to say.

Mimi spoke up from my left. “All right, why is it called that?”

I pointed. “This is the unhatched young of that species. And this is food they eat.”

Mimi tilted his octopuslike head to get a look at whatever expression I was making. “Isn’t that a weird thing to name it? Aren’t humans famous for pack-bonding with animals?”

“Yes and yes,” I admitted.

His rough voice was gentle. “Should we get you something else?”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, forcing a laugh. “It’s just a name. This is human food; I just wasn’t used to thinking about it like that.”

“If you’re sure.”

I looked around the table, expecting to find the rest of the crew enjoying their food. To my surprise, there were complaints.

“They overcooked the worms and the fruit!” Paint said. “And these beetles aren’t even shelled. Who eats something with that many spikes straight?”

Wio grumbled, “How do they know enough to pick out shorebirds and air lettuce, but not enough to know what an insulting assumption that is?”

“Right?” Mur agreed. “No self-respecting Strongarm would choose something from the shore when there are inland foods available just a little farther away.”

The pair of them griped about the species’ history of walking out of the sea, and everything that meant to them, while Mimi added murmurs of agreement.

Zhee, meanwhile, was complaining louder. “They took out the good parts! What nonsense is this? Did they mean to put the intestines in a separate dish and forget?”

He looked across the table for agreement from Trrili, and found her scooping paste out of a jar that had come with the meal. She dumped the last of it onto her plate and spread it around while Zhee sputtered. “Really, Trrili? That much? Would you like some fursqueak with your sauce?”

“Soursauce is the only reason to eat fursqueak,” Trrili retorted. “If you don’t want yours, pass it down.”

Zhee exclaimed that the brains were everyone’s favorite where he came from, which was clearly more cultured than whatever backwater moon she was hatched on, and they bickered across the table.

I peeked over my shoulder at the other restaurantgoers, hoping they weren’t glaring at us. I found a pair of elderly Heatseekers watching with interest, for all the world like they had been hoping to get dinner and a show. Their plates held something that looked like green popcorn.

Next to me, Blip heaved a sigh. “I’m actually kind of tired of shrimp.”

Blop laughed. “I know what you mean. It’s great! The best food out there! But… I don’t know, I guess I was looking forward to something more exotic.”

I eyed the fancy plates. “Ever tried chicken?”

They both looked at me. “No,” said Blip. “Does it have a strong flavor?”

“I wouldn’t say so. It is good, though. Popular on Earth for a reason. Here, I’ll trade you a bit.” I separated a chunk and handed it over while Blip put a bright pink jumbo shrimp on my plate.

“Can I try the egg?” Blop asked tentatively. “Is that okay? It looks so different from fish eggs.”

“Sure!”

Captain Sunlight caught sight of what we were doing, and loudly asked if Wio wanted to trade seabird for worm jerky. She did.

After that it was a cheerful chaos of swapping and sampling. Mur thought Zhee’s fursqueak was tasty, if tough; Zhee happily cracked open Paint’s spiky beetles; Trrili found that her favorite sauce was also good on shrimp; Eggskin and Coals both liked the corn. Kavlae said that a wrapping of Mur’s air lettuce elevated her shrimp from tasty to god-tier.

