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lordprettyflackotara · 1 month

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sandman || fred weasley

smut 18+, minors dni

You lacked the capability to relax.

Being in Ravenclaw the expectations of the world were on your shoulders, not including the dementors that circled Hogwarts walls that made your skin crawl.

You had been up late studying with Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, who had already been dragged to bed by Ginny.

Clutching your quill you continued to scribble on the parchment paper, your temple beginning to throb.

“How did a Raven manage to fly into the lions den this late at night?” Fred Weasley’s recognizable voice asked you. You poked your head up from your Herbology textbook, Fred’s curious eyes watching you.

“I was studying with Hermione, she ditched me early. So much for an all nighter,” You explained, marking your page. You resisted the urge to fold the corners, placing your quill in between the pages about gillweed.

“Granger going to bed early to avoid studying? How out of character. Did you give her some of our drowsy draught potion?” Fred teased. You giggled, watching the lean quidditch player approach you. A white wife beater revealed how much muscle he truly had, his usual robes keeping them concealed.

He strode over to you confidently, taking a seat on the floor beside you. The fireplace cackled behind you, the warmth of the fire drawing Fred closer. “It’s almost three am, do you plan on sleeping?” Fred asked curiously. You knew as well as he did that he was notorious for sleeping through anything. Including the dreadful hail storm that once terrorized Hogwarts.

“I’m basically an insomniac at this point, I can’t relax for more than five seconds without racking my brain to solve an equation,” You admitted sheepishly. You nervously tucked your hair behind your ear as Fred leaned back on his hands. “Here turn your back towards me, I have some legit magic that’ll help you relax,” Fred told you. You hesitantly raised your eyebrow. The ginger tended to be a mischievous prankster, even if you weren’t a victim of his tricks.

“And you’re not going to prank me?”

“Pfft, of course not,”

“Promise Weasley?”

“I promise,”

You shifted around, your back now turned to Fred as you pulled your skirt down. You weren’t sure what to expect, acutely aware of how close you both were. Fred brushed your hair away from your back and over your shoulder, before beginning to massage your shoulders. “I thought you said this was magic,” You say timidly, his large hands massaging your skin with ease. Fred chuckled at your response, brushing some of his shaggy hair out of his face.

Merlin he needed a haircut.

“Yes this is the magic of relaxation,”

Your tense body began to slowly relax under Fred’s touch, the gingers eyes scanning your neck.

“Looks like you’re good at something other than pranks Weasley,” You say teasingly. Fred rolled his eyes. “I’m good at quidditch too ya know,” He countered. Fred could feel himself growing flustered as he continued massaging you, his eyes wondering down your figure.

“Your neck looks pretty tense, I can fix that for you if you want. I’ll just need you to turn around,” Fred offered, trying to appear cool and confident. You felt your face flush pink as you shifted around, facing him. You had never gotten a chance to interact with Fred one on one, George always connected to his hip.

The moment seemed oddly intimate, even though you had never considered relationships or sex worth your time. Yet the ginger sat in front of you with his large hands and soft lips, practically begging for you to kiss him. You had never considered yourself to be attracted to Fred Weasley, yet your body was yearning for more of his touch.

Fred couldn’t contain himself anymore, closing the gap between your lips and his. He tasted faintly of butterbeer, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips danced against his. Your arms found themselves around his neck, Fred’s hands slithering down to your waist. In a swift motion he had pulled you onto his lap, straddling him in front of the fire. Your fingers found his hair, small groans being swallowed by him as your hips bucked against his.

You could feel a wet patch growing in your panties, the soaked fabric rubbing right against Fred’s growing boner. His large hands slipped up your skirt, grabbing your ass. Your hips grinded against his, lust boiling in your stomach. “I wanna taste you,” Fred muttered against your lips, his words a confession. You felt heat rush to your cheeks as you briefly pulled away, Fred’s lips almost chasing yours.

“W-what Weasley?”

Fred brought his thumb to your lower lip, dragging it downwards.

“I want your lips wrapped around my cock as I make you cum on my face,”

His filthy words sent a shiver of arousal down your spine, right down to your cunt.

You went to unzip your skirt before Fred grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Keep it on,” He whispered, his order teetering on the line of a plea. You swallowed as the ginger laid down in front of you, eagerly awaiting you. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” You admitted, causing the ginger to chuckle. You stood up, pushing your panties down to your ankles before stepping out of them.

“I’d be a lucky man if I were to die between your thighs. C’mere,” Fred told you. You kneeled down over his head, your cunt inches away from his face.

“Fred what if I crush-”

Your concern was silenced by Fred’s hands pushing you down onto his face. You whimpered as his warm tongue licked a stripe up your cunt before assaulting your clit. You felt your thighs tighten around his head as his hands kept you in place, your filthy noises becoming louder by the minute.

“Fuck, right fucking there,” You moaned, grinding your hips onto his mouth. His lips began to suck at your clit, causing your thighs to shake. Your eyes centered on Fred’s boner, his cock throbbing inside of his pajama pants. You leaned forward, hungrily shoving them down. The lack of boxers caused you to giggle as his cock landed on his stomach.

“No underwear huh? Naughty boy,” You teased. A sharp smack landed on your bare ass, causing you to winch in pain for a brief moment before Fred’s tongue brought you back to ecstasy.

The ginger was longer than you expected him to be. You took his shaft into your hands, bringing it into your mouth. A soft groan was muffled by your folds, encouraging you to sink your head further down onto his cock. You took as much of him as you could in your mouth, using your hand to jerk the rest of his cock.

Fred admired your determination and for a brief moment he considered switching positions, the thought of you on your knees for him mouth watering. Yet, there was something about having your pretty lips wrapped around his cock as he was buried into your pussy that pleased him more.

You tasted divine, much sweeter than any other girl he had fooled around with. He licked up your cunt, pushing his tongue inside of your hole. You were involuntarily animalistic, your hips having a mind of their own as Fred laid there in heaven.

Fred’s hips were beginning to do the same, bucking upwards. His cock hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag as saliva trailed down your chin. Fred momentarily pulled away from your dripping cunt, smirking as your juices coated his lips and chin. You took him out of your mouth, gasping for air.

“You sound so pretty when you gag on my cock. Do it again and i’ll make you cum,” Fred ordered. You tried to grind down onto Fred’s face but his strong hands kept you in place. You could feel his warm breath a mere inch away from your cunt, taunting you.

The idea of cumming on Fred Weasley’s face had never been more appealing to you.

Desperately you brought his cock back to your lips, shoving it down your throat. You forced yourself to keep his shaft in place as you gagged around him. Saliva was trailing down your chin and neck, beginning to dampen your blouse.

“Such a good listener aren’t we? What a good girl,” Fred praised, kitten licking your folds. You pulled back, inhaling deep breaths of air.

“Now be a good girl and ride my face until you make yourself cum,”

You leaned back hesitantly, gripping his chest for support as he placed his mouth back onto your cunt. It was as if he somehow had memorized your body, his tongue licking every right place. Your moans were sinful enough to wake up the entire Gryffindor house and it was a miracle no one had bothered to go into the common room.

“Freddie, I, fuck-” You groaned, a familiar knot in your stomach forming. His lips had wrapped themselves around your clit, sucking harshly at the sensitive bud as your thighs trembled around his head. His large hands kept you on his face, refusing to let you move away.

You could feel your cunt clench around nothing as your thighs began to shake, squeezing Fred’s head unintentionally. Unholy moans that were mantras of his name echoed off of the common room walls as you came. Euphoria had washed over you, your nails digging into Fred’s chest.

Fred licked and sucked at your clit until you slowly lifted off of him, your knees almost buckling as you shifted away from his face. You weakly sat beside him, your after orgasm glow apparent to the ginger in front of you. “Look at you, you’re so cute,” Fred teased, using his thumb to wipe away the remaining spit on your chin.

In a swift motion you brought your lips back to his, Fred rising to his knees. You could taste your juices on his lips as you roughly meshed your lips against his. Fred couldn’t take it anymore, pulling away to meet your gaze. He shrugged his wife beater over his head, discarding it without a second thought.

“Bend over for me, yeah?”

You turned around, bending over in front of him without a second thought. You could feel him lubricate the tip of his cock by running it up and down your folds. The sensation of it hitting your abused clit made you shiver. “You have no idea how long i’ve thought about doing this,” Fred confessed. A cool breeze hit your bare skin as Fred lifted up your skirt, exposing your ass in full to him. As he pushed inside of you his fingers gripped your waist forcefully, as if he were afraid you’d disappear.

“So full- shit,” You groaned, your eyes screwing shut as he bottomed out.

“You’re practically fucking milking my cock, merlin, you slut,” Fred groaned. Your cunt only clenched around him tighter at the sound of his degrading words, causing him to smirk.

He began picking up the pace, fucking into you slowly. Your noises only grew louder as his hips began to snap into yours faster. Fred’s thrust were merciless, his body chasing an ecstasy only you could provide.

Strings of curses mixed in with your name left Fred’s lips as he watched his cock go in and out of you. He was so deep inside of you that you almost thought you were seeing stars, your body drunk off of the feeling of his cock.

“You feel so good Freddie, so fucking- good,” You slurred, your words of encouragement only making Fred pound into you faster. His cock was abusing your g spot, causing your legs to shake as your knees dug into the carpet below you. You could feel the rug digging into your skin, making it raw which each thrust.

“I wanna fuck you everyday, make you my personal Raven,” Fred grunted. He could feel you getting closer to your final high, his hand slithering down to your swollen clit. You began to squirm as his fingers circled around your sensitive bud, unable to handle the fast circles he was drawing. “Oh- i’m gonna cum, I can’t, fuck!” You cried, your walls spasming as Fred ripped you into a state of euphoria.

Fred fucked you through your orgasm mercilessly, ravishing in the sight of you in a state of pure bliss. He was so focused on you that by the time he tried to pull out his cock it was too late, his cum painting the inner walls of your cunt. Your body was spent, slumping over onto the floor as Fred pulled out of you.

Two orgasms was all it took to get you to finally go to sleep. Fred smirked to himself as he shoved his pajama pants back on, your small sleeping body curled up into a ball in front of the fire. He grabbed your things, shoving them into a bag he knew he’d deliver to you in the afternoon when you ran into each other in defense against the dark arts.

He eyed your panties on the floor, contemplating putting them back on you. Instead a more mischievous thought came to mind, which caused him to decide to shove them in his pocket instead. He picked up your body up bridal style, carrying you upstairs to the girls dorm. Fred knocked on the door, hoping whichever gryffindor girl opened it wouldn’t be a first year.

A sleepy Hermione Granger opened the door, rubbing her eyes as her vision settled. “Y/n is still here?” She asked. Her mind was already scrambling itself on what to do, the responsibility of being a prefect weighing on her shoulders. “Yeah she finally just went to sleep, I don’t think I can deliver her to Ravenclaw tower at this hour,” Fred shrugged. Hermione stared at Fred, shirtless and hair messy. He looked like a wreck, and you didn’t look much better.

Questions were on the tip of her tongue, ones she decided could wait until the morning. Hermione knew there were a few extra beds that were designated for first years, but in emergencies they would have to do. “The spare beds are to the right, be very quiet and don’t pull anything stupid,” Hermione said sternly. Fred carried you inside of the room, ignoring the dozens upon dozens of sleeping gryffindor girls. Hermione trailed close behind him, ensuring he wasn’t up to any funny business.

“How’d you get her to go to sleep anyways? Shes practically an insomniac,”

Fred shrugged, laying you down and bringing the red colored comforter up to your shoulders.

“I’m not sure myself, guess you can call me the sandman,”

#harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x oc #weasley twins #george weasley #harry potter smut #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #wealsey twin smut

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thebearchives · 1 year

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paper-thin walls | m.s.

PAIR. neighbour!mick schumacher x single mother!reader

SUMM. noisy neighbours was the last thing mick was expecting after the long f1 season. he's tired, he's stressed, and believe it or not, he's ready to give his neighbour a piece of his damn mind.

WC. 5.6k

NOTES. first fic of 2023, everyone cheer!! i'm trying out new styles of writing, so please lmk how you found this fic.