By the time the server appeared again to take our orders for the rest of the meal, we were all ready. I have never seen a Waterwill look that surprised as when he heard some of our choices.

~~~

(The meal name comes from the Paul Simon song, which was apparently inspired by something on a Chinese restaurant menu.)

Anyways, these are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #culture clash #in spaaace #food #it can be a gamble no matter where you're from

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

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Malleus, Deuce: Like Mother, Like Son

BRO'S STILL MAKING THE "ARE YOU LOST BBY GHORL" FACE … Malleus’s birthday hits different knowing what I know now 💀 ALSO THE FACT THAT DEUCE SAID "THAT" ABOUT MALEFICENT VS THE HUMANS IS... (trying to keep this wording vague so as to not spoil people who haven’t gotten there yet)

It’s nice to see Malleus and Deuce in the vignettes, I feel like they don’t get to interact that much (which is a shame because I think their dynamic is cute). They had a chapter together in the manga anthology too! I’m glad they could hang out some more.

A Tale as Old as Time.

The princess and her prince were picture perfect in the painting.

The woman, with golden curls that tumbled down her back. Her cerulean gown spilled to the polished floors like a fabric waterfall, the tiara in her hair catching the soft evening light. She gazed up at her lover's warm, twinkling eyes, and smiled.

The man, brunette, locks falling loosely across his forehead. He was handsome in a red tunic with a high black collar, a crimson cape billowing out behind him with each step he took. His gaze was locked with the princess's, his one and only.

Onlookers gathered in a ring around the two, spellbound by how they danced, bodies twinning like threads bound together. It was something precious they dared not disturb, even their breaths clutched like pearls to prevent their escape.

This was happily ever after, a dream come true.

It should have been.

Yet Malleus frowned. His brows drew together and his mouth pursed, a brewing storm settling over his face.

“Draconia-senpai?” Deuce called to him anxiously. “I-Is something wrong? You look a little scary…”

The first year glanced at the portrait of the royal couple. He jumped. “D-Don’t tell me, did this painting piss you off?! Er, I mean... Did it offend you?"

“No, nothing of the sort,” Malleus replied. He rested an index finger against his chin. “It sparked memories of my own days in court. As the crown prince to the Briar Valley, it goes without saying that I've attended a number of occasions similar to what is depicted here."

"Oh, for real? That makes sense, you being royalty and all. What were those events like?"

"Most are rather solemn affairs. Grandmother, the senators, and other politicians gather to discuss diplomacy, trade, and national policies. For certain occasions, there are traditional rituals that must first be performed. A royal birth, for example, must be blessed before the festivities can commence. If it is a knighting, then all the royal guard shall be present and a speech of one's accomplishments read."

Deuce blinked a few times, as though shedding sleepiness. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of a prince's duties. He dropped the smartest sounding response he could: "That sounds tough."

Malleus lips slightly lifted. "I do not mind it. There is pride to be had in conducting such work."

I don't have a reason to doubt what he's saying, but... Deuce clenched his fists at his sides. If Draconia-senpai really feels that way, why does he still seem so pained?

The fairy drew out a sigh, as if dissatisfied with the silence. "... Ah, but how strange. When I look upon this painting, I see many people present... yet the princess touched by diurnal fae and her prince take no notice of them. They have eyes only for each other."

His words were velvet-lined, soft on the ears. Beneath them, a pang of longing rose like a fine mist at daybreak.

"What must it feel like to be so beloved?" Malleus wondered. "To have someone who considers you the most special being in all the world?"

Vines twisted in his gut, thorns prickling his insides. Frustration and molten discontent pooled. For all the power that he wielded, he failed to attain such a basic thing.

Love.

"Do you understand such a feeling, Spade?" The inquiry was pure acid.

"H-Huh, me?!" Deuce startled, not prepared for the demand in Malleus's voice. "Well... uh, I guess my mom calls me her big, strong man. Does that count?"

Malleus's brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't follow. Is it customary for children of man to refer to their offspring as 'big, strong men'?"

"I think that's just my mom's thing." He shrugged. "I'm the only man in the house, so I try to help her out if I can. She jokes about it when I do."

Malleus made a face. It was difficult to discern the emotion he wore.

"Moms, right?" Deuce gave a nervous laugh. "They can be embarrassing, but they care about us a lot."

"I never knew my mother."

"... Oh." A rock dropped in Deuce's stomach. He hurried for an apology as dread rippled through him. "Shit, my bad! I didn't mean to..."

Malleus held up a hand in an elegant dismissal. "Be at ease. I harbor no anger."

There was no point, he told himself, in rage expressed for a woman he had no bond with. Her face, her voice--they were all a mystery to him. She was but a stranger adrift in an abyss.

Still, a part of him sparked at the thought of her, of someone he had yet to meet--would never meet. The thrill of fates closely intertwined, the tenderness of a parent's love.

Malleus went quiet, lowering his hand.

"Grandmother and Lilia have done their utmost to mentor me in her stead." He sounded hollow, insistent. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Deuce.

The Heartslabyul student swallowed. He placed a firm hand on Malleus's arm and squeezed. "... It's not enough, is it?"

He received no answer.

“Your mom is thinking of you, wherever she is.”

Malleus pulled away, presenting his back to Deuce. "Dead fae do not tell tales," he said simply.

“That doesn’t mean she loved you any less,” Deuce stubbornly protested. “Right up until her last breath… she must have been so happy to have you, thinking about what kind of person you’d grow up to be.”

Dreaming of the day when she can, at last, meet you.

Blink, and his eyes were wet. Blink again, and his vision blurred. Heartbeat hot and quick, galloping upon coals.

Did my mother truly…?

“She’d be damn proud of you too.” Deuce flashed a wicked grin. “Believe me.”

“… Hah.” Malleus chuckled dryly.

The longer he considered it, the more appealing the idea became.

A woman in his likeness—or was he made in hers? Papery kisses, fond embraces, words of affirmation. Fire that burned strongly, warding off the darkness.

Wouldn’t that be something?

"I love you, Malleus," whispered that she-phantom. Sweet nothings that sated his starved soul. "Forever and always. My dear son, my pride and joy."

The carefully constructed stone fortress around his heart faltered. His desire burned like a falling star.

He took a breath, and fell from the heavens with his wish.

“Thank you, Spade.”

Just for this moment, let me walk once upon a dream.

A single tear slipped down Malleus’s cheek.

And what a wonderful dream it was.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers #Malleus birthday takeover #something no one asked for #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #Deuce Spade #leave it to me to turn Malleus’s deranged groovy face into family angst

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wpdarlingpan · 9 months

Text

Love At First Sight

Barbie x FReader x Ken

⚠️Warning: Spoilers and slightly obsessive love

Ken ended up taking Barbies advice to find out who “Ken” was and finally his feelings strayed from her much to her pleasure.

Both of them had grown a lot from the whole real world experience, making them more mature… one more so then the other.

Barbie would meet you first. Gloria would bring you there to visit after telling Barbie all about her younger sister.

She was instantly head over heels for the girl with the wide eyes as you took in the seemingly sparkling world around you.

Barbie convinced you to stay for a few days and get to know each other better. Gloria being the wing women she is, leaves you alone with Barbie.

Unsurprisingly you guys hit it off so fast. Barbie never thought she would feel this way with a significant other. She never experienced the way you treated her before. It wasn’t about her looks, it was simply about her.

She took you for a walk by the beach to find a restaurant nearby to have a totally non romantic outing.

That when they ran into Ken. Literally. He wasn’t looking where he was going as he caught your eye. He saw you walking with Barbie and couldn’t look away, not even as you guys bumped into each other.

You apologize while Ken just stared at you with a undistinguishable gaze. At least to you.

Barbie has seen that gaze many times, after all it was usually directed towards her. That’s when it hit her, he just got a crush on Y/N too.

You kindly invited him to go eat with you and a Barbie after giving her a subtle look to make sure it was okay.

This got Barbie thinking. If she wanted you to stay in Barbieland then it would be a lot easier to have two people by your side over one. Kens still one of her best friends so it wouldn’t be too hard to work something out.

The restaurant ended up being some fancy Italian restaurant. Y/N was amazed at the idea of how she never really need to eat the food after all, a fake bite made her tastebuds dance with delight of the delicious pasta. It even made you feel full.

Barbie and Ken watched on with hearts in their eyes. Once you leave to go the bathroom they talked out their feelings. Both of course not wanting to let you go.

After you returned, they paid the bill, not even allowing you to see how much it cost. After all money wasn’t that big of a deal there.

The three of you return back to the dream house, Gloria still off somewhere with Weird Barbie, gave the trio privacy. Well as much as you can get with that open floor plan and no walls.

Barbie and Ken didn’t want you to leave them. Not ever again. So they kept pulling out thing after thing for activities you there could do together. From painting to roller blading.

After awhile you got tired, and they immediately worried so they quickly brought you back to the house and up into her heart shaped bed.

Lending you some pajamas, she and Ken left the room as you changed and got into bed.

They two walked into the room 10 minutes later after discussing more out of earshot.

Both of them had to hide a aww as they looked at your sleeping face.

You certainly looked like you belonged there. Now their job was to make sure you feel like it too.

After all they already feel like your ‘girlfriend and girlfriend’ and ‘boyfriend girlfriend’ in their terms.

The two laid down on either side of you with a smile on their face. Somehow magically in their own pajamas and ready for bed.

After all they couldn’t pass up the chance to cuddle with their Y/N.

#barbie x reader #barbie 2023 #barbie #Ken #ryan gosling #margot robbie #obsessed #love at first sight #greta gerwig

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stirthewaters · 5 months

Text

Too Sharp to Touch pt.9

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Language

Summary: At a Halloween event for Jericho, Wednesday decides to put you to work.

Pairings: Wednesday x Reader

Too Sharp to Touch Masterlist

Wednesday had never thought in her whole life that she would ever have to wear the dreadful cat costume she had sported during the Poe Cup in the previous years, but now, somehow, she found herself in the exact same skintight suit, being fitted with a (newly) fixed pair of cat ears from her roommate, who was dressed in similar attire, though the blonde’s black outfit had also been sprinkled with glitter here and there, that of which Wednesday was almost positive she was getting hives from.

Although the goth had rather firmly insisted that she would not be wearing any sort of costume or special outfit for the event, somehow Enid had roped her into it, only managing to get her to agree by reluctantly giving her a plastic jug of fake blood. Of course she didn’t want to be any sort of feline; but a murderous feline? She would settle for. Even if the fake blood had a pathetically runny viscosity and was too bright for the perfectly horrifying shade of red that it was supposed to be.

According to Enid, Nevermore’s carving event was also created with the intention of being dressed in costume, which Wednesday found to be completely unnecessary when the purpose of the event itself wasn’t even directed towards such a thing. And unfortunately, since the raven had refused to wear anything Enid offered, (such as a ridiculous bird outfit complete with a monocle and fake feathers), the old costume was retrieved last minute.

“What are you doing?” Wednesday suddenly spoke, broken out of her thoughts when she felt the texture of something against her face as she instinctively pulled away, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Uhm, whiskers?” Enid held up the makeup brush in one hand and whatever fashion concotion used to create the illusion with the other. “Then we’ll be matching.”

“Absolutely not.” Wednesday shook her head firmly, folding her arms over her chest as she took a small step back. “My answer remains the same as the year previous and if I’m ever forced to wear this atrocious outfit in the future I can assure you that answer will be the same.”

The pout on the werewolf’s face was filled with disappointment, but nodded and put the items away, storing them in her desk on her side of the room before skipping back over. Her costume was just as ridiculous as it was last year; black outfit and ears, whiskers and a cat-like nose painted onto her face, as well as the aforementioned glitter sprinkled here and then. At least Enid could pull it off.

As Enid started to head for the door, Wednesday reached for her fleece hoodie, starting to pull it over her shoulders when the blonde spoke in a confused tone, “you’re covering up the costume?”

“More or less,” Wednesday nodded, feeling slightly more comfortable now that there was at least some sort of covering for the costume. “I agreed to wear this but the conditions of what to wear on top were never discussed. Now let’s go, we’ll be late.”

She followed Enid down the hall, populated with students in costume on their way to the event; Wednesday spotted more than one angel and demon, though most of the costumes were inaccurately portrayed in her opinion. The sky was already mostly dark, and the temperature was wonderfully chilly, accompanied by a small breeze that sent dead leaves flying across campus.

“You seem eager to get there on time,” Enid teased softly, glancing at Wednesday as they exited through the main entrance, heading onto the main path before them. “Is there any specific reason for that?”

Wednesday instantly shot the blonde a glare, though she felt a small hint of disgust in the back of her mind as she realized it wasn’t nearly as sharp as the ones she typically delivered to anyone else…or you for that matter. Wednesday didn’t like that at all. “I’d advise you inform me of what you’re implying before you lose the ability to do so.” She stepped slightly to the side for more berth and space between her and Enid, respectfully.

Enid, clearly realizing the empty threat, nodded and gave a small smile and a tilt of her head as she hummed and shrugged slightly. “Well, I dunno… I mean, Y/N’s going to be there, right? And you’re working with her on that whole ‘gunshot in the woods’ thing together so maybe you were just… anticipating getting there early.” Her eyes glanced over at the Addams once more. “Though usually you want to make a bad first impression - no offense of course.”

“None taken,” Wednesday didn’t look back at Enid as she continued to walk, focusing on the dimly lit path in front of her that wound through the thinning out trees, the lights of Jericho becoming visible. “If I’m going to be in Jericho then it is a rather popular spot to begin trying to find evidence. Y/N is merely a victim of circumstance.” She could almost feel the werewolf’s eyes on her, those of which she tried to ignore. “If you’re implying what I am suspecting than I would advise you to keep quiet for the time being.”

“Alright, alright.” Enid hummed softly, clearly not going to push as she walked beside the raven. “Are you at least going to stick around to carve any pumpkins or anything?” She was changing the topic. Good.

“I doubt that I’d find pleasure in carving trivial patterns into vegetables with strangers.” Wednesday gave a small sigh, rolling her eyes as she added, “most adolescents' knife skills are pathetic to watch. It’s as if they learned merely from watching one of those judgmental cooking shows. At least the sadism of the judges is admirable.”

As the two stepped into town, Wednesday took note of the amount of people around; usually at this time of night there weren’t many passerby, but it was obvious that the Jericho-hosted event was quite a popular festivity, much to her distaste. Why waste a perfectly dark and intimidating atmosphere on such a trivial holiday spent eating sugar and dressing in foolish wear? Clearly that townsfolk were just as immature as she had suspected.

The lampposts closer to the main area had been strung with jack-o-lantern lights, casting a disgustingly artificial glow over what would have been shadow, and it seemed as if the mayor couldn’t have resisted putting a faux hay bale or scarecrow at every other curb.

The main area had quite a few plastic tables with a few tablecloths spread over, with an army of pumpkins sat around the fountain to be picked and carved for anyone who wished. Wednesday noticed that the crowd mainly consisted of Nevermore students, rather than normies. How unfortunate that the chances of a fight breaking out were now lessened.

Wednesday was able to pick you out of the sea of costumes in an instant.

There you were, dressed in an oddly fitting werewolf costume, which, rather than other werewolf costumes that the Addams had seen, mostly consisting of a plastic mask and a plaid button up, was actually somewhat decent.

You had small smears of fake blood on your arms and face, that of which was far more realistic than the ridiculous bright artificial colored blood she sported at the moment; Wednesday would definitely have Thing swipe it later.

Your claws were out, as well, which she definitely didn’t see often, and unlike Enid’s, which were typically painted a plethora of painfully bright neons, were just a dark black, fitting the simple aesthetic that claws were supposed to convey.

The only odd thing about it was the fact that you didn’t carry them the way that werewolves typically did; you almost seemed as if you were unsure of how to carry them, making sure they weren’t in danger of ever accidentally touching anyone or getting stuck on things. In fact, your hands were shaking. Though you still were talking with everyone and conversing with a smile and laughs, most likely making those stupid jokes you always did.

And when you saw her the way she saw your eyes light up made Wednesday want to strangle you. You were doing something to her to make her feel that unpleasant prickling sensation.

Wednesday reluctantly followed Enid into the crowd, looking around with eyes that dared anyone to make a comment about her appearance; she always had her pocket knife on her if anyone wanted to make the slightest jab.

“I’m not going to lie, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you grinned, approaching her with that fast gait you always sported when you were excited. It made Wednesday realize how much of a werewolf you really were, even when you weren’t wolfed out. Though she still had yet to experience that. “Where in the hell did Enid drag that thing out of?”

“Weems kept the costumes in storage,” Enid beamed, glancing at Wednesday proudly. “I mean, come on, she looks pretty good, right?”