WARNINGS include excessive use of the word 'fuck' (i'm sorry), and...shirtless mick? as always, don't be a ghost reader!

rest and relaxation, mick. that’s what toto had told him before he waved him off at the airport. we need you in prime shape for the next season.

mick tossed in his bed, migraine prickling the back of his head as another screech came from the wall beside him.

look like you haven’t slept in months, mate. george had thrown an arm over his shoulder, cheeky smile playing on his lips as he brought a finger up to poke the obvious bags under mick’s eye. look alive, mick. it’s only gonna get worse from here.

it wasn’t official yet, but soon, news would drop about lewis’ retirement and mick’s subsequent promotion to the empty mercedes seat. he supposed that george was right. the season had only just ended and yet already, his shared calendar was filling up faster and faster with events, testing sessions, and appearances for the new season.

i’ll tell you this now. get all the sleep you can get this break. lewis rolled his shoulders back, stretching his neck side-to-side. the now eighth-time champion yawned loudly, muttering about how he was glad to be escaping the early mornings of simulator practice that happened closer to the start and end of the off season.

mick couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips. it was strange, really, how quickly the idea of sleep had turned from attainable to something as out-of-reach as his seat on the grid had been the year prior. except, only his fight for his seat came with much less crying and screaming from his next door neighbour.

now listen, mick didn’t hate kids, alright. in fact, his older sister had brought a wonderful little boy into the world some years ago, and mick didn’t like to brag, but he was certain he was his nephew’s favourite uncle;

( “you’re also his only uncle, mick.” gina rolled her eyes as she watched mick toss her son up in the air.

mick waved her off, laughing along with his nephew. “i’m still his favourite, aren’t i, jonah?”

he had directed the second half of his sentence to the boy in his arms who, when addressed, nodded rapidly and smiled at his mom with his crooked teeth.

“yeah, mama! uncle mickie is the best uncle in the whoooooole world!” )

so, yeah, it was fair to say mick liked kids. but when that kid is crying her little lungs out at 2:53 in the morning for the third night in a row? yeah, that’s when he draws a line.

a beat passed before another set of pitiful whines reverberated from the wall. mick pulled the pillow out from under him, and stuffed it over his head instead, hoping to drown out the sounds.

his first order of business as a mercedes amg driver? move the fuck out.

your eyes were red, beady with unshed tears as the figurative hammers slammed against your head.

amelia was sick— had been for the past three days now. you had been trying to soothe her cries for the past hour, but to no avail. your heart broke to see your little angel’s face contort in pain as her whole body ached.

it’s a simple cold. your pediatrician had told you such with a small smile. she was holding on to a red lollipop that she reached over and handed to amelia. the two-year-old had reluctantly reached out and grabbed it before rushing back against your side. her forehead was burning up as you pushed her bangs away from her face, face visibly worried. it’s viral, hon. the seasons are changing. nothing to worry about.

you had a sneaking suspicion that the lady from the fourth floor with the hacking cough had been the one to infect your little girl. if only the elevator doors had closed on her that day.

( you pressed the ‘door close’ button repeatedly, willing it to close before anne from the fourth floor would reach the elevator.

amelia giggled with each press of the button. “i wanna try! i wanna try! mommy, please can i try?” she had stood on her tippy-toes, teetering over and grabbing onto your dress as support.

you smiled, hand leaving the button to instead ruffle her hair. “it’s all yours, little lady. have at it.”

amelia reached over and pushed her finger against the ‘door open’ button. you held in a groan as the door jerked in the opposite direction. you tutted lightly, pushing amelia’s finger to the next button over. “wrong button, baby.”

amelia ‘ohh’ed, finger pushing against the button one again, but it was too late.

you watched as anne rushed to the elevator door with a rejuvenated fervor, wanting so badly for the doors to close right before she got on. you prayed to schindler elevators that the doors would close on her.

schindler elevators inc. was unfortunately not a god, and thus, anne got on.

“good afternoon, dear.” anne sniffled out, turning to look at the little girl in front of you. “thank you for waiting, dearie.”

amelia smiled, “you’re welcome! what floor?”

anne coughed loudly. you tried to hide your grimace. “fourth, please.”

the doors finally closed and amelia tugged on your dress once again. you smiled at her hopeless face, reaching up to press the fourth floor button.

anne had coughed and sneezed a few more times before she nasally said goodbye and got off on her floor. )

anne was a sweet lady, you wouldn’t deny it. but at this moment in time, you couldn’t help but curse her with all the malicious intent you could muster. you were tired. amelia was tired. and yet, nothing you were doing seemed to lull the girl into a state of slumber.

faintly, you could feel the guilt creeping up on you. the walls of your apartment complex were thin— you’d learned that the hard way. you were aware of how amelia’s cries were probably making their way into your neighbour’ houses and into the hallway, but quite frankly, you couldn’t even pretend to give a shit while you pulled amelia into your arms and took her on a little walk around your apartment.

her loud cries slowly turned into sniffles and low whines as you rocked her around your house, showing her all the framed pictures hung around your house. one of her hands found its way to your hair, twirling some strands while the other stayed nestled between your bodies. your shirts had come off long ago— skin-to-skin was always a great comfort for amelia, and you could tell that the material of her sleeves and your t-shirt was overstimulating her greatly.

even dressed in just a diaper, amelia’s arm, and subsequently, the rest of her body, was burning up from the fever she was running. you had a feeling that the medicine you had given her before her scheduled bedtime was wearing off, but amelia had refused to drink her milk and you were reluctant to give her another dose on an empty stomach.

you hated to rouse her once she had finally quieted down but after being a mother for two years, you quickly learned that too much empathy could lead to your downfall. amelia needed to take her medicine now so that she wouldn’t have another meltdown in an hour’s time, and if that came at the expense of her crying just a bit more, it’d have to do.

you hesitantly pulled amelia away from your skin, hushing her lightly as she started to resist and whine. “i know, i know. i’m sorry, baby. i know it hurts.”

you made your way to the kitchen. you talked amelia through every step, hoping to keep her distracted long enough to pull out an applesauce cup from the pantry. “we’re gonna eat some food and then give you your medicine so your body stops hurting. okay, baby?”

amelia shivered lightly as your hand grazed over her stomach. she watched with wet eyes as you grabbed a spoon and attempted to open the cup— it was quite hard, doing everything with one hand.

“can mommy put you down?” you stopped and looked down at amelia, who frowned before slowly shaking her head and leaning into your chest again. “you wanna sit in my lap?” amelia nodded, a shuddered breath escaping her as she let herself calm down.

you worked quickly, sitting down with a tired baby in your lap and peeling open the cup. you fed amelia with slow bites, hoping she kept her food down this time. after she finished about half the cup, she started to fuss, pushing her face into your arm to avoid eating anymore. you were too tired to care about the fact that she had rubbed applesauce all over your bare arm.

you decided against giving her the next dose of medicine until she stopped being fussy— if there was anything amelia had seemed to hate more than being sick, it was taking her medicine. the one she had been prescribed was grape flavoured, and it was by far the worst flavour of medicine you had the disgrace of stumbling across. you pitied your daughter. truly, you did, but you wanted her to get better, and if this grape-flavoured syrup was the only way to nurse her back to health, you’d do whatever it takes to get her to drink it.

amelia was now sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket as her clammy skin made her feel cold. she watched you with narrowed eyes as you manoeuvred around the kitchen to find her medicine and her sippy cup filled with water. although you had tried your hardest to hide the bottle from her, amelia recognized the purple bottle instantly, shaking her head furiously and whining out a no, mommy.

you sighed, not wanting to experience the third meltdown of the night. half heartedly, you wished for her to just stop crying and go to sleep, entirely too exhausted by caring for a sick child while running on a combined two hours of sleep.

you couldn’t help but mentally scold yourself; god, you were such a bad mother. here your daughter was— sick and in need of your comfort— and instead of comforting her, you’re frustrated with her tears and couldn’t stand to hear another cry. you were just so tired. yet, you had no right to complain— you knew being a single mother would have been hard, but you still went through with it.

you took a deep breath in, trying to stop yourself from spiralling.

you carried amelia in your womb for nine months alone. you had gave birth alone. you had spent the last three years raising amelia on your own, and god damn it, a sickness would not make you question your worth as a mother. not over your dead body.

“alright, mimi.” you crouched in front of where amelia had been sitting, a weak smile on your face to try and coax her into drinking her medicine. “you’ve gotta drink your medicine if you want to feel better, okay?— no, don’t give me that look. mommy doesn’t want to give you this either, but you have to drink it or else you’ll continue hurting all night.”

the young girl sniffled, eyes already watering again. “but it’s yucky!”

you placed the sippy cup on the ground beside you, reaching up to caress her cheek lightly. “it is, but it helps you feel less icky and achy, okay?”

amelia stared at the bottle in your hand, a frown clear on her face. you wished she hadn’t taken up your stubbornness.

“we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, amelia.” you gave her a slightly stern look.

amelia shook her head before pushing it back and into the cushion of the couch.

hard way, it is.

you leave me no choice, amelia. you placed the plastic feeding syringe filled with 5 mL of the purple medicine, and reached out to hold onto amelia. you sat down in her spot, holding the girl down by her arms as she started to yell and flail her limbs. after she realized her arms were being held, she began to kick her feet, trying to roll out of your arms.

your grip didn’t loosen, leaning forward to grab the syringe once again. you held the syringe near her mouth, and amelia immediately started to scream louder, yells turning into sobs. again, very faintly, you worried about the noise and your neighbours, but you pushed forward.

you placed the syringe against the inside of her cheek, releasing some of the medicine. amelia stopped crying for a slight second to swallow before going back to her loud cries. the migraine from earlier returned as you repeated your actions twice more before tossing the empty syringe to the table and pulling the girl up in your lap.

amelia gagged loudly, and you couldn’t stop the loud no, no, no! no throwing up from escaping your lips. you grabbed her sippy cup before helping her wash down the medicine. god, children were so dramatic.

amelia, whose hands were now free, pushed the sippy cup away after a few sips. her lips were downturned into a big pout, and her eyes were glassy. her breath shuddered, still recovering from her outburst from seconds ago. you cooed gently, pushing her hair away from her forehead and eyes.

“see, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” you imagined that if she knew how, amelia would respond to you with a death glare.

you pulled the girl closer to you, hand on her hair, smoothing it down as she placed her wet cheek against your sternum. you whispered quiet compliments to your baby as she started to calm down, hand coming back up to grab your hair and tangle her fingers into it.

it was quiet— no sounds aside from your whispers of i love you’s and amelia’s heavy breathing (her nose had stuffed up not too long ago). it had stayed quiet for maybe twenty seconds, until the silence was broken by a rather aggressive knock on your door.

amelia startled, and your heart dropped. fuck.

mick wasn’t sure when he finally dozed off. the little girl from the other side of his wall had finally quieted down, and he could faintly hear another woman’s voice coaxing her to calm down.

when he came to again, it had of course been due to another meltdown from the girl. he’d startled awake, pillow falling from his face and onto the floor beside him. his heart rate was erratic, and it took him a few seconds to get a bearing of his surroundings. when the next cry resonated through his room, he couldn’t help the loud groan from escaping past his lips.

mick sat up in his bed, suddenly feeling a strong wave of rage crash over him. it was late, and he was tired. it was past 3 am now, and mick schumacher had had enough.

the last few days had been stressful, to say the least. mick was going to be an official driver on the grid next season, for mercedes, and as excited as he was, he was also nervous— extremely nervous. yes, it was off season, but everyone knew that off season meant preparing for the next season. there really weren’t any “days off” in formula one, not really— if it wasn’t driving, it was sim work, and if it wasn’t the sim, it was working out to keep those muscles in shape.

frankly, mick had mentally exhausted himself by worrying for his next season in formula one, and with the lack of sleep, the man was nearing insanity.

he could feel the frustration, the exhaustion, and all his anxieties start to build up; start to consume him. he let them consume him.

as if on autopilot, mick got out of his bed, walking out of his bedroom and directly towards his front door. another loud cry came from across the wall, this one louder from all the rest.

if mick had been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have opened the door and rapped his knuckles against his neighbour’s door rather aggressively. but alas, mick had finally exploded, and who better to release his frustrations on than his next-door neighbours who couldn’t shut the fuck up at 3 am on a wednesday night.

the second he registered his hand on the painted black door, he paled. fuck. mick felt like he was slapped in the face— what the fuck was he thinking? what the fuck could he possibly do? yell at whoever opened the door? tell them to shut their baby up? fuck. fuck.

mick held his breath, pulling his hand back. should i run for it? his eyes flitted from the door in front of him to his own. a beat passed, the door didn’t open, but he could still hear whining and muffled murmurs. it was louder now that he was out in the hallway— his walls had been thin, but perhaps the ones that lined the sides of the hallway were thinner. maybe they didn’t hear me.

before he could decide between standing his (now, remorseful) ground, or turn tail and hurry back home and sleep with his shitty “noise-cancelling” headphones on, the door opened. his head jerked up at the sound, eyes raking over your figure as he worked up the nerve to look you in the eyes.

you were a sight to behold, dressed in a plain black sports bra and loose, plaid pajama pants that coincidentally mirrored the colours of mercedes. the quick ponytail you had thrown your hair into some hours prior was now a ghost of what it should have been— most of your hair slipping out and splaying over your shoulders. the tangled ends could only have been caused by the young girl held in your arms. she was covered up more than you were, but from where the blanket fell off her shoulder and exposed her arm, mick could tell she was just as bare, if not more. (skin-to-skin, he’d realize some hours later as he laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling, this time wide awake on his own accord.)

your eyes, mick quickly learned, told stories clearer than even the most renowned storytellers. they were droopy and bloodshot with the lack of sleep. mick could read the exhaustion through them from miles away. aside from that, they were also bleary— as if you were seconds away from bursting into tears yourself. the girl in your arms sniffled, dragging his attention away once more as he scanned his eyes over her rosy red cheeks and irritated nose. oh.

a rogue wave of guilt crashed over mick, almost drowning him in the process. in his blind rage, mick hadn’t even considered what could have possibly led the girl in your arms to cry. it seems that the lack of sleep had killed his brain cells— rid him of all common sense and critical thinking. she was sick.

the air was rather quiet around you three— aside from the little girl’s sniffling and heavy breaths, silence filled the air. mick mulled over what he should say.

the girl in your arms shivered and you shifted her closer. another second of silence passed and you decided to take the reins of the conversation. “hi, are you here about the noise?”

mick could do nothing but nod, still feeling regretful for having knocked in the first place. his lips turned upwards into a sheepish smile, hand ruffling his already messy hair.

“listen, i’m really sorry. my daughter hasn’t been feeling the best for the past few nights, and i went around to let the rest of the hall know…” you trailed off, cocking your eyebrow as you asked him a question. “i don’t think i saw you around?”

mick stuttered. “uh, yup. yeah. sorry, i was out of town for the past few weeks and only just got back,” he gestured to the door to the right of your own. “ i live next door.”

you winced. “ah, that means you’re on the opposite side of my bedroom. i’m sorry, really. amelia rarely gets sick but when she does, she’s quite the force to be reckoned with…the noise should go down now, hopefully. her medicine wore off, and she’s just gotten a new dose. let’s both hope she sleeps like a baby, yeah?”

the light chuckle that escaped your lips made mick’s heart warm. the sheepish smile turned into a shy one. “yeah, of course. i’ll let you guys go to bed, then,” he gestured his head to amelia, who had somewhat fallen asleep against your shoulder, a line of drool dripping from her open mouth. “sorry for bothering you guys this late at night.”

you lightly shook your head. “i should be saying that to you. i’ll try my very hardest to make sure you’re able to catch up on sleep now!”

mick smiled and wished you a good night, turning back towards his door. you slowly let the door shut, the whirring and clicking noise signifying that it had automatically locked.

mick yawned as he reached his door. his hand fumbled to find the doorknob, eyes bleary with sleep. he pushed the doorknob down. it didn’t move. huh?

he tried again, and again, and one more time. each time the doorknob didn’t budge. mick became frantic, and for the second time in the past five minutes, he found himself thinking— fuck.

mick had boasted about the new upgrades for his apartment building for months to anyone who listened. how could he have possibly forgotten that his front door automatically locked? that he could only get in if he had his keys or if someone was inside? (“well, what if you get locked out? what then?” “don’t be stupid, gina. i’m not an idiot, i’d never do such a thing.”)

who’s the idiot now? mick groaned, hands pulling at his hair as he crouched down. he felt like crying. he was so fucking tired. now that it was finally quiet, now that amelia had finally stopped crying, mick was locked out of his house with no way back in. what a fucking night.

mick stared at the tiled floor under him, gnawing on his lip as he thought of his options. it was 4 in the morning, not a single person would be awake and working at the front desk. he couldn’t call anybody— his phone was inside, plugged into the wall to charge after two days of use. even if he had it on him, the only people who had copies of the key were his mom, his sister, and hank, the man who worked the front desk— no one that would be awake, nor close enough to come up and unlock his door for him.

his eyes flickered back to your front door, shaking his head before the thought could even fully form. he was not going to bother you again, especially not now. mick leaned his head back against his locked door, accepting his fate and slouching onto the tile. the metal of the door was cool against his bare skin causing a shiver to run down his spine.

time was going by extremely slow, or at least it felt like it was for mick. his knees were now up to his chest, trying to find some reprieve from the cold air that breezed through the hallway’s air conditioning. he wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting like that, or when his eyes had finally shut until he was roused by the sound of your door opening. he raised his head, making eye contact with you for the second time that night. you looked mostly the same as before— tired eyes and unruly hair— the only difference now was that you had traded your sports bra in for a white shirt and a cardigan.

you cocked your head lightly. “oh? what are you doing out here?”

your voice was quiet, soft. mick felt his cheeks heat up, the embarrassment returning.

his smile was sheepish. “i forgot my keys.”

your expression shifted, a round ‘oh’ shape forming on your lips as you nodded. before you could respond however, your eyes widened and you immediately stepped back into your apartment, leaving mick all alone in the hallway. again. mick blinked, unable to comprehend what just happened.

you returned back outside with a soundtrack of quiet jingling. you brandished the keys in your hand to the boy sitting in front of his door. “almost just made the same mistake.”

mick nodded, an airy laugh escaping his lips. “i don’t suppose amelia knows how to open doors yet?”

you shook your head, “with those new child-safe knob covers? god, i hope not.”

the air became quiet, neither of you speaking many words. mick found himself wishing the silence would swallow him whole. he caved.

“so what—”

“would yo—”

mick flinched, instantly backtracking. “sorry, you go first.”

“no, no. it’s okay, you can go first.”

“no, really. it’s okay, it wasn’t very important, anyway.” mick pushed himself off of the ground, now coming up to stand against his door instead. “please, say whatever you wanted to.”

you pursed your lips, staring at his figure before sighing. “alright,” you nodded, “i was just going to offer if you’d like to crash on my sofa? it’s awfully cold out here, and you’re…”

mick glanced down at his bare chest at your gesture, cheeks flaming hot enough to drown out the cold breeze of the air conditioner. he crossed his arms, trying to cover up his chest, though you had already seen everything he had on show.

he shook his head, adamant on not inconveniencing you further. “no, that’s alright. i’m here because of my forgetfulness, i can deal with it.”

you couldn’t help but copy his movement. “your forgetfulness came from the fact that amelia, and by extension, myself, kept you up most of the night because of how loud we were. if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

mick went to argue but you cut him off. “really, it all comes back to me, so let me help you.”

the german boy was silent, mulling over his options in his head.

“it’s a pull-out.”

his eyes met yours again. “you’re sure?”

“yes, of course.” you nodded excessively. “i was just about to go down to the laundry room–” mick’s brows furrowed, and it was your turn to smile sheepishly now. “— i forgot to grab the last load of laundry earlier because of how cranky ‘melia was being. if you don’t mind waiting for another 5 minutes, i can quickly go grab the load and let you settle in for the night?”

mick nodded, hand coming up to scratch at the base of his neck. “no, of course. take your time. i’ll be here…s’not like i’d be able to go anywhere, anyway.”

you smiled at his words, eyes brighter than they had been the first time you two spoke. “great!”

you pulled the cardigan closer to your chest, walking down the hallway as fast as you could without bursting into a full sprint. had you really just done that? had you really just invited a stranger you had briefly acquainted with not mere minutes ago to spend the night in your apartment? yes.

you pushed the down button on the elevator. and then again, willing it to get to your floor faster. fuck, your mind was going crazy with the what ifs.

what if he was a creep? you haven’t seen him around since before tonight. ‘out of town’ he says. for what? what if he was a serial killer? that would make sense. he’d fled the town to not look suspicious, and now he’s back for his next victims. yes, that was it. (in the future, mick would listen to your retellings of this story with a look of disbelief. “you thought i was going to kill you!?” “of course, i did! i didn’t know you!” “you offered that i stay the night!” “well, i don’t always make good decisions now, do i?”)

the elevator ride was rather short, and uneventful— no anne from the fourth floor to pull you from your thoughts with a hacking cough. you chewed on your lips as you mulled over the man you had left upstairs.

the laundry room was quiet and dark. of course, it was expected for four in the morning— not everyone was as disorganized as you were. you rushed your way around the familiar room, grabbing the basket you had left behind and unloading your dryer. you had to work quickly to get back before amelia realized the warmth next to her was simply your heated blanket and not you. you also had to get back to him.

by the final fitted sheet pulled from the dryer, you had made up your mind. there was just no way that your next-door neighbour. he seemed nice— too nice, a voice rang in your head. you shook your head, ridding yourself of the negative thoughts. everything will be just fine.

he was right where you left him— albeit, now returned to his slumped over position against his door. your footsteps were quiet, yet still managed to rouse him back to reality.

you sent him a sheepish smile. “i didn’t take too long, did i?”

“not at all.” he shook his head. “you’re fine.”

a hum escaped your mouth followed by the nod of your head. you reached into your cardigan’s pocket to pull out the keys, unlocking the door quietly and pushing it in with your hip. you held the door open and gestured for him to come in.

his hesitance was obvious and in your head, you cheered. definitely not a serial killer.

“an open door usually means you can enter, you know?” you gave him a soft smile. he returned it, though it looked slightly more like a grimace.

“are…” he started, arms crossing over once again, feeling bare under your gaze. “are you sure? really, it’s no problem for me to stay the night out here. hank will probably be in the office in another hour or two. ‘s not a problem, i’ll just wait for him to get here and i’ll get into my apartment. plus, amelia’s only just fallen asleep, and i’d hate to m—”

“oh, will you just get in here already?” you couldn’t help but reach out, lightly grabbing his arm before tugging him in. you guided the door shut with your foot, making sure it wasn’t too loud before turning around to look at the man in front of you.

his eyes were wide, flickering from your face to your hand, which was still wrapped around his arm. you followed his gaze, your own eyes widening as you quickly dropped your hand. your hand felt like it was on fire— his arm was cold, icy from the air conditioning, and a stark contrast from your warm ones. it felt like you’d given yourself an ice burn.

you cleared your throat, yet stayed silent, not knowing what to say.

the man across from you was in a similar boat, cheeks dusting a light pink as he focused on the heat emanating from where your hand once was.

“i’ll show you to the couch, if you’d like?” your voice tilted up at the end of the sentence. “i have a feeling our layout is the same, so the bathroom should be in the same spot, if you need it.”

he followed behind you with a quiet murmur agreeing about how similar your floor plans were.

your eyes widened as you entered the living room,.empty syringes and dirty tiny baby dishes were strewn across the coffee table. you placed your laundry basket to the side, hastily picking up your earlier mess with an apology.

the shake of your neighbour’s head went unnoticed by you as you rushed into the kitchen and back out. it wasn’t until you had presented him with the pull out that he spoke again.

“you know,” his voice was rather quiet, conscious of the baby sleeping just a little ways away. “you really should not let strangers into your home.”

for a second, you nearly felt your heart stop— this was it. he really is a serial killer— until you caught his expression, once again riddled with guilt as if he was overstepping. as if you hadn’t invited him in.

“you’re not really a stranger though, are you?” at the cock of his head, you continued. “you’re my neighbour who i’ve inconvenienced all night.”

“you don’t even know my name.”

you nodded. “alright, i’ll bite. you bring up a good point. so what is it then? your name?”

“...mick.” he had a slight smile playing on his lips.

“well, mick.” you gave him a small smile, initiating a handshake. “my name’s y/n. now, we’re neither strangers, nor neighbours with no names.”

mick couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his lips, hand warm in your hold. “i suppose you’re right, then.”

you quickly left to grab the man— mick— a few pillows and a comforter from your closet. “i’m the door at the end of the hallway. if you need anything, you can knock on that door and let me know.”

mick nodded. “of course. thank you again, really.”

“not a problem.” you smiled, already making your way out of the living room.“i’ll see you in the morning, then.”

as you walked out the room, you couldn’t help but turn once more, eyeing the blond-haired man who somehow didn't look so out of place as he messed with the teddy bear that you’d forgotten to pick up from the couch. you smiled.

“goodnight, mick.”

“sweet dreams, y/n.”