“I was hoping I’d look dreadful, actually,” she deadpanned with a roll of her eyes, watching your movements as you studied her own false blood.

“I mean yeah, it’s a good costume, but the fake blood…” you trailed off, covering your mouth to hide a smile. “It looks like water dyed with food coloring.”

“Finally,” Wednesday muttered sarcastically, feeling a tinge of satisfaction that at least someone agreed. “Whoever created it wanted to make a mocking of blood itself.”

“It was all the party store had left,” Enid said with a small pout, that of which made Wednesday sigh slightly. “I’m off to grab some of the skittles, it looks like they’ve got a whole bowl.”

“Save me some,” you called back as the costumed blonde disappeared into the crowd, at the exact same time that Wednesday muttered, “you’ll get yourself sick.”

Now that the two of you were alone, the Addams reached down, taking one of your hand and inspecting it, studying your claws as your eyes widened in surprise. “Wednesday, what are you-“

“Your hands are shaking,” she observed after a second, releasing you and placing her own hand back into the pocket of her jacket. “I wish to know why. Either you’re on a sugar high or I’d draw the assumption that you’re anxious.” Was she even right? She didn’t understand half of how body language connected to emotions. She hated the feeling of vulnerability that came with the territory.

“Sugar high, probably,” you responded after a moment, averting eye contact to flex your hand, eyes focused on the sharp claws at your fingertips. “Either that or I’m not used to having these bad boys out. They're kind of awkward to carry when I’m not wolfed out or whatever.” You glanced back up at her, folding your arms behind your back as you changed the topic. “I take it you’re not stoked to carve any pumpkins?”

Wednesday took a moment, eyes narrowing in slight puzzled confusion, pausing before raising an eyebrow. “‘Stoked’?”

“Oh, that’s just a dumb word for excited or whatever,” you shrugged slightly, a hint of red appearing over the skin of your nose. “Whatever. I’m just confused why you’d be here other than to humor Enid.”

“I’d rather try and collect witness evidence from anyone here who could’ve heard it other than you and Thing,” Wednesday shook her head, glancing over at the swarm of adolescents enjoying themselves. “Gunshots are not silent, to my knowledge.”

“And how are you going to do that?” You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head in slight confusion.

“I’m not. You are.” Wednesday gestured with her head to the crowd, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m sure with that sickeningly charming personality of yours you’ll be able to draw some info out of someone.”

“You’re calling me charming?”

The shit-eating grin on your face made Wednesday roll her eyes again, responding with gritted irritation. “Don’t push it, Y/N. Get. The job. Done.”

“And my reward when I do?” Oh, you were really testing your luck now. Wednesday could feel herself staring literal daggers at you. “Not being strangled.”

The disappointment in your eyes made her slightly regret her words for some reason, and the Addams gave another roll of her eyes, sighing with irration. “If you’re lucky, sone candy. Whatever will keep that werewolf mind of yours motivated. Satisfied?”

Your nod of excitement was almost comical, and Wednesday watched with a raised eyebrow as you took off into the crowd, the faux wolf tail clipped to your cargo pants swaying to and fro.

The night wore on, people beginning to grow more excited as the party ramped up. It was more than once that Wednesday found herself grimacing in disgust at the sight of more than one couple engaging in intimate acts every now and then. The amount of indecency from youth was unsurprising.

You, on the other hand, did as told. She watched you like a hawk as you had multiple discussions with both students and normies, seemingly lighthearted and joking. You were focused for once. Could it have been at the bribe she’d offered? That had to be the answer.

Speaking of, the Addams abruptly realized that she was more or less obliged to follow through on her promise of candy, and with a roll of her eyes, stepped into the mess of elbows and sweaty costumed teens to retrieve some. Thankfully, most instinctively pulled away from the feeling of her cold body brushing against theirs, but even so Wednesday felt slightly choked by the amount of people.

Stopping by the plastic table that held three large bowls of confections, she sighed and reached over to take a few; it didn’t matter exactly what she gave you since you were likely to be happy at whatever you received. Wednesday retrieved a couple of whatever ‘snickers’ were, as well as a couple more small bite sized candies before placing them in her jacket pocket, turning to leave when she spotted a flash of pink in someone’s hand.

There, in a tall boy dressed as a cowboy’s hand, was a package of bright pink packaging, which Wednesday vaguely recognized as your favorite candy. She’d seen you eating it once or twice in the dining hall. A quick glance at the candy bowl proved that the one the cowboy had retrieved was either the last or only one left.

Without a second thought the Addams reached out and tore it from his hand, shoving it into her pocket. When he turned to protest, she glared witheringly at him, speaking coldly, “consider touching me and I’ll end your bloodline.”

In her mind, her reasoning for going out of her way to do so was to satisfy her inner sadist and deprive the boy of his sugary desires. That was definitely the reason.

When most of the pumpkins around the fountain were gone and the grass was littered with plastic cups, candy wrappers, and pumpkin guts, you returned, looking slightly less energetic but prideful.

“As promised, I got results.” You pulled up the sleeve of your jacket, showing multiple paragraphs written in pen on your arm, making Wednesday raise an eyebrow.

“And you chose your arm as a canvas. How creative,” her tone was sarcastic as she sighed, stepping closer to briefly scan over the scribbles, taking it all in to memory as she ignored your expectant eyes on her. “You received testimony from only two witnesses?”

“Mostly everyone here is drunk,” you sighed, nose scrunching in slight distaste as Wednesday glanced up at you, questioning. “And you…don’t. Well, either way it’s better than nothing.”

She dug into her pocket, pulling out the handful of candies. “As promised,” she sighed, dumping them into your waiting hands.

The fact that your eyes lit up the second she saw the candy she had taken made everything worth it.

———

pt.10 here!

Taglist

@idkjustliving2 @alexkolax

#wednesday addams #wednesday series #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #jenna ortega #wednsday addams #tstt #werewolf #werewolf x wednesday #werewolf x reader

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bosbas · 2 months

Text

Alternate Ending: I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

series masterlist original ending || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader, anthony bridgerton x wife!reader WC: 5.2k words (whoops I got carried away)

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, benedict being so down bad for this woman, unrequited love, pregnancy and discussions around pregnancy/birth

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: The timeline for this ending diverges after chapter 12!! This is how life would look like if Chapter 13 and onward didn't happen.

March 3, 1820 - B,

I apologize for my delayed response – I’m sure you’ll understand that I was a tad occupied giving birth. But she’s finally here! It was easier than the other three, so I'm personally delighted, though Anthony seemed just as stressed as usual. And, as usual, he'll most likely be resting for the next five days. If he ever stops looking at her in awe, that is. It would be quite adorable if I didn't need to wrestle her away from him to nurse her every few hours!

Although, I will say that Anthony being taken with her has worked out quite well for me. I was able to finish my novel and get a full night's sleep last night. I'd love to see you soon if you're up for it. You can meet her and we can discuss your latest painting, which I heard was absolutely breathtaking. Anthony and I will both be home for the next week at least, so feel free to pop by any time.

Yours, Y/I

You finished addressing the envelope to Benedict right as Anthony walked into your bedroom holding the tiny form of your newborn daughter. Twisting in your seat to face them, you cooed when you saw her fast asleep in his arms. She was wrapped in a soft pink blanket, and you couldn’t help but marvel at her tiny fists opening and closing absentmindedly as she slept. She looked so peaceful in Anthony’s arms, and it was terrifying to think that a human being this small would grow up to be an adult and that you would have to guide her through it. Well, she would have Anthony too, you thought. And the thought did a lot to quell your fears.

For as long as you had known him, Anthony had been a steadfast figure in your life. He’d been the eldest of the Beaumont-Bridgertons, and he certainly acted like it, too. The responsibility he felt for his family was evident in everything he did, and it was one of the qualities you admired most about him. Now, seeing Anthony cradle your newborn daughter with such gentleness and awe only solidified your feelings for him.

You had decidedly not been in love when you had married him, but one couldn’t simply have four children with someone and not develop at least a little affection for them. The two of you had been wonderful friends even before you were married, and you still were, but along the way, it seemed that you had learned to love each other in your own funny sort of way. It wasn’t the sort of all-consuming love you had for Benedict all those years ago, and that perhaps you had still in a corner of your heart. But it was comforting and safe and built upon a deep respect for one another, and your life was all the better for it.