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friccafracc · 28 days

Note

DROP THE FIC OR IM COMING FOR YOUR KNEECAPS

ALRIGHT OK BUT I NEED IT TO BE KNOWN THAT I HAVENT WRITTEN ANYTHING SERIOUSLY SINCE HIGHSCHOOL OK

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Something is after me. I know it is, I’ve seen it. It looks like a man, but I know that it’s not. It…. It’s face is like a mockery of something human- like- like if you asked someone who has never seen a human to draw or model a person’s face, their smile. No… I don’t think any human would be able to get it that wrong.”

“And I’m not crazy, alright? God, y’all probably get that a lot here, don’t you? You people specialize in crazy. Not that I’m anyone to judge anymore, given the shit I went through before coming out here. I didn’t even know a place like this existed outside the Usher Foundation. I just…there’s some weird, crazy shit out there I guess, and when I heard about y’all, I figured I should probably pay a visit. At least let someone know before I die.”

“I know I’m gonna die.”

“I suppose I should start from the beginning. My name is Joshua Nelson, I’m originally from the States–Memphis Tennessee. Now, if there’s one thing you should know about Memphis, it’s that nobody in their right mind should EVER move there on their own accord, ‘cause you’ll either get mugged or stalked or both. I was born and raised there, so I never really got the choice during the formative years of my life. I’ve learned to live with it, though.”

“I worked retail in a gas station before…well, everything. It was a shithole. The kind of building where, no matter how hard you scrubbed and no matter how much bleach you used, the stains and smell of smoke would never leave. Instead just…mingled with the citrus of the chemicals. It paid the bills, though, and I was never witness to a robbery, so I couldn’t complain too much. The customers were docile and if I noticed anyone shoplifting, I kept it to myself. I wasn’t getting paid enough to give a damn.”

“We had regulars that would come in on a schedule and regulars that wouldn’t. People who were just passing through the city or visiting family or friends. You get all types in that kinda place, and if you’re placid enough to any asshole who’s having a bad day, everyone gets along just fine. There were a couple of regulars who were friendly enough, though, that I remember their names. Miss Kelly was an older woman, short and heavyset–she was one of the friendlier ones. We’ve got a lot of talkers in the south and boy did she make sure I knew every exact reason for what her kids were getting up to, or what was going on in a reality show she was hooked on at the time.”

“George Michael, a thin man in his 40s, maybe, always came in whenever he needed a new pack of cigarettes, I think he was a chain-smoker, cause he was in there a lot.”

“And then…then there was Hunter. Now Hunter was a younger man, maybe college age. A little older than that? Poor bastard was hooked on something, that much anyone could tell. He was gaunt, a little twitchy, you know, telltale signs of drug abuse. I could never tell what specifically he was on, but then again, it was never my business to know. I treated him the same as every other customer, we all knew he wasn’t gonna cause any harm, he usually came in for food, chips and hotdogs and stuff and he never caused a fuss.”

“I think… I think Hunter is dead.”

“One day he came in, I think it was a Wednesday or something cause it was slow that afternoon, and he burst through the door. Well–maybe not burst, but he came in the building like he was racing to get indoors first before someone else. The guy was usually jittery and, I’ll admit, a little shifty usually, but this was full blown paranoia. It startled me at first, his intensity, and he made a b-line towards the back of the store and ducked behind one of the shelves. Maybe not duck completely like ducking for cover, but it was obvious he was hiding. It almost made me expect the police or some drug lord to come storming through the door, but nobody else came.”

“Hunter stayed pacing in the building for a good 20 or 30 minutes, periodically lifting his head to crane his neck and peer out the window or the glass of the door. I checked once or twice as well, but if someone was out there, I didn’t see them. Eventually the guy calmed down enough to buy something and when he approached the counter with his bag of Doritos he looked almost like he was going to be sick.”

“I asked him if everything was alright, but he just shook his head and left.”

“I didn’t see him again for another week or two after that. Obviously I assumed the worst. I theorized that someone was after him and when he didn’t show up when he usually did it was more than enough to confirm my suspicions. Be it cops or some random person on the street, I couldn’t decide which fate would be worse, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel for the guy at least a little bit.”

“Hunter was almost completely out of my mind when I saw him again. I was surprised. By all accounts, it didn’t look like anything had changed about him. Maybe aside from the fact that his posture was way better than it usually was when I saw him, but other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary.”

“Business went on as usual and when he came up to the till with a liter of coke, I offered him a ‘Welcome Back’ and rang him up.”

“When I turned back to him, he was smiling. For some reason it was like a pit opened in the bottom of my stomach. I couldn’t understand why, though. It looked like Hunter–patchy, unkempt stubble, greasy hair, thin face, sunken eyes. His appearance had never bothered me before, so I was struck with confusion that mixed in with the undefinable, sudden sense of dread.”

“‘Thank you,’ he said as I handed him his change. And he walked out the door. It sounded like Hunter, too.”

“Hunter returned the next day, and the next. Each time he was polite and quiet, and each time he smiled when I rang him up. I counted his teeth. They were straight and flat. When I counted mine in the mirror when I smiled, I saw 17 or 18. Hunter’s counted 24.”

“Maybe he has a dental problem that I didn’t notice until now, I told myself. Human bodies are weird. Sometimes you have more teeth than usual.”

“The fourth day he came in a row, I saw his eyes and his pupils were…swollen, is the only way I can describe them. I know what people’s eyes look like when they’re high. This was not that. It was like they almost swallowed up his irises completely, and they were dull. Dull in the sense that the fluorescents overhead did nothing to cast any reflections onto them. It made me want to writhe and squirm whenever he looked at me.”

“I called in sick the fifth day. I knew Hunter would be back in that gas station to see me. I knew it was to see me. And I knew that thing. That..whatever it was. It wasn’t Hunter.”

“I guess a part of me was always dreading that day. I had always heard stories about people being stalked from friends of friends. It was only a matter of time before it happened to me, right?”

“I saw Hunter at the grocery store the next day, posture straight and face split open into that smile with too many teeth. I didn’t have the mind to be polite. I turned completely around and walked the other way, trying to fool myself thinking that he hadn’t seen me. I kept a pocket knife on me after that encounter. I probably should have been before, but hindsight is always 20/20.”

“Each time I saw him after that, it was worse. On the street to my apartment, his eyes were too wide and his grinning mouth was slightly agape. A crude facsimile of delight as I rushed past him. I stopped going into work when I started to spot him everywhere I went. Every destination no matter how far or random, he was there, grinning at me. He knew where I lived, that I had no doubt. So I went to a friend’s one night hoping to throw him off. Maybe I could move out and lose him. Lord knows I didn’t have the money to break my lease early, but I was desperate.”

“My friend suggested I call the police, but for some reason I was convinced that wouldn’t help. Cops usually only made things worse in that town, and I had a sinking feeling going that route would only waste my time.”

“The final straw was the second night I was crashing on my friend’s couch. I was exhausted, the past few weeks spent sleepless and paranoid and I was ready to finally pass out when I heard a light, rhythmic tapping on the window behind my head.”

“It’s just the wind, I thought to myself. A tree branch or something scraping against the glass. The exhaustion was completely gone, my pounding heart and pumping adrenaline overpowering any lame excuse that I would be stupid enough to be reassured by.”

“I didn’t move from where I lay. Tap. Tap. Tap. Came through the window once again.”

“I don’t know why I laid there for so long, unmoving, convinced that if I didn’t turn around, whatever it was outside would lose interest and leave. I really, really wanted it to leave.”

“I lay still for what felt like hours, every muscle in my body wound up and tense and ready to leap into action at any given opportunity. I was praying the opportunity would never come.”

“I don’t know how long it was when the tapping ceased, but it was long before I finally managed to relax. It seemed like my strategy worked. What an idiotic thing to think. Like I was a child hiding from an imaginary monster in the dark. Like the logic of not giving a stalker any attention so it would go away was sound. No. I think it was that false hope that landed me in this situation.”

“Because when that tapping came again, I wasn’t prepared to turn around. But I did. I turned around and what I saw in the darkness through that glass was… I don’t know what it was. I know it had eyes and teeth. It was grinning, but its teeth stretched well beyond what would be the borders of its face. God, I couldn’t see its face. I knew it was Hunter, though. It had those same lightless eyes that stared back at me every time I closed my own. Dead and dark and dull and staring at me–eating at me, wide and gleeful and spilling into the shadow that I could only assume was a part of the creature, itself. Its form took up nearly the entirety of the window, blocking the outside world. It didn’t move.”

“I screamed. I screamed and closed the curtains and I hid. This woke my friend of course, and she came stumbling out of her room, looking bleary but alert. I tried to signal to her not to go to the window or do anything or to call the police. Thankfully she got the message and the cops were there within the hour.”

“They didn’t find anything. Or anyone, for that matter. I left out the…the monster bit, because I assumed it might land me somewhere I really didn’t want to go.”

“They were about as helpful as I thought they would be. Told me to call them again if I noticed any suspicious activity.”

“I booked my flight here that very night. I wasn’t going to stay in that goddamn city with whatever the HELL that thing was. I don’t want to end up like Hunter. I don’t want it to wear my skin.”

“It will, though. I know it will and it scares me more than anything in the world. And I know I can’t escape it, either.”

“It followed me here. I saw it. It was still grinning at me and it was still. Wearing. Hunter’s. Skin. The shadow that was cast over it made it so I could only see the whites of it’s eyes....its teeth.”

“I don’t want to die.”

#txt #oc fic #tma sona #tma oc #avatar of the stranger #ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE IVE WRITTEN FIC...PLS BE NICEYS

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muiitoloko · 1 month

Note

If that’s okay for you if I may request

Colonel Brandon If that’s okay? Cause I read all your Alan rickman stories and I love them all so very much! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for writing those

Title: You are you

Summary: You are everything he needs, even if he doesn't realize it initially.

Pairing: Colonel Brandon × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Madness, Self-criticism, inferiority complex, unrequited love, anguish.

Author's notes: I've been wrestling with writer's block for a while, trying to figure out how to craft a one-shot with Brandon. Then, a spark of inspiration hit me while watching the Netflix series "Queen Charlotte." Drawing from her character and that of King George, I found the muse I needed to create this piece. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for your support!

Colonel Brandon stood on the sprawling grounds of his estate, his thoughts consumed by the recent turn of events. Marianne had chosen John over him, and though he felt a pang of sadness and disappointment, he knew he had to respect her decision. Seeing her happy with another man brought him a bittersweet sense of contentment, knowing that she had found the love and happiness she deserved.

But as the days passed, Brandon couldn't shake the lingering emptiness in his heart. He knew he needed to move on, to find a wife who could give him children and heirs to carry on his legacy. And so, he reluctantly resumed his search for a suitable match, his heart no longer seeking love, but rather a practical solution to his need for a family.

It was during one of his social engagements that Brandon encountered you, the eldest daughter of the duke and duchess, a woman living in seclusion on their vast estate. He had heard whispers of your eccentricities, but he paid them little heed, his focus solely on finding a wife who could fulfill his need for heirs.

As Brandon got to know you better, he discovered the truth behind the rumors surrounding your behavior. Your parents, the duke and duchess, confessed to him the challenges you faced, the periods of aggression and madness that plagued you intermittently. Despite their wealth and connections, they had been unable to find a solution, leaving them resigned to your fate.

But Brandon was undeterred by the revelation, his pragmatic nature guiding him forward. He saw in you the potential for a suitable match, a woman who, despite her flaws, could provide him with the children he so desperately desired. And for your parents, you represented a burden they were eager to unburden themselves of, a means to secure your future and their peace of mind.

For Brandon, it seemed like the perfect compromise—a marriage born out of duty rather than love, but one that could fulfill both his and your parents' needs. And so, he approached you with a proposal, his demeanor calm and composed as he laid out his intentions with unwavering clarity.

As Colonel stood before you, awaiting your response to his proposal, you couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. Despite your eccentricities and the challenges you faced, you couldn't deny the practicality of his offer. It was a solution that could benefit both parties involved, easing the burden on your parents while providing Colonel Brandon with the heirs he desired.

Lost in thought, you retreated to the comfort of your study, surrounded by shelves filled with notebooks containing your innermost thoughts and musings. Dressed in your usual attire of men's clothing, a reflection of your unconventional nature, you pondered the implications of Colonel Brandon's proposal.

As you delved deep into contemplation, the weight of your decision pressed heavily upon you. You knew that accepting Colonel Brandon's offer meant relinquishing any hope of a love-filled marriage, resigning yourself to a union of duty and practicality. Yet, the thought of bringing relief to your parents, sparing them the burden of dealing with your unpredictable episodes, tugged at your heartstrings.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of introspection, you made your decision. Stepping out of your study, you faced Colonel Brandon with a mixture of determination and resignation in your eyes.