Perhaps you and Ben had never been destined for a life like this, you thought. Your childhood intention to wed Benedict had been just that: a naïve plan. That night in the studio with Benedict, after he had found out in the most unfortunate manner that you and Anthony were courting, you had needed something safe and constant. And Benedict had given you the complete opposite. For so many years, he had been your anchor, but that night you felt like the ground had fallen away below your feet and you were in free fall. You had so much love for Benedict that you didn’t even know where to put it. You could feel it from your heart to your fingertips, and it was terrifying. You thought about Violet and Edmund in that moment, and how destroyed Violet had been when Edmund passed. The thought of that happening to you and Benedict made you sick. The thought of taking the risk and putting your heart in his hands only for it to crumble.

Maybe running away from Benedict at that moment was the cowardly thing to do. Maybe you should have faced your fears and given in to the overpowering love. Maybe you should have kissed your best friend and dealt with the consequences later, holding his hand the whole way through. But you hadn’t. You had sought out safety instead, running up the stairs to Anthony’s room and knocking incessantly until he opened the door, eyes startled and hand holding a handkerchief to his cut lip.

“We’re getting married,” you had declared, breathing ragged and arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked, hoping you meant you and Benedict but suspecting otherwise given that you were currently at his door looking furious.

“You and me. And we’re going to do it as soon as possible.”

Anthony uttered a soft, “Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say. “And Benedict…” he added in a questioning tone.

“No,” you said firmly. “No Benedict.”

He had expected you to say more, but you just stood in front of him, unmoving.

“I suppose I can start the arrangements,” Anthony said finally. “If you’re sure this is what you want.”

“I am sure.”

God, Benedict must have truly done something stupid, he thought. “Very well, then.”

“Good night, Anthony. We can inform our families of our engagement tomorrow morning.”

He just nodded in response, still too stunned to fully process your words.

You cleared your throat and your stoic façade faded slightly. “And thank you, Anthony. For everything,” you said, suddenly very aware of what being married to Anthony might mean.

He shook his head. “No, no. It was nothing. You are family.”

A month later, you were married at the church near Aubrey Hall. Benedict barely stayed long enough to see the two of you say your vows, citing an urgent problem with his cottage in the countryside. His family was kind enough not to question his obviously fabricated excuse, but he couldn’t miss the endless looks of pity sent his way. He had been hurt. Well, you had hurt him. You hurt him when you walked away from him, and you hurt him when you announced your engagement to your family without telling him first, but most of all, you hurt him when you chose Anthony even after two decades of history with Benedict.

Maybe none of your fears would have come true, and you and Ben would have been happy. Maybe he would have treated your heart with the same love and care with which he always treated you. But it didn’t do to dwell on what could have been. Your marriage with Anthony was real. It was concrete and it was grounding, and you couldn’t imagine a more stable presence in your life.

Bringing you out of your musings, you felt Anthony kiss your cheek in greeting and ask, “Do you want to take her?”

You nodded eagerly, setting down the letter in your hand so you could hold your daughter. “I’m surprised you’re willingly letting me have her,” you teased, laughing as Anthony all but collapsed onto the loveseat across from you, clearly exhausted.

He had been an awfully attentive father the past few days, ecstatic to finally have a girl after three boys. Though she had brought out a heightened sense of protectiveness he couldn’t seem to shake. It was rather endearing to see him so frazzled over a baby that weighed less than eight pounds, but you suspected there might be something more to it.

“She’s so tiny!” he defended, gaze fixed on her admittedly minuscule form in your arms. “I can’t help it…” He trailed off, deep in thought. You glanced up at him, noticing the change in his tone and his hunched posture. After five years of marriage, you had him memorized, and reading him came as naturally as reading a book.

“Is anything the matter?” you asked gently, already having a general idea about what was plaguing him.

But he shook his head, murmuring a soft no and focusing on the writing desk behind you instead. “Is that for Benedict?” he inquired, nodding in the direction of the letter.

“Yes, I’m just telling him that she’s here and asking him to come visit,” you answered, still eyeing him carefully.

“So, he’s coming to visit, then?” pressed Anthony, eyes back on your daughter, who was currently sleeping soundly in your arms.

“Well, I don’t see why he wouldn’t. Why do you ask?” You changed tactics, trying to seem nonchalant about your concern.

“Alright. That’s good. Yes, that’s good,” he muttered, seemingly satisfied with your answer but his mind was obviously miles away.

Growing increasingly worried, you stood up and carefully laid your daughter in her crib, ensuring she remained undisturbed. With her settled, you approached Anthony, who hadn't shifted his gaze from where you had been sitting. Kneeling beside him, you reached out and gingerly placed your hand on his. The touch seemed to quiet his restless thoughts, and he turned to meet your eyes, acknowledging the weight of his anxiety.

Anthony spoke softly, carefully. “I just want to make sure that you and the children are taken care of. In case something happens to me. I want you to have someone.”

You should have known that this was what plagued him. During the first year of your marriage, you settled into a comfortable dynamic with Anthony. It was not quite love, but something like it had blossomed between the two of you. However, it was after the birth of your first son, Arthur, that Anthony reached a breaking point. He realized that his grand plan to marry someone he didn’t love to avoid any undue heartbreak was not, in fact, foolproof. Even if there hadn’t been growing affection between you, Anthony completely fell in love with Arthur from the moment he was born. It was like nothing he’d experienced before; beyond anything he could have imagined. And it was terribly frightening.

He had shared his fears with you–he’d had no choice in the matter when you were as stubborn and insistent as you were–and you had shared that you, too, were scared. But you trusted one another, and so the two of you navigated parenthood in tandem and Anthony’s fears subsided. Regardless, you could understand that the birth of your daughter brought back this fear in full force, and he felt a greater need to protect her from danger than he would with his sons.

“Anthony, I won’t need someone. You’re right here, and you always will be.”

He shook his head, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. “How can you know that?”

You pursed your lips, brows furrowing. “Even if you aren’t, it won’t be your fault. You’re a wonderful father. And a wonderful husband.”

With a deep sigh, he clasped your hand and stood up, bringing you with him. “Just promise me you’ll ask Benedict to take care of you if I go?”

Your heart softened. Knowing he needed to hear you say it out loud, you nodded, “I promise.”

---

March 5, 1820 – Y/I,

One would think Anthony had been the one to give birth instead of you! I’ll pop by today to give him a talking-to. And to meet my lovely niece, of course.

Yours, B

You found yourself in the nursery this afternoon, your three boys gathered around you and your daughter fast asleep in her crib. It was a lovely day out; sunny but not too hot, but the boys hardly noticed. Instead, they sat still, completely enthralled as you read from your current novel. Though you adored reading to your children, you found children’s books rather boring and repetitive. Thus, you had shifted to reading them excerpts from your own reading material. It made the endeavor much more interesting, and the boys seemed to love it too, evident as they hung on your every word.

“‘Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder,’” you read, and your sons gasped, not quite understanding the meaning of the word but easily catching onto your surprised reaction. You continued, “‘and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I ask-’”

“Surely I’ve heard wrong and you’re not reading to your children about murder!” came Benedict’s voice from the doorway.

Immediately, three voices squealed in delight and Frankenstein was completely forgotten as your sons rushed over to their uncle. Charles was only one year old, but his brothers’ excitement only fueled his clumsy crawl toward Benedict’s waiting arms.

“They don’t exactly know what it means, Ben,” you laughed. “Besides, it’s wonderful literature. And it keeps them entertained.”

He picked up Charles in one arm and Arthur in the other, making his way over to you as Bernard clung to his leg. “Well, I’m sure you know better than me, darling,” he commented and kissed you sweetly on the top of your head.

“Isn’t that usually the case?” you teased, standing up to properly greet your best friend. Though you hadn’t joined the welcome committee, you were positively glowing now that Ben had arrived. It had been over a week since you had seen him, and you had missed him terribly. You smiled brightly, instantly at ease in his presence.

Eyebrows raised and eyes shining with mirth, he teased back, “You forget I have three very bloodthirsty boys on my side who have just learned what murder is.”

You looked at Arthur, who was completely focused on attempting to undo Benedict’s cravat, and Charles, who had two fingers in his mouth and was unsuccessfully attempting to put in a third, then glanced back at Benedict.

“Quite bloodthirsty, aren’t they?” you deadpanned as you gently pried Charles’ hand from his mouth.