"I accept your proposal," you announced, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "But under one condition." Colonel Brandon regarded you with curiosity, awaiting your terms with an air of patience and understanding.

"I ask for a cabin of my own on the estate's land," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "Far from the mansion, where I can retreat during my periods of madness. It is my only request."

Brandon considered your condition carefully, weighing the implications of your plea. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded in agreement, a hint of understanding softening his features.

"I see no harm in granting your request," he replied, his voice calm and reassuring. "In fact, it may prove to be beneficial for both of us. A space of your own, away from the confines of the mansion, where you can find solace during difficult times."

A sense of relief washed over you at his understanding, grateful for his willingness to accommodate your needs. With a silent nod of gratitude, you accepted his offer, knowing that it was the best course of action for both you and your family.

Brandon didn't see anything wrong with granting your request for a cabin of your own on the estate's land. In fact, he saw it as a practical solution to ensure both of your well-being. If you were to experience periods of madness, it would be best for you to have a space where you could retreat and find solace without causing disruption to the household.

So, Brandon accepted your condition without hesitation, understanding the importance of accommodating your needs. However, he didn't anticipate just how distant you would be after the wedding. Days turned into weeks, and Brandon found himself growing increasingly impatient with your absence from the main house.

Despite his frustration, Brandon respected your need for space and independence, trusting that you would come to him when you were ready. However, as the days stretched on without any sign of your presence, Brandon's patience began to wear thin.

One night, overcome with loneliness and longing for your company, Brandon made his way to the cabin where you spent most of your time. He approached the door with a sense of trepidation, unsure of what he would find on the other side.

As he entered the cabin unannounced, Brandon was greeted by the sight of you standing by a telescope, your eyes fixed on the starry night sky above. Books and notebooks were scattered around the room, evidence of your scholarly pursuits and intellectual curiosity.

You turned to him with a smile as he walked in, your expression one of genuine warmth and affection. Your nightgown billowed around you, your hair cascading in loose waves down your back, and Brandon couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked in that moment.

But despite the tenderness in your smile, Brandon couldn't shake the frustration that simmered beneath the surface. He had missed you, missed the sound of your voice and the touch of your hand, and he couldn't understand why you chose to spend so much time away from him.

"Good evening, Colonel," you greeted him politely, your tone casual and unaffected by his unexpected visit. "What brings you to my humble abode tonight?"

Brandon struggled to contain his frustration as he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation. "I've come to see you, of course," he replied curtly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of emotion. "I've missed you, [Your Name]. It's been weeks since I last saw you, and I couldn't bear to spend another night alone in our bed."

Your smile faltered slightly at his words, a flash of guilt crossing your features when you met his gaze. You knew you had been neglecting him, consumed by your own thoughts and passions, but you hadn't realized just how much your absence had affected him. Pushing aside your feelings of guilt, you tried to divert the conversation, eager to steer clear of any discussion about your relationship.

"So, Colonel," you began, your voice light and cheerful as you gestured towards the telescope beside you. "Have you ever gazed upon the stars and wondered about the mysteries of the universe? It's truly fascinating how much we have yet to discover out there."

But Brandon wasn't so easily swayed by your attempt to change the subject. He could sense the underlying tension between you, the unspoken questions hanging in the air, and he knew they needed to be addressed.

"Indeed, the stars are a wonder to behold," Brandon replied diplomatically, his tone measured as he studied your expression. "But I believe there are matters closer to home that require our attention."

You paused at that, your smile fading as you met Brandon's earnest gaze. His words hung between you, heavy with unspoken implications, and you knew there was no avoiding the conversation any longer.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" you asked, your voice tinged with apprehension as you braced yourself for his response.

Brandon took a step closer to you, his expression serious as he met your eyes with unwavering determination. "I married you for one reason, and one reason only: to have heirs," he said bluntly, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "And how can we achieve that if the two of us barely see each other?"

You stopped at that, your gaze locking with his as you took in the gravity of his words. For a moment, you felt a pang of guilt at your own negligence, knowing that you had failed to uphold your end of the bargain. But then, a sense of determination washed over you as you realized what Brandon was implying.

Was he demanding that you fulfill your duty as a wife? Did he want... sex?

The thought made Brandon blush slightly, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment as he struggled to articulate his desires. But you weren't embarrassed; you were a 28-year-old woman, well aware of the implications of marital intimacy. Despite never having been intimate with a man before Brandon, you had spent enough time reading and learning from your already married sisters to understand the mechanics of such encounters.

And your first time with Brandon had been surprisingly pleasant. He had been kind and patient with you, guiding you through the experience with a gentle touch and reassuring words. In the aftermath, you had distanced yourself from him, convinced that it was for his own protection. But now, faced with his unspoken request, you realized that you couldn't continue to avoid him indefinitely.

With a resolute nod, you dropped the notebook in your hand and approached Brandon, closing the distance between you with determined steps. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as you reached out to touch his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw with a tender touch.

"Why not start today, then?" you suggested softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "After all, it is our duty as husband and wife to fulfill each other's needs, is it not?"

Brandon's blush deepened at your boldness, but he nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and embarrassment. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed.

You took the initiative, stepping closer to him until there was barely an inch of space between your bodies. Leaning in, you captured his lips in a gentle kiss, your heart racing with anticipation as you felt Brandon respond eagerly, his arms encircling you in a warm embrace.

And as you melted into his embrace, you knew that despite the unconventional nature of your marriage, you were determined to honor your side of the bargain. After all, you were both bound by duty and obligation, and it was time to fulfill the promises you had made to each other, no matter the cost.

As Brandon and you stood in the dimly lit cabin, the air thick with anticipation, he couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation mingled with desire. His heart still belonged to Marianne, his unrequited love for her a constant ache in his chest. But as he looked into your eyes, he saw more than just a means to an end; he saw a woman who deserved his respect and consideration, despite the circumstances of their marriage.

With gentle hands, Brandon began to undress you, his touch tender and reverent as he revealed your delicate form beneath the fabric. He couldn't help but admire the curve of your body, the softness of your skin, as he trailed kisses along your neck and collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You responded eagerly to his touch, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, urging him to explore every inch of your body. Brandon's heart raced with excitement as he felt your arousal building, his own desire growing with each soft moan that escaped your lips.

As Brandon guided you to the bed, he felt a surge of anticipation coursing through him, his body responding instinctively to the intimacy between you. He couldn't deny the pleasure he felt at being so close to you, the warmth of your skin against his own igniting a fire within him that he hadn't felt in years.

With practiced hands, Brandon explored your body with a gentle touch, his fingers tracing patterns of desire along your skin as he elicited soft gasps and moans from your lips. He marveled at the way you responded to his touch, the way your body arched and trembled beneath him, as if seeking more of his affection.

And when he finally entered you, it was with a reverence and tenderness that took your breath away. Brandon moved slowly, savoring each moment as he lost himself in the sensation of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. He felt a sense of connection with you that he hadn't experienced in years, a bond forged in the heat of their shared passion.

But even as Brandon surrendered himself to the pleasure of their union, his thoughts strayed to Marianne, his beloved lost to him forever. He couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to make love to her, to hear her soft moans of pleasure as he brought her to the heights of ecstasy.

But Marianne didn't want him, that much was clear. Despite Brandon's unwavering love and devotion to her, she had chosen another, leaving him with a heart heavy with sorrow and longing. But Brandon was a man of honor, and he knew that he had to be content with what he had, which was you.

You, the woman whose mind was plagued by bouts of madness and unpredictability, yet whose heart was filled with kindness and compassion. And as Brandon lay beside you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of their lovemaking, he couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him. He knew that he should be focusing on fulfilling his duty as a husband, on siring heirs to carry on his legacy, but a part of him couldn't deny the pleasure he found in being with you.

But even as Brandon reveled in the intimacy between you, he couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at him. He knew that his feelings for you were born out of necessity rather than passion, that he was simply using you to fulfill his own needs. And yet, a part of him couldn't help but enjoy the pleasure you brought him, the warmth of your body against his own.

As the days went by, Brandon found himself spending more and more time in your company, seeking solace and companionship in your presence. He tried to convince himself that it was all in service of their shared goal of starting a family, but deep down, he knew that he enjoyed being with you, in spite of everything.

He admired your resilience and admired your intelligence and creativity, seeing beyond the surface to the kind and compassionate woman beneath. You, in turn, found solace in Brandon's presence, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding. He treated you with kindness and respect, never once judging you for your eccentricities, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him for accepting you as you were.

But as the saying goes, all good things are short-lived, and Brandon saw this firsthand when he witnessed one of your episodes of madness. One night, he woke up to the sound of whispers and found you in the bedroom, talking to yourself and drawing on the wall.

Brandon's heart clenched with concern as he approached you hesitantly, calling out your name in a gentle tone. But when you turned to him, your eyes unfocused and distant, he realized that you didn't recognize him.

"Are you Venus?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper as you regarded him with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the realization dawning on him that you didn't recognize him as your husband. He took a step closer to you, his voice calm and reassuring as he reminded you of his true identity.

"No, my dear, I'm Colonel Christopher Brandon, your husband," he replied softly, his eyes pleading with you to see reason. "Please, come back to me."

But you shook your head stubbornly, dropping the chalk in your hand as you turned away from him, your mind set on a singular purpose. Ignoring Brandon's protests, you left the bedroom, navigating the dark hallways of the mansion with determined strides.

Brandon followed close behind you, his heart pounding with fear and anxiety as he called out to you, hoping to bring you back to your senses. But you paid him no heed, your mind consumed by delusions of Venus coming to take you away.

As you stepped out into the garden, your eyes fixed on the starry sky above, you spotted the bright gleam of Venus shining in the darkness. With a sense of urgency, you called out to the celestial body, your voice filled with longing and desperation.

"Venus, my love, please come get me," you pleaded, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night. "I'm ready to go with you."

Your screams alerted the mansion's employees, who came rushing outside to see what was causing the commotion. Brandon watched helplessly as you shed your nightgown, revealing your naked body to the world as you continued to call out for Venus.

Unable to stand idly by any longer, Brandon sprang into action, moving to cover you. But you pushed him away angrily, refusing to let anyone come between you and your imagined lover.

"Get away from me!" you cried, your voice tinged with frustration as you brushed him aside. "Venus will come for me, you'll see!"

Seeing that you were beyond reason, Brandon turned to the servants, instructing them to fetch a blanket to cover you. The maids obeyed without question, rushing to fulfill his command as Brandon's butler stepped forward to assist in calming you down.

But despite their efforts, you continued to scream and cry out for Venus, your mind lost to the grips of madness. It wasn't until Brandon made a bold declaration that you finally seemed to calm down, your eyes focusing on him with a newfound clarity.

"I am Venus," Brandon announced firmly, his voice filled with conviction as he met your gaze with unwavering determination.

For a moment, you stared at him in confusion, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you seemed to accept his words, your body relaxing as you allowed the maids to cover you with a blanket.

Brandon wrapped the blanket around you protectively, his heart heavy with relief as he gazed down at you with a mix of sadness and concern. Taking your hand in his, he led you toward the cabin, his mind racing with thoughts of how best to care for you in the coming days.

As you walked beside him, your gaze fixed on him with newfound adoration and confusion, you couldn't help but question the reality of the situation. Was Brandon truly Venus, the god of love and desire, come to whisk you away to a world of eternal bliss? Or was he simply a mortal man, doing his best to care for you in your time of need?

"Are you really Venus?" you asked hesitantly, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you looked up at him for answers.

Brandon met your gaze with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion as he squeezed your hand reassuringly. "Yes, my dear," he replied softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "I am Venus, and I'm here to take care of you."

And as you clung to him, expressing your belief that he was Venus and how you had waited so long for him to come for you, Brandon felt a pang of sadness tug at his heart. He did not like the hope he saw in your eyes, the desperate longing for happiness that seemed to radiate from your every word. While he was relieved that you finally seemed content, he could not help but feel conflicted about perpetuating the illusion that he was Venus.

Leading you gently to the cabin, Brandon guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you as you looked at him with such love and adoration, still addressing him as Venus. The realization that the duke and duchess hadn't mentioned this aspect of your condition left Brandon feeling unsettled. He had been led to believe that you were simply isolated in your cabin, dealing with your episodes of madness alone, but he hadn't expected this level of delusion.