Ben couldn’t help the waves of laughter rolling off him as he observed your sons. “It seems they still have a way to go before they get there.”

Then, spotting the pink crib across the room, he gasped and set down Arthur and Charles and somewhat successfully shook Bernard off his leg. Walking over to the crib, he stared at her, completely awestruck.

"She’s so tiny!” he exclaimed, careful to keep his voice down so as not to wake her.

You giggled, making your way over. “That’s exactly what Anthony said,” you smiled at him.

But your smile did nothing to soothe the dull ache that had blossomed in his chest as he remembered all the things he could have had with you. The pain was not as unbearable now as it had been five years ago, but he was inclined to think that it would be there for the rest of his life. In the back of his mind, Benedict wondered if he would have been as good of a father as Anthony. He supposed he would never know, having devoted himself completely to his art and extinguishing any lingering hopes Violet had that her second son would ever marry. But you seemed happy, and that was truly all that mattered.

Ignoring the pain in his chest, he smiled sweetly back down at you. “What’s her name? Something starting with a D, I’m sure. Otherwise, Anthony will have lost his mind.”

“Yes, naturally,” you giggled. You tugged on Ben’s sleeve to bring him closer to the crib. “Benedict, meet Diana Bridgerton.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bridgerton,” he murmured, intently observing your daughter as she slowly blinked her eyes open.

“Quite eager to meet her uncle,” you observed, but Benedict was too mesmerized by her to respond properly.

“She’s got your eyes,” he whispered after a few seconds, turning back to you and placing an arm around you. Your arm snaked around his back, and you drew him in a little closer.

Leaning down to place his cheek on your head and hugging you tighter, he spoke softly, “I thought you might name her Daisy. Flower names and all that. Besides, it starts with a D.”

Benedict didn’t quite know where the comment had come from. You hadn’t mentioned flower names in years, but the thought had suddenly popped into his brain quite unexpectedly and he had been unable to stop the words coming out of his mouth. He knew he was so incredibly lucky to know you and to love you and to have a friendship with you, but it was at times like these when he wished he didn’t know you quite so well. At times when knowing you was only a reminder of what he lost.

In that moment, you were thankful to be facing Diana’s crib instead of Benedict, because you could feel the tears prickling at your eyes. The flower names. Of course Benedict would have remembered. You had never truly regretted marrying Anthony, but what you had with Ben transcended anything you could ever have with anyone else, and sometimes it was hard to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t your person anymore.

Shaking your head to will the tears away, you responded, “No. No, I could never.”

“What? You always said you wanted to name your children flower names.”

“No, Benedict. I wanted to name our children flower names.”

He felt all the air in his lungs escaping all at once. It felt as if someone had reached deep inside of him, taken hold of every organ inside his body, and squeezed very tightly. Wanted to name our children. Our children. Our. Just a simple word, three letters in total, had managed to leave him completely disarmed.

It was silly, really. You were married and had four children with his brother, of all people. And Benedict was still completely and irrevocably in love with you. He rather thought that he would always love you, in some form or another. Benedict suspected that Anthony knew this too, though his older brother was far too tactful to ever broach the subject.

Seemingly unaware of Ben's internal turmoil as he tried to reduce his feelings to their usual dormant state, you grabbed hold of his hand and led him away from Diana toward the door. “Nurse Edwards can watch the children while we go downstairs to have some tea. I must hear about your painting displayed at the National Gallery! I wish I hadn’t been about two days from bursting so I could have gone to see the unveiling.”

---

November 17, 1820 – Benedict,

Y/N has fallen ill, and I am away on business unable to tend to her. Go to Aubrey Hall as soon as possible and make sure she’s alright.

Please.

Anthony

Benedict could barely hear the rain pouring down outside his carriage over his racing heartbeat. Anthony’s frantic note had left Ben in a state of panic. He had left for Aubrey Hall immediately upon receiving the note, but he still worried that he might be too late. What on earth had frightened his older brother to the point of asking Benedict for help? A million possibilities, each one as devastating as the other, raced through his mind.

The sight of your home interrupted his catastrophizing, and he swung the door open and ran toward the entrance before the carriage could come to a complete stop. Benedict was somewhat aware that he was getting completely drenched in the rain, but his mind was far too focused on getting to you to care.

The front door was already open when he reached it, and Benedict burst through, barely hearing the butler’s, “Upstairs in her bedchamber, Mr Bridgerton,” before he was frantically climbing the stairs to get to you.

Once he reached your door, Ben stopped quite suddenly. He didn’t want to startle you by bursting in unannounced, so he waited a few seconds to catch his breath. Finally, he turned the doorknob slowly, hands shaking nervously as he entered your bedroom.

In between shockingly vivid dreams and a splitting headache, you vaguely registered what looked to be Benedict’s tall frame standing in your room. You shook your head, confused by his presence and not quite trusting your own eyes, but the effort left you breathless and you coughed violently.

“It’s alright, darling. You just rest,” he shushed you, shrugging off his drenched coat before he came to your side.

It killed him to see you like this, pale and sweaty as shivers wracked through your tired body. He had never seen you look so ill, not even when you came down with influenza when you were ten years old, and he was trying his hardest to hold himself together.

“Have you called for a medic?” his voice came out a bit strangled as he asked your lady’s maid, Rose, who had been nervously fidgeting off to the side.

"Yes, Mr Bridgerton. It's pneumonia," she said softly, her voice filled with concern. "The best we can do is keep her comfortable and give her fluids until her fever breaks."

He nodded, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm down. But you had drifted into fitful sleep, and your shallow, ragged breathing was only making him more worried.

Nevertheless, he had to think clearly. Anthony was away, meaning that Benedict was now entirely responsible for you. The realization steeled his nerves, so he straightened his waistcoat and released a controlled breath, ready to face whatever came his way.

“Where are the children? I trust Nurse Edwards is with them now,” he said firmly.

Rose nodded. “They’re asleep now, but she is there in case they need anything. They’re taken care of,” she reassured.

“Very well. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance to them.” Then, clearing his throat, “Ring for tea, please,” he instructed. “And bring me towels and a bowl of lukewarm water.”

She nodded, hurrying out of the room. Benedict moved closer to your bedside, his heart twisting at the sight of you in distress. He didn't hesitate, pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting down beside you. Gently, he reached out to feel your burning forehead, but you immediately flinched, the pain evident in your eyes as they shot open.

“Too cold,” you rasped. “Please don’t.”

He cursed under his breath, heart cracking slightly at your reaction. But he withdrew his hand immediately, settling instead for sitting on a chair next to your bed, watching you intently for any signs that your condition was worsening.

You looked awfully pale, paler than he’d ever seen you, and your lips had turned a concerning shade of purple. Though even when you were drenched in sweat and shivering, you still were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he thought. Even now, years after you had married another man, you remained his muse. The heartbreak he experienced that summer had been an admittedly excellent source of inspiration, and his new works helped propel him forward in the art world. It had served as a distraction, proving especially useful when Ben heard the news that you were pregnant for the first time so soon after the wedding. But now he supposed that art was no longer a distraction, and had instead become his life.

Maybe it was better this way, he sometimes thought. Maybe fate had never intended for him to be with you, though he couldn't fathom why the universe seemed so cruel. But the conclusion that he most often came to is that this was some sort of punishment. And he supposed he rather deserved it. He had continuously run away from the person he loved most, his best friend, the love of his life, time and again while you had only waited patiently for him to love you back.

Looking down at you now, he still felt the need to take care of you. The instinct would never go away. But it was a shame that the only reason he was allowed to do it now was because your husband had asked him to.

Your lady’s maid cleared her throat, standing at the doorway with the items Benedict had requested. He waved her in and had her place the tea on your bedside table, but he took hold of the towels himself and dipped one of them in the bowl of water.

“How long have you been here?” Ben asked Rose, taking in her exhausted appearance.

“Since midmorning, Mr Bridgerton,” she responded, stifling a yawn. "But I'm happy to do it. Lady Bridgerton seems to need it, too."

“Well, I think you ought to go to bed now, Rose,” he responded, gently placing the damp towel on your forehead. You let out a soft sigh of relief, and the tightness in Benedict’s heart loosened the tiniest bit.

Hearing his words, Rose could have collapsed right then and there. “Thank you, Mr Bridgerton. Please call for one of the servants if you need anything,” she said gratefully. And then, before he could change his mind, she hurried out of your bedroom.

The towel had seemed to rouse you from your sleep, and you sat up weakly so you could take in your surroundings.

You opened your eyes, happy to find Benedict still in your room. “Hello, there,” you croaked, but he shushed you, immediately holding a teacup to your lips. You took a hesitant sip, but the warm liquid ran down your throat so soothingly that you grasped the cup with your own hands and drank the entire thing.

Ben laughed softly, delicately taking the teacup from you so as not to touch you, not having forgotten your earlier protests when he placed a hand on your forehead.

“How long have you been here?” you asked Benedict, a particularly strong shiver making your teeth chatter. Noting his look of concern, you rushed to reassure him, “I’m fine, Ben. Promise.” However, you didn’t know how convincing you had sounded, given that you started violently coughing immediately after the words left your lips.

“I can see that. You look great,” teased Benedict.

“I bet,” you shot back, and he was unable to keep the fond smile off his face. “I’m–” you started, but another coughing fit prevented you from continuing. He looked at you, eyes overflowing with worry, and exchanged the towel on your forehead for a fresh one, hoping it would provide at least some relief.

Once your coughing fit subsided, you were overtaken by a wave of exhaustion. Sliding back down into bed, you turned to Benedict. “I think I need to sleep if that’s alright,” you said softly, eyes already drooping shut.

“Mmm, I think so, too,” he agreed.

You reached out and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing your joined hands to your chest. “Please stay, Ben,” you said, eyes already closed.

His heart nearly skipped a beat, having completely forgotten just how right your hand felt in his. “Always,” he murmured, reaching over to kiss you on the forehead. Benedict settled into the chair beside your bed, carefully watching you to make sure your breathing remained even.

An hour later, a particularly intense shiver ran through you and you woke up to find that you were still clutching Benedict’s hand. He was staring at you intently, and you felt an overwhelming sense of tenderness for him. Even though you had married Anthony, he was still here by your side, ensuring that you were safe. Even though you probably looked about two minutes away from death, and even though he probably had much more interesting things to do, he was here.

“I’m sorry, you know,” you whispered, not quite sure you wanted him to hear but needing to say it anyway.

His brow furrowed, not quite sure why you were apologizing. “It’s quite alright.”

“No, I am. I’m so sorry,” you said, barely registering the tears running down your face and mixing with your sweat.

Ben wiped away your tears with one hand, the other still holding yours. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he whispered.

You shook your head and the towel fell from your forehead once again, which he immediately replaced with a new one. “I don’t regret marrying him, but I regret hurting you,” you choked back a sob. “It was cowardly of me, and I’m sorry.”

Benedict was at a loss, your confession bringing his complicated feelings to the surface. But before he could find the right words, you had fallen asleep once again, eyes closed peacefully and your breathing even. He sat back in shock, attempting to process the meaning behind your words while still being careful not to move his hand too much so you could sleep peacefully.

Benedict sat there for what felt like hours, his mind in a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt weighed heavily on his heart as he watched you sleep, your hand still clasped in his. Surely you were at least a little delirious, he reasoned. How could you apologize for something he had caused?

Hours later, the morning sun filtered through your curtains and you stirred awake. You blinked your eyes open, a bit disoriented as you took in your surroundings. You glanced down, seeing Ben sitting in a chair next to your bed, fast asleep in what looked to be an incredibly uncomfortable position. Your hand was still clasped in Benedict’s, his thumb absently stroking the back of your hand. You felt a pang of guilt at the sight and cringed slightly as you remembered your tearful apology the previous night.

Sensing that you were awake, Benedict stirred, half opening his eyes to make sure you were alright. Wincing as his neck cracked, he sat up and asked groggily, “How’re you feeling this morning, darling?”

“Much better, actually,” you responded.

A sudden wave of panic washed over you. “Who’s with the children?”

“Don’t worry! They’re alright. Nurse Edwards is with them,” he assured you. “Perhaps it’s for the best; they might get to engage with some books actually meant for children.” He kept his tone light and teasing, not entirely sure if you remembered your apology and not wanting to open up the conversation if you didn’t.

“Oh, thank you,” you sighed in relief, relaxing against your pillows once again. Then, swatting his arm, you scolded, “And they enjoy the literature, mind you!”

“I suppose you are feeling better if you had the strength to hit me,” he remarked amusedly.

You rolled your eyes. “I could have hit you last night. Easily.” But your expression turned sincere. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t mean to be a burden; I know you’re working on a new piece.”

“It’s nothing,” he waved his hand. “You could never be a burden.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “And I meant what I said last night. It was ill-timed, I know, but I am truly sorry.”

“Nonsense,” he shook his head. “There is nothing to apologize for. I didn’t treat you the way I should have and I was the one who hurt you. I’m just glad I can still have you as a best friend.”

You smiled at him, pulling him into a hug. “We seem to be quite good at that, don’t you think? Being best friends.”

“Oh, the best,” he smiled at you, adoration clear in his eyes.

—

orginal ending || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

Text

Don't Speak 29

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: I'm sorry this whole week has been Andrew

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

"Wish I didn't have to go back to work," Andy tucks his shirt in as he enters the kitchen, "mmm, something smells good."

"Oh, I found the waffle maker," you say proudly. Admittedly, you've made a mess. Your tablet displays the recipe as a bowl sits next to it dripping batter. "I thought it would be a nice start to the day."

"How long have you been awake?" His expression falls, "dove, you've been... very busy lately. I'm worried."

"Why?" You bat your lashes. Yes, you've been a bit all over, always trying to distract yourself. It helps you keep your mind off of the cramped nights and sleepless hours. "Dr. Kemp wants me to set goals."

"Yes, I know. And it's good advice but you can take a day off," he suggests.

"Maybe," you shrug and hide your disappointment. You thought he'd be happy. You're doing what he wants too. He wants you to give back and you're trying to take care of him the best way you know how. You've never tried this hard in your life but he doesn't seem to see that.

"Here," you turn and take a plate of waffles, "I also cut up some fruit," you put it on the island near him and grab the bowl of strawberries and blueberries, "and syrup."

You bring the bottle of dark maple and a set of cutlery for him. He sits on one of the high chairs and accepts them with a thanks. Despite his admonishment, he looks delights. You step back on your heel and watch him. As he cuts into the fluffy stack, he pauses and looks at you.

"What about you?"

"Oh, I'll eat when you're gone," you assure him, "I'm not hungry yet."

He inhales and takes his first bite. He chews it slowly, his thought tensing in his jaw, "promise you will. Dove... I see you pushing your food around."

"I don't have a problem," you say defensively. He doesn't know how you used to be. How you would binge so much you nearly puked. So you miss a meal or two, it's better than the alternative.

"I think it's something you should discuss in therapy? Just to be certain," he offers.

"It's not," you insist. "I'm fine--"

"Then sit down and eat with me. That's what couples do. They eat together," he points his fork at you, "and don't forget a kiss before I go."

You watch him for a moment. You don't tell Steve about these arguments, you only tell him what you learn. What you're doing to be better. You'll tell him you know now that you should eat with Andy and give him a kiss goodbye. That's something, you suppose.

"I'm sorry, Andy," you murmur and put a waffle on a plate for yourself.

"Don't be sorry, just do better, honey," he says.

"Alright," you turn back to him as you grab a fork and knife. You go around the island to sit next to him. You poke at the waffle and cut off a small piece.

"And... you can call me honey, too. Would you?"

You nod, "okay..." you hover the fork in front of your mouth as your stomach mulches, "honey."

🕊️

You spend much of the day painting. Your attempts at napping were met with tossing and turning as your mind kept wandering to the nights ahead and those behind you. Andy's touches aren't as unusual as before, you can lay still, close your eyes, let him kiss you. But he doesn't like it when you stop him from doing more.

Your back aches as you hunch forward on the stool. You know it's a bad position but you don't care. You lean in, nose almost touching the canvas as you focus on a feather.

You yawn and swipe the brush against your palette. You sway slightly, eyes nearly rolling back. You should try to nap before–

"How's it going, Dove?" Andy startles you as his shadow fills the door.