Should he continue to play along with your delusions, maintaining the facade of being the god of love in order to keep you calm and prevent any further aggression? Or should he confront the reality of the situation, risking triggering another episode?

Sighing inwardly, Brandon decided to prioritize your well-being above all else. For now, it seemed best to go along with your belief that he was Venus, at least until he could figure out how to help you through this latest episode.

"Of course, my dear," Brandon replied softly, his voice filled with warmth and compassion as he took your hands in his. "I have waited for you just as eagerly. Now that we are together, I am here to take care of you, always."

Gently, Brandon helped you lay down on the bed, tucking the blankets around you to keep you warm. He listened quietly as you spoke, your words filled with a mixture of hope and desperation. You reached out to him, pleading for Venus to take you to the stars, to make you happy and relieve you of the burden you felt you were to others.

"Venus, my love, please take me away with you," you murmured, your voice soft and filled with longing. "I want to love you, and if you love me in return, I won't be a burden to anyone anymore."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to comfort you and reassure you that you were not a burden, but he knew that now was not the time for such revelations. Instead, he remained silent, his gaze filled with compassion and understanding as he listened to your pleas.

"I understand, my dear," Brandon said softly, his voice gentle as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "Venus loves you deeply, and he would never see you as a burden. You bring light and joy to his world, and he cherishes every moment he spends with you."

Your eyes shone with tears as you looked up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite the turmoil in your mind, you found solace in Brandon's words, finding comfort in the belief that Venus was there to guide you to happiness.

"Thank you, Venus," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of sleep. "I love you."

Brandon watched over you as you drifted off to sleep, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was deceiving you, allowing you to believe in a fantasy that could never be true. But for now, all he could do was be there for you, to offer you comfort and support in whatever form you needed.

And as Brandon lay down next to you, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Despite his best efforts to reassure himself that everything would be alright, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach, a silent prayer escaping his lips as he hoped you wouldn't have another episode of madness.

Closing his eyes, Brandon tried to push aside his worries, allowing exhaustion to finally overtake him as he drifted off into a fitful sleep. But even in slumber, his mind remained troubled, haunted by visions of you lost in the throes of delusion, calling out for a love that could never be.

The next morning, Brandon awoke to the soft light filtering through the windows of the cabin, his eyes lingering on your sleeping form beside him. For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the tranquility of the moment, the gentle rise and fall of your chest a reassuring presence in the stillness of the room.

But as the events of the previous night came rushing back to him, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt and sorrow. He knew that he couldn't continue to ignore the reality of your condition, that he needed to take action to ensure your well-being and safety.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon rose from the bed, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. Quietly, he dressed himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead.

Leaving you sleeping in the cabin, Brandon made his way to the main residence, his mind racing with thoughts of how to best care for you in the days to come. As he entered the familiar halls of the mansion, he was greeted by the sight of the butler, who had served his family faithfully for years.

Without preamble, Brandon approached the butler, his expression grave as he relayed the events of the previous night and his concerns about your condition. He instructed the butler to pass on the information to the other servants, emphasizing the importance of treating you with kindness and understanding.

But as Brandon spoke, he couldn't help but notice the disapproving look that crossed the butler's face, a hint of disdain lingering in his gaze. It was clear that the butler harbored reservations about you and your suitability as Brandon's wife, a fact that didn't sit well with Brandon.

"Is something the matter, Jenkins?" Brandon inquired, his voice tinged with a note of concern as he regarded the butler with furrowed brows.

The butler hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "Forgive me, sir, but I cannot help but express my concerns regarding your choice of wife," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze.

Brandon's jaw tightened at the butler's words, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his frustration. He knew that the butler's opinion held weight among the household staff, and he couldn't afford to have any doubts cast upon your character or his decision to marry you.

"I understand your reservations, Jenkins, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from passing judgment on [Your Name]," Brandon replied evenly, his voice laced with a hint of steel. "She is my wife, and I expect her to be treated with the respect and dignity she deserves."

Jenkins bowed his head slightly, a contrite expression crossing his features as he acknowledged Brandon's reprimand. "Forgive me, sir," he murmured apologetically. "I spoke out of turn. It's just... I never imagined that you would choose to marry someone like her."

Brandon's jaw clenched at Jenkins's words, his anger flaring anew at the implication behind them. "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice tinged with indignation.

Jenkins hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "I had heard rumors about her, sir, but I never thought they were true until last night," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze. "I cannot fathom why you would willingly take on such an unnecessary burden, sir. It would have been far wiser for you to marry Miss Dashwood."

As the butler's words hung in the air, Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him. How dare Jenkins question his choice of wife, especially in such a callous manner? Suppressing his anger, Brandon took a deep breath, his voice measured as he addressed the butler once more.

"Jenkins, I understand that you may have reservations, but it is not your place to pass judgment on my decisions," Brandon stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I married [Your Name] out of necessity, not out of choice. Miss Dashwood made her feelings clear to me, and I must respect her decision. As for [Your Name], she may be a burden, but she is a necessary one. I need a wife to conceive children, and she is the one I have chosen for that purpose."

There was a heavy silence in the room as Brandon's words sank in, his gaze never wavering from Jenkins's face. He could see the butler's discomfort, the conflict evident in his expression as he struggled to come to terms with Brandon's assertion.

But before Jenkins could respond, Brandon felt a shift in the atmosphere behind him. Turning around, he was met with the sight of you standing in the doorway, dressed in men's clothes, your expression unreadable as you listened to the conversation unfolding before you.

For a moment, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt at the thought of you overhearing the disparaging remarks about you. He opened his mouth to call out to you, to explain himself and reassure you of his commitment, but you brushed him off tiredly, expressing your need to retreat to your cabin for a few days.

"If the servants could bring me something to eat, I would be grateful," you added, your tone weary as you turned away from him and made your way towards the cabin. You were tired—tired of the constant struggles with your own mind, tired of being a burden to those around you, and tired of the expectations placed upon you as Colonel Brandon's wife.

Brandon followed closely behind you, his brow furrowed with worry as he tried to catch up to you. "Please, let me explain," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "I didn't mean for you to overhear that conversation. You're not a burden, [Your Name]. You're my wife, and I care about you deeply."

But you kept walking, your steps determined as you refused to meet his gaze. "It's okay, Colonel," you replied softly, your voice tinged with resignation. "We didn't marry for love, that much was always clear. You don't have to explain anything to me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the weight of your resignation heavy on his shoulders. He reached out to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but you shrugged him off gently, your eyes filled with sadness.

"I know I've always been a burden to everyone," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I always will be. But I'll fulfill my role in our agreement, Colonel. And I'll try not to be such a big burden to you."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your tone piercing him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to tell you that you were more than just a burden to him, but he knew that now was not the time for such declarations.

Instead, he watched helplessly as you disappeared into the cabin, the door closing softly behind you with a finality that left him feeling hollow inside. For a moment, he stood there in silence, his mind racing with thoughts of what could have been and what still might be.

But as the days turned into weeks, Brandon found himself growing increasingly restless in your absence. He missed you, deeply, your presence a balm to his weary soul in the midst of life's uncertainties. And so, despite his reservations, he found himself seeking you out, longing to be near you once more.

Every night, he would wait for you to come to him, the anticipation building with each passing hour until he could no longer bear the silence of the empty bed. And when you finally arrived, he would hold you close, cherishing every moment of your fleeting embrace before the morning light came to steal you away once more.

Today was another one of those nights, and you arrived at the agreed time, wasting no time in starting to undress your male clothes, as you always did every night, while Brandon waited for you in bed, watching you undress, revealing your body to him. The routine had become familiar, almost comforting, in its predictability.

As you climbed into bed with him, Brandon couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched into your features. He longed to hold you close, to lose himself in the warmth of your embrace, but he knew that tonight was different. Tonight, he needed to talk to you, to address the elephant in the room that had been looming over their marriage for far too long.

"Are you alright, [Your Name]?" Brandon asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "You seem tired."

You sighed wearily, the weight of the day's events settling heavily on your shoulders. "I'm fine, Colonel," you replied, forcing a smile despite the fatigue evident in your voice. "Just a little tired, that's all."

Brandon studied you intently, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. He wanted you, desperately, but he could see the weariness in your eyes, the toll that their arrangement was taking on you.

"Perhaps we could talk before... before we... make babies," Brandon suggested tentatively, his words carefully chosen as he broached the delicate subject. "I know it wasn't what we originally agreed upon, but I can't help but feel like we should talk to get to know each other better."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to postpone the inevitable for a little while longer. Pulling the covers over yourself to protect yourself from the cold of the night, you settled into the bed beside Brandon, your mind racing with thoughts of what you were going to talk about.

Brandon turned to look at you, his expression softening with affection as he regarded you. "How did you... how did you start to like astronomy?" he asked, his tone gentle as he broached the topic of conversation.

You smiled at the question, a fondness evident in your eyes as you recalled your childhood fascination with the stars. "For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by astronomy," you confessed, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "I found a telescope in my grandfather's things when I was a child, and ever since then, I've been hooked. There's just something about gazing up at the night sky that fills me with wonder and awe."

Brandon nodded, captivated by the passion in your voice as you spoke. He admired your thirst for knowledge, your willingness to pursue your interests despite the constraints placed upon you by society. In that moment, he felt a surge of affection for you, a newfound appreciation for the depth of your character.

"It sounds like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Brandon remarked, his tone laced with admiration. "Your parents must have been quite liberal in letting you learn whatever you wanted."

You nodded in agreement, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you recalled the support and encouragement you had received from your parents throughout the years. "Yes, they were," you replied, a hint of pride evident in your voice. "They always encouraged me to follow my passions, no matter where they led me."

Brandon's heart swelled with affection as he listened to you speak, the warmth of your words washing over him like a soothing balm. He liked how you lit up, the sparkle in your eyes when you talked about astronomy. He found himself captivated by the passion and enthusiasm in your voice, admiring the way you spoke with such fervor about something that brought you joy. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, a glimpse into the depths of your soul that left him feeling strangely drawn to you.

But as the conversation shifted, Brandon hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern as he broached a more sensitive topic. "When did your... episodes of madness start?" he asked tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched your eyes for answers.

The heat in your eyes disappeared as the tiredness returned, and you fell silent, your gaze drifting away from his as you struggled to find the words to explain. It was a painful subject, one that you had long tried to bury deep within yourself, but you knew that Brandon deserved to know the truth.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come as you recounted the events that had changed your life forever. "It all started when I was 15," you began softly, your voice tinged with sadness. "I was out riding with my father and brothers when my horse was startled by a snake. I fell off and... I hit my head on a rock."

You paused, the memories flooding back with painful clarity as you struggled to compose yourself. "I don't remember much after that," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "But my brothers told me that I was in a coma for five days before I woke up."

Brandon listened intently, his heart aching with sympathy as he imagined the pain and confusion you must have felt during that traumatic time. "And then?" he prompted gently, his voice barely above a whisper as he waited for you to continue.

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek as you recalled the horrors that followed. "Things were normal for a few days," you admitted reluctantly. "But then... the first episode of madness began."

Brandon's heart clenched with sorrow at your words, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "What... what kind of treatments did you undergo?" he asked softly, his voice filled with apprehension as he braced himself for your response.

But you shook your head, the pain evident in your eyes as you diverted the conversation. "I... I don't think you want to know," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not something I like to talk about."

Brandon's heart ached with frustration at your reluctance to share, but he knew that now was not the time to press you further. Instead, he reached out to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you tenderly.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with reassurance. "But know that I'm here for you, [Your Name]. Whatever you need, whatever you're going through, I'm here."

You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his words washing over you like a soothing balm. In that moment, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you, a glimmer of light in the darkness that surrounded you.

With a soft sigh of contentment, you pulled Brandon closer, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss as you whispered softly against his mouth. "Don't make me wait any longer, Colonel," you murmured, your voice filled with longing. "Let's just get this over with."

Brandon's heart skipped a beat at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the passion of your embrace. In that moment, there was only you and him, lost in the intensity of their shared desire as they sought solace in each other's arms.

Brandon pulled you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he guided you onto his lap beneath the covers. You followed his lead, straddling him with your hands pressed against his chest, your lips meeting his in a hungry kiss that conveyed all the pent-up desire between you.

The kiss was intense, fueled by a longing that had been building between you for far too long. Your tongues danced together in a passionate tango, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies as you lost yourselves in the heat of the moment.

Finally breaking away from the kiss, you reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around Brandon's hard length as you positioned yourself above him. With a breathy sigh, you guided him to your entrance, the anticipation of being filled by him sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

Brandon groaned softly as he felt you take him in hand, his desire for you reaching a fever pitch as he watched you sink down onto him. He was big and you weren't quite wet enough to receive him fully. But the sensation of being stretched by him was exhilarating, and you couldn't help but moan in pleasure as you sank down onto his cock.

As you sat down completely on him, a low, guttural moan escaped Brandon's lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he relished the feeling of being buried deep inside you. And when you moaned his name in a breathy whisper—Christopher—Brandon's heart skipped a beat, his desire for you reaching new heights at the sound of his name on your lips.

"God, [Your Name]," Brandon breathed, his voice thick with desire as he savored the sensation of you surrounding him. "You feel so good, so tight around me."

You whimpered in response, the pleasure of having him inside you overwhelming as you began to move your hips in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, the pleasure building with each passing moment as you surrendered yourself to the intensity of your union.

Brandon matched your movements with his own, his hands guiding you as you rode him with increasing urgency. He could feel the tension building within you, the need for release growing more urgent by the second as you chased the elusive peak of pleasure together.

And as you continued bouncing on Brandon's dick, you experimented with new movements, gyrating your hips and watching the pleasure written all over his face. It was a sight that books and stories of your married sisters' experiences could never fully describe—the indescribable pleasure of seeing Brandon lost in ecstasy, his features contorted with pleasure as you rode him with abandon.

He was absolutely beautiful, his handsome face twisted in pleasure as he surrendered himself to the pleasure you were providing him. But despite his beauty and kindness, you pushed aside any thoughts of unworthiness, focusing only on the here and now with Brandon, on the pleasure you both felt.

Taking his hands that were on your waist, you guided them closer together, intertwining your fingers with his as you held his hands above his head. The feeling of his strong hands in yours only fueled your desire further, adding an element of intimacy to your passionate encounter.

And as you continued to ride him, lost in the sensation of being filled by him, you couldn't help but let out a torrent of praise and moans, your voice echoing through the room in a symphony of pleasure. And Brandon loved every moment of it, reveling in the sound of your moans and the sweet compliments you bestowed upon him.

"You feel so good, Christopher," you gasped, your voice filled with longing as you rocked your hips against his. "I never want this to end."

Brandon's heart swelled with pride at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. "You're amazing, [Your Name]," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he watched you move above him.

You smiled at his words, your heart overflowing with love for him as you continued to ride him with increasing urgency. You let go of Brandon's hands, your fingers curling into his chest as you rode him harder, your movements fueled by a desperate need for release. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, the tension building with each passing moment as you chased the elusive peak of ecstasy.

Brandon watched you with rapt attention, his eyes filled with desire as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. He groaned softly as he felt you tighten around him, the sensation driving him closer to the edge with each passing moment.

At the sight of you throwing your head back in ecstasy, Brandon felt his own climax approaching rapidly. With a guttural moan of pleasure, he let go of all restraint, surrendering himself completely to the overwhelming sensation of release. As you reached climax, your body shuddering with the intensity of your pleasure, Brandon held you close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he supported your weight. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he rode out the waves of his orgasm with you.

And as he came deep inside you, filling you with his seed, you felt a surge of contentment wash over you, knowing that you had given him everything he desired. You melted into his embrace, your bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs as you basked in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

As you both calmed down, Brandon pulled you to lie down next to him, his arms wrapped around you protectively as he held you close. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. But as Brandon fell asleep beside you, a wave of sadness washed over you, threatening to engulf you in its depths. You knew that your relationship with Brandon was built on a foundation of duty and obligation, not love. He had made it clear that you were here just to give him children, nothing more.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling empty and hollow inside. You didn't deserve him, you didn't deserve Brandon's love. He was kind and compassionate, everything you could ever want in a partner, but you knew that he would never love you the way you longed to be loved.

And as you stood up to get dressed, ignoring the sticky remnants of his cum running down your thighs, you couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over you. You cast one last look at Brandon's sleeping form, the ache in your heart growing more unbearable with each passing moment.

But as you turned away, tears streaming down your cheeks, you made a silent vow to yourself. You would bury your feelings deep within yourself, locking them away where no one could find them. You would continue to fulfill your duty as Brandon's wife, even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness in the process.

With a heavy heart, you slipped into your clothes and made your way back to your cabin, back to your books, and your stars. It was the only solace you had left, the only thing that could distract you from the pain of knowing that you would never have the love you so desperately craved.

Brandon woke up the next morning with a satisfied sigh, his body still tingling with the lingering sensations of their passionate encounter from the night before. He reached out instinctively, his arm seeking the warmth of your body as he pulled you close, his heart swelling with affection at the thought of waking up beside you.

But to his dismay, Brandon's hand met only empty space, his fingers brushing against the cool fabric of the pillow beneath him. Confusion clouded his mind for a moment as he blinked away the remnants of sleep, his eyes scanning the room in search of you.

And then, with a sinking feeling in his chest, Brandon realized the truth—you were gone. Once again, you had left him alone in the marital bed, slipping away in the darkness of the night without so much as a goodbye.

Disappointment washed over Brandon like a tidal wave, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence. He had hoped that last night's passionate encounter would bring you closer together, that it would be a step towards building a deeper connection between you.

But as he lay there in the empty bed, Brandon couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness that settled over him like a shroud. He longed for your presence, for the warmth of your body pressed against his, but he knew that you were gone, leaving him to face another day alone.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a sense of resignation. He was tired of this—tired of the constant cycle of intimacy followed by solitude, tired of feeling like he was always left wanting more.

Rubbing his face tiredly, Brandon knew that he couldn't continue like this. He had to talk to you, to address the underlying issues that were driving you apart. He couldn't keep ignoring the elephant in the room, pretending that everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

And so, with a sense of determination, Brandon promised himself that he would broach the subject with you when you came over again that night. He couldn't let things continue like this, couldn't let the distance between you grow any further.

But for now, Brandon pushed aside his worries, forcing himself to focus on the tasks at hand. There were duties to attend to, responsibilities to fulfill, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles interfere with his professional life.

With a deep breath, Brandon pushed himself out of bed, steeling himself for the day ahead. He didn't know what the future held for him and you, but he knew that he couldn't keep living like this, trapped in a cycle of longing and disappointment.

Brandon longed for more than just stolen moments in the dead of night; he wanted to be with you, truly and completely, in every sense of the word. And so, he resolved to confront you, to lay bare his heart and soul in the hopes of finding solace in your arms once more.

And so, on that fateful night, as the hours stretched on without any sign of your arrival, Brandon found himself growing increasingly anxious. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that you needed him now more than ever.

With a sense of urgency, Brandon made his way to the cabin, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared himself for what he might find inside. And when he entered, he was met with the sight of you lost in another one of your episodes, drawing intricate constellations on the wooden floor as you mumbled to yourself.

"[Your Name], it's me, Christopher," he called out softly, his voice filled with concern as he approached you cautiously. "Can you hear me? It's going to be alright, I'm here."

You looked at him and smiled, beckoning him closer. Brandon realized that you weren't in one of your manic episodes, at least it didn't seem like it. He approached cautiously, a mix of relief and confusion flooding his senses. "What are you doing?" he asked gently, his concern evident in his voice.

You glanced up at him, your eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm drawing my favorite constellations," you replied, a hint of excitement in your tone. "The sky is beautiful tonight, don't you think?"

Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him, his worry dissipating into annoyance. "That's it?" he exclaimed, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "You didn't come to me because you were drawing constellations?"

You looked at him, confusion clouding your features as you processed his words. "I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to dishonor our agreement, but I just... I lost track of time."

But your words only seemed to frustrate Brandon even more, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to comprehend your actions. "Is that all this is to you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Just a deal?"

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you struggled to find the right words. "How should I see it then?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper.

Brandon looked away, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "Maybe... maybe I want something more," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I... I think I'm in love with you."

You interrupted him, shaking your head in disbelief as you backed away from him. "No," you whispered, your voice tinged with sadness. "You barely talk to me, Colonel. How could you possibly love me?"

But Brandon insisted, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes with determination. "I see you, [Your Name]," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "I see you helping the servants when you're not alone in the cabin. I see how you light up when you talk about astronomy, how passionate you are about the stars. And those nighttime conversations we have... they mean more to me than you'll ever know."

You remained skeptical, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. "You can't love me," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away from him. "It would be better if you extinguished that love now, before it consumes you. Fall in love with another woman, but not with me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. "No," he protested, reaching out to you desperately. "I don't want to be in love with anyone else. I want to be with you, [Your Name]. Please, let me show you how much you mean to me."

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. "I heard rumors that Marianne Dashwood will no longer marry John Willoughby," you explained, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Maybe you can ask for an annulment of our marriage, claiming that I am crazy, so you are free to go after Marianne."

Brandon's eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "How do you know about Marianne?" he questioned, his tone laced with disbelief. "And why would you suggest such a thing?"

You smiled sadly at him, the weight of your words heavy on your heart. "I heard Jenkins happily commenting on this with other employees," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "He seemed eager to see you away from me."

Brandon's expression darkened at the mention of Jenkins, his frustration mounting as he struggled to come to terms with the implications of your words. "Jenkins has no right to meddle in our affairs," he muttered, his voice tinged with anger. "And Marianne... Marianne is not the solution to our problems."

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you processed his words. "But you love her, don't you?" you questioned softly, a hint of sadness in your tone.

Brandon's gaze softened as he met your eyes, his voice filled with sincerity. "I thought I did, once," he admitted quietly. "But that was before I met you."

You looked at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But how can that be?" you questioned, confusion evident in your voice. "I'm nothing like Marianne. I'm not beautiful, or charming, or witty."

Brandon reached out to you, gently cupping your face in his hands as he met your gaze with unwavering determination. "You may not be Marianne, but you are everything to me," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You are kind, compassionate, and brave. And who says you're not beautiful? You are simply stunning."

You push Brandon's hand away, your heart heavy with disbelief and self-doubt. "You don't know what you're talking about," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just a crazy woman, Colonel. You shouldn't waste your time on me."

But Brandon refuses to back down, his eyes filled with sincerity as he reaches out to you once more. "It doesn't matter if you're crazy or not," he insists, his voice unwavering. "You're my wife, don't you see? I want you, all of you."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to comprehend his words. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "Why would you want someone like me?"

Brandon's expression softens as he looks at you, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with conviction. "You're kind, and compassionate, and brave. And I... I think I'm falling in love with you."

You stare at him in shock, unable to believe what you're hearing. "But Marianne..." you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words.

Brandon interrupts you gently, his voice filled with understanding. "Marianne sent me letters, asking me to visit her," he admits quietly. "But I refused, because... because of you. I want to explore this love, this connection that I feel with you. Marianne is not the solution to our problems. You are. Give me an occupation, [Your Name], or I shall run mad.”

Tears fill your eyes as you look at him, the weight of his words sinking in. "I don't deserve you," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you turn away from him.

But Brandon refuses to let you retreat into your self-doubt, reaching out to you and gently turning you back to face him. "It doesn't matter," he insists, his voice filled with determination. "It doesn't matter if you think you're not worthy of love. Because to me, you're everything."

You meet his gaze, your heart aching with longing and uncertainty. "But what if I have another episode?" you question hesitantly, your voice tinged with fear.

Brandon's expression softens, his hand reaching out to gently caress your cheek. "Then we'll face it together," he replies softly. "I'll be by your side, every step of the way. Because you're not alone, [Your Name]. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

You look away, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The weight of Brandon's words hangs heavy in the air, his vulnerability laid bare before you. You want to say something, to reassure him of your feelings, but the words catch in your throat, choked by the fear and uncertainty that have plagued you for so long.

Brandon waits patiently for you to speak, his gaze searching yours for any sign of understanding. But when you remain silent, a defeated look crosses his features, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

"Maybe... maybe it's you who doesn't love me," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

You feel a pang of guilt at his words, a surge of emotion welling up inside you as you struggle to find the courage to speak. But then, before you can stop yourself, the words spill from your lips in a rush of emotion.

"No, Christopher, it's not that," you interject, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love you. How could I not, after all the kindness you've shown me? There aren't enough stars in the sky to quantify how deeply I've fallen for you."

You pause, taking a shaky breath as you gather your thoughts. Weeks ago, when you overheard Brandon referring to you as a necessary burden, it had shattered your heart. You had never wanted to be seen as a burden to him, but your madness seemed to make it unavoidable.

"But I know that I can't make you happy," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "But Marianne... she's young and beautiful. She'll have a much better chance of giving you children and making you happy. And the employees will like her. It will be better that way. I will no longer be a burden to you."