You turn, shivering in the airy garage as you lower the brush. You blink at him, for a moment thinking he might be a walking dream. You shake your head, no he's real and times slipped past you again.

You set down your palette and hug yourself. It's as if the day was a fog and it's only just clearing. You give a sheepish smile as Andy stays at the top of the steps.

"Tired?" He says, "oh, wow, you got a lot done."

"Yeah, uh… a lot," you agree hoarsely.

"Come on, you're asleep on your feet, sit down. I was thinking of ordering some pizza. I've been craving it," he beckons to you. You're glad he's in a good mood.

"Alright, I'll just clean up," you turn and rinse off your brush, "see ya inside."

"I can do that–"

"No, no, I'm… a bit particular about my brushes," you mutter, "I'll be in soon…honey."

"Alright, don't make me come find you," he kids as he backs up.

You're thankful he's appeased. You're too exhausted for him to be smothering you again. You just want to zone out.

You clean your brushes and palette off and place them away neatly. You rub your hands together as you climb the two steps inside and close the door behind you. As you pass the kitchen, Andy calls after you.

"Hey," you enter as he twists a knob on the stove.

"Making you some tea," he says, "you look cold. Why didn't you turn on the heater?"

"Didn't think of it," you drag your feet, legs heavy, "tea sounds nice."

"Some of that stuff Steve brought," he sniffs and gives a shrug, "you really seemed to like it."

"Sounds good," you lean on the counter and cup your chin.

"You can have it while we decide on toppings," he smiles, "you like pineapple on your pizza?"

"I'm not picky," you answer.

"I'm asking what you like, sweetie."

"Just cheese," you reply, "sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he comes around the island and cradles your head along the side, bending to kiss your crown, "go, relax, I'll bring the tea out to you."

"Thank you," you sidle away slowly.

You go into the living room and nestle into the corner of the couch, hugging your legs as you try to warm up. You watch the window, the grey sky dimming with the onset of the autumnal evening. You lean your head back and groan.

When Andy comes in, he plunks your cup down and sits heavily next to you. You look at him as he grabs the remote.

"Why don't you put something on?" He holds it out to you.

"Um, is there a game tonight?" You wonder.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, alright," you take the remote and flip on the tv.

"Whatever you want," he leans back, one arm across the couch above you as he keeps his phone in his other.

You browse the television shows, thinking of trying something new. Your eyes drift thoughtlessly as he thumbs at the screen. He hums, "just cheese?"

"Yeah, that's good."

"Alright, I want you to finish two slices at least," he says.

You frown but don't argue. You don't appreciate his concern for your eating habits. Pizza is a lot and greasy. You reach for your tea and continue to search through titles.

You hear a bing and glance over again, certain not to move your head. You see the notification just before Andy swipes it away from the top of the screen. 'Cloud recordings full.'

You don't think anything of it. You don't know what that means. You click on a show you always saw Amber watching.

"Good choice," he says as he puts his phone down, "all ordered. With garlic knots too."

"Mm, sounds good," you blow on the tea, the smell of maple comforting, "thank you… er, honey."

"Of course," he kisses your head again as he drops his arm onto your shoulders, "the tea will help tide you over until it gets here."

🕊️

The pizza comes as the drowsiness tugs at your eyes. You feel sluggish as Andy brings you a plate with two slices. You chew as you stare at the bleary television, the audio garbling as you struggle to down each bite.

You finish with a painfully full stomach. Andy clears your plate with his and says something you don't catch. You feel so out of it. You've never felt like this before.

Andy comes back with two bottles of beer uncapped. You squint at him, sure you're seeing double. It must be the lack of sleep.

"Here," he holds one out as he sits next to you.

"Oh, I don't…" you eke out.

"One won't hurt, sweetie," he winks, "it's already open."

You rub your eyes before reaching out to take one. It's cold and the glass condensates beneath your palm. You sniff the open neck and make a face. It smells awful.

"Taste better than it looks," he clinks his bottle against yours.

You open your eyes wide, fighting the weight around them. You lean the bottle against your lips and make yourself take a drink. As much as you want to spit it out, you choke down the wheaty acidic liquid.

"You get used to it," he chuckles and takes a hearty swig.

"Mmm," you grumble, "I am very tired…"

"You go to bed early every night," he rests his hand on your knee, "worked all day just looking forward to being with you, honey."

You frown and nod, taking another repulsive gulp. It's nasty but you don't want to waste it. And you don't want him to be upset. Again.

"Finish your beer and you can go lay down," he says, "okay, sweetie."

"Alright," you look at the bottle, a tall task as each taste is worse than the last. "Thank you."

He keeps his hand on your leg. You notice how it slips higher along your thigh as you sip. You feel your body slackening and the sludgy fatigue turns to a bubbly blare.

You focus on the bottle, just wanting to go to bed. You empty it down to a small cluster of foam and sit forward to put it on the table. You miss and the bottle clanks on the floor. Andy chuckles and reaches to pick it up, setting it down with his own.

“Oh, honey,” he turns to you, “are you tipsy already?”

“Andy,” you breathe, “I don’t feel good.”

“You drank that too fast,” he laughs again, pushing his arm behind you, “here, I got you, baby.”

You close your eyes as he swoops his other arm under your knees and the whole world shifts as he lifts you. Your head lolls against his shoulder as he holds you against his chest. His scent seeps into your nostrils as the motions of his gait lulls you.

He climbs the stairs carefully as you lean into him. Your head swirls strangely. You’ve never felt like this. Your eyeballs feel funny and your stomach is airy.

You open your eyes again as he enters the bedroom. He tuts, amused by your state as he lays you on his bed. He hushes you as you babble dumbly.

“I’ll get you some pajamas, just relax,” he coos, dragging his hand down your side and kneading your thigh.

He leaves you as you obey him. Not out of your will, but because you have no choice. You can’t fight this eerie heaviness. The sludge of time and space that smothers you.

He returns, a blurry smear of colours as he moves around the room. He tosses something light beside you and bends over you. He runs his hands from your hips and around your back as he sits you up. You bobble as you struggle to hold your head up.

“Here,” he tugs on your shirt, bringing it up your torso.

Instinctively you catch it and try to keep him from revealing anymore. He clucks and yanks until you nearly fall back. You drop your hands to keep yourself up.

“Honey, I’m helping, don’t be bad,” he warns as he continues to raise the fabric, “arms up. I got you a fresh set of pajamas.”

Your lashes droop down and cling to each other. You shakily raise your arms and he pulls your shirt off. He gulps loudly and his fingers flutter along your shoulders and down to your chest. He cups your tits and purrs.

“Sweetie, I… never got to say before but you’re so beautiful, you know that?”

You shoo his touch away and cross your arms. He sighs heavily and grips your hips. He pulls you down harshly so you land flat on your back. You squeak in surprise as you bounces against the bed.

He pops open the button of your jeans and curls his fingers beneath the denim. He rolls them down roughly, jolting you as he gets them past your feet. You shiver as you lay in only your underwear and bra, hugging yourself.

“Mmmm,” he sits beside you again, leaning over you as he plants his hand by your other side, “honey,” he runs his other hand down your arm and takes yours, moving it into his lap, “do you feel what you do to me?”

He presses your hand to the bulge in his pants. Your head turns side to side as your voice sticks in your throat. The flavour of the beer stains your tongue and chokes you. He bends closer and kisses you on the lips.

“I need you so bad,” he whispers as he pulls away, “but… I want you to feel it.”

He moves your hand off of him and shifts, dragging his other hand away from the bed and down the curves of your side. He trails kisses down your jaw and neck, further and further, lingering around your chest as he guides the straps of your bra down your arms.

He looses your tits and tends to them one at a time. Nipping, kneading, and suckling until your nipples are sensitive and hard. His lets his hand wander further down as he dotes on your chest, slipping his fingers beneath he elastic of your panties.

He lifts his head and exhales a scalding breath over you, “can I taste you? I need to taste you…”

“What?” You murmur as your head slumps to one side and your eyes shut, fuzzy and itchy.

You feel the bed jostle as his weight lifts and his touch drifts away. He urges your legs apart before he settles between them, the bed moving with him. Your panties roll down your legs and he bends your knees. You whine, confused about what he’s doing.

He growls and you feel his breath along your thigh. You twitch as he spreads his hands across your flesh and holds your legs open. Something cool delves into the warmth between your legs. You yelp as your eyes snap open.

You lift your head as it teeters on your neck and you see the top of Andy’s head by your pelvis. He runs his hands around your thighs, gripping the outside and pushing them flush to his face as he laps at your cunt. You whimper as you fall flat again, hiding behind your eyelids as the vision of him paints the void of your speckly mind.

What is he doing?

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #library au #don't speak #series #defending jacob #fresh #steve kemp

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