Tears fill your eyes as you speak, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. You know that this is your destiny, to fade into the background, with only the stars for company.

Brandon listens to you in silence, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. When you finish speaking, he reaches out to you, gently wiping away your tears with his thumb.

"You are not a burden, [Your Name]," he whispers softly, his voice filled with conviction. "And I don't want anyone else. I want you, just as you are. Marianne may have her charms, but she's not you. And I love you."

You look up at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Brandon smiles tenderly at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "And that's all I need."

#colonel brandon #alan rickman #marianne dashwood #sense and sensibility #colonel brandon x reader #alan rickman x reader #oc

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bella-rose29 · 7 months

Text

Hopeless Romantics

Lockwood x f!reader

Their relationship through various hopelessly romantic dates.

With the tickets discount thing I have no idea if that's an actual thing but I figured it would work in the same way as a student discount or something.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: literally none other than maybe wondering why you can't actually have an anthony lockwood for yourself

Tag list: @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @karensirkobabes, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @wandamaximoffbae, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

Let me know here if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list! <3

Stargazing

It had been an incredibly long night, all members of Lockwood and Co wanting nothing more than to collapse in their beds and fall right to sleep. George and Lucy had done just that, bidding goodnight to their fellow agents and heading up the stairs. Y/n had been about to do the same when Lockwood dragged her by the hand through the house, out into the back garden.

"Anthony, what are you doing?!"

He turned his head to look back at her, smile bright and blinding despite the darkness. "Taking you on a date," he said, just as he pulled her to the floor, lying down next to her.

"A date? Ant, it's the middle of the night!"

"Yeah, and for once it's not a cloudy British night. Look." He pointed up at the night sky, and Y/n realised he was right. If she concentrated she could see the Milky Way. The sheer number of stars was overwhelming, and she didn't think she'd ever seen so many.

They laid there for a good hour or so, only going inside when Y/n started complaining about the chill (Anthony immediately moved the two of them inside and up to his room, saying he'd be a terrible boyfriend if he let his girlfriend freeze). They'd been talking about whatever came in to their heads, occasionally wondering about the constellations and trying (and failing) to name them. Once changed into pyjamas and snuggled in his bed (really Y/n needed to just move in with him, she was in his room so much), they continued looking at the few stars that they could see from the window, and when Y/n finally fell asleep, Anthony carefully crept to close the curtains, slipping back under the covers and drawing his girlfriend closer, falling asleep himself moments later.

~~~

Dancing in the Rain

It had been raining all day.

George had complained, since he'd been planning on going to the Archives, but at the sight of the torrential downpour he'd decided to forgo the walk and holed up in his room instead. Lucy hadn't minded so much; she was in the attic reading, enjoying some peace and quiet.

Anthony was in the library, trying to get paperwork done, but with his girlfriend sat in the same room as him he was struggling. He huffed for the millionth time, making Y/n look up.

"What? You keep huffing and puffing. Is something wrong with the papers?"

"No, nothing's wrong with the papers. Just... How am I meant to concentrate when the most beautiful girl in the world is sat so close to me?" He turned on his chair, smiling dopily at her.

Y/n snorted, looking at him over her book. "Charmer."

"Is it working?"

"It doesn't need to work, Ant, we're already dating."

"I've got to make sure you know how much I love you though," he pouted, and Y/n giggled.

"You've also got to make sure your company is running properly?" His pout didn't leave his face, and he huffed (again) as he turned back to his work, running a hand through his hair in mild frustration. "Ant?"

"Yeah?" He looked over at her, immediately perking up at the sound of her voice.

"Wanna dance in the rain?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah. It's not as bad anymore, I think we'll be fine."

"Okay, yeah. Sure."

Y/n pulled him up from his seat, and he all but ran out the front door into the street, barely pausing to pull his shoes on. They were immediately soaked, Anthony's white shirt sticking to his body and Y/n's thin top doing the same within seconds. She was right, it wasn't as bad as it had been earlier, and they were laughing as Anthony held his hand out for her to take.

"May I have this dance, m'lady?" he said, his smile wide.

"You may," Y/n replied, placing her hand in his. He yanked her in, pulling her close to his chest, and she reached up to move some of his soaked hair out of his face. It wasn't much good, since she couldn't see that well from the raindrops that fell into her face, but she'd practically memorised the shape of him. He held her close, gently swaying as the rain fell all around them, the couple only moving when a car came around the corner and honked at them for being in the middle of the road.

When they came back inside a while later, George was just coming out of the kitchen, piece of cake in hand.

"No, nope, stay there, don't move! You two are dripping and I'm not letting you get that everywhere!" he rushed up the stairs, coming back a few minutes later with towels and changes of clothes for the two of them. "You can get changed there, then put your wet clothes in here. Let me know when you're done, so I can dry them and mop the floor." He handed over a plastic bag, one for each, then left, heading into the library.

"Oi, turn around, Ant. You might have seen most of it before but I'd like some privacy, please," Y/n lightly slapped his arm, nothing menacing in her tone as she turned her back on him. She'd barely finished pulling on the jumper (Anthony's jumper, really, but she wore it more than him at this point) than he'd wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest to hug her from behind.

"I love you, Y/n, you know that right?"

"I do. I love you too, Anthony."

~~~

The Picnic

"Anthony, where are we going? And why do you have a huge ass basket?"

"You'll see!" Y/n had been chatting with Lucy in their shared room (not that Y/n used it much now, she was in Lockwood's so much), when Anthony had burst through the door demanding that his girlfriend come with him. Y/n had laughed at his antics, taking the hand he offered and yelping when he all but ran down the stairs, girlfriend in tow. He'd been practically bouncing while he waited for her to put her shoes and coat on, and his excitement had only grown the closer they got to their destination. All of a sudden he stopped, making Y/n crash in to the back of him.

"Ant?"

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Just... just close your eyes, trust me. Don't open them until I say, okay?"

"Okay..." Y/n shut her eyes, squeezing them so tightly closed she could see patterns. She heard the rustling of something plastic, followed by the sound of him moving around and getting other items out of the basket, and after what felt like forever he finally said "Open!"

She did so, gasping slightly at the sight of the picnic blanket and various food items laid out. "Wait, you did all this?"

"Yep! Well, not all, George did the cooking, and Lucy helped me carry all the stuff back from Arif's without you noticing, but the rest was all me." He looked nervous, something Y/n hadn't seen her boyfriend be for a while, and she realised that he was waiting for her approval. He was scratching the back of his neck, slight blush covering his cheeks.

"I love it, Anthony. Really, I think this is amazing," she smiled at him, and immediately he relaxed, his own grin forming on his face. Y/n moved over to where he stood, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "And I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered, kissing her again.

~~~

The Aquarium

"Two day tickets please, we should get a discount too?"

"You agents?"

"Yes, Lockwood and Co." Anthony handed over his licence card to the woman behind the desk, and she handed it back with a nod of approval.

"Here you go, that'll be ten pounds altogether then please."

Anthony handed over the notes, then accepted the two tickets with a smile. "Thank you!"

Y/n grabbed his free hand, taking her own ticket and pocketing it. They made their way into the aquarium, stopping to read every sign and press their faces to every glass, and Anthony was sure that he was the luckiest guy in the world to have Y/n as his girlfriend. He told her as much when they stopped for something to eat in the aquarium cafe, and she'd laughed and gone pink.

"Well then I'm the luckiest girl to have you, Ant."

They'd left the table not long after, disposing of napkins and empty sandwich packets, and when Y/n squealed in delight and grabbed Anthony by the arm, he knew that the tunnel was just around the corner. Y/n was always going on about the tunnel where the fish swam right overhead, surrounding you with water that was held back by thick glass smeared with little children's fingerprints. She spent the next few minutes pointing out various creatures, and Anthony nodded along, listening intently to her descriptions of each one, from the largest shark right down to the smallest fish, a huge smile on his face at her awe.

"Ant, look!" She smushed her face against the glass, jabbing a finger at the ray that had started coming their way. When, a few minutes later, a second ray did the same, Y/n looked on in as much wonder as she had the first time, and Anthony found himself smiling softly at his girlfriend's apparently limitless fascination with the animals.

They sat in the tunnel for ages (they did have a day ticket, after all), chatting quietly about anything that came to mind, Y/n interrupting every now and then to excitedly list off facts about the fish.

When they finally left a while later, going around the rest of the aquarium, hand in hand, Anthony knew then that he never wanted to be with anyone else. She was still smiling at everything she saw, laughing at the pufferfish and marvelling at the lion fish, and her joy was infectious. A few times she stopped to talk to some small kids, exaggerating her movements and discussing the animals so seriously with them that anyone would think she was talking about the threats of the Problem, not seahorses. She was so good with the kids, and not for the first time Anthony caught himself thinking about their future together.

It was nearly dark when they left, having been kicked out because it would soon be curfew, and Y/n was pulling him along the pavement on their way home, still talking excitedly about her favourite parts of the day.

Yes, Anthony thought as he unlocked the front door and ushered Y/n inside. Yes, this is my future.

#I want an anthony lockwood so bad #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood & co #idiots in love #lockwood x you

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georgie-weasley · 1 year

Text

Mastermind F.W. x reader

Warnings: one swear word, talk of Death Eaters destroying shops, reader tries to play Fred like a game of chess but it's not weird, two mentions of Fred's forearms and his tummy

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: You were going to get Fred Weasley if it was the last thing you did a.k.a how the reader tries to see if Fred likes them and makes him like her by trying to be 12 steps ahead of him

A/N: Another shout out to Taylor Swift for inspiring me to write

Masterlist

Fred Weasley. What a fine, fine man. Everyone could see it. There was not a soul on the planet who thought otherwise and if they did, they couldn’t have been real. He was beautiful, divine, delicious.

The first time you saw Fred was when you were 11 at the sorting. He was funny, trying to switch places with his twin and all, but you were both children. The only thing you were thinking about was what house you would be in and if your parents would be happy with that placement.

Throughout your Hogwarts years, you didn’t spend much time with Fred. Sure you shared some classes and you saw him in the halls but you never really interacted with him. Actually you spent more time with George; it was quite impressive how quickly you could tell them apart. The first time you really looked at Fred was during your sixth year at the Yule Ball. When you saw him standing there in his dress robes, you decided then and there you were going to have Fred Weasley even if it was the last thing you did.

The Great Hall had been emptied of the large tables and benches to create an open space perfect for dancing. That was exactly what you did. Your date, a sweet Hufflepuff boy named Justin, and you had been dancing the night away and enjoying your time together. He was cute and made you smile and everything was going amazing until Fred. He had been there the whole time but it wasn’t until now as he shed his coat and rolled up his sleeves that you cared. Oh my. He threw his coat onto a nearby chair and the smirk he gave his date just about made you turn into a puddle. You had to get close to him.

With your mind moving a million miles a minute, you hatched up a plan. Your date was going to ask you if you wanted some punch soon after a couple of well placed coughs. When he left to go get the drinks, you would make your way to George, telling your date you wanted to check in with your friends. Was it wrong to leave this poor boy as you chased another? Maybe if you didn’t know for a fact that Justin had the biggest crush on your friend. Once you got to George, it would be easy to get Fred.

Two coughs and sweet little Justin was playing his part well. He disappeared to get you some punch and you slipped through the crowd, eyes set on Fred. He was dancing now without a care in the world. Head and hips shaking, he was drawing you in. George was a little calmer and it made it much easier to get close to him. You spun around to face away from him and carefully timed your steps to bump into him right on beat. It looked like an accident which is exactly what it needed to look like. Fred and George were smart and you didn’t doubt they would figure your plan out if you slipped up.

“Whoops,” you spun around, feigning surprise as you looked up at George. “Sorry George. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

George only smiled and threw his arm around your shoulder. “Not a problem Y/N. I hope you and Justin are having fun. Where is he anyway?” He looked around, trying to spot your date.

“Oh he just stepped away to get me some punch. What about your date? Are you guys having fun?” You knew he didn’t have a date. For the past week George had been convincing his brothers that it was fine to go without a date. Him and Lee were technically going together but Lee currently was too preoccupied with Alicia Spinnet to dance with George.

“I didn’t come with a date.” What a surprise.

“Well then I guess that just means there’s no one stopping you from dancing with me.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to you as you moved closer to his twin. George only laughed and spun you as the two of you moved. He held your hands and danced; it wasn’t graceful and it followed a rhythm you could only assume was in his head but it was fun. George would be a fantastic brother-in-law one day. The group soon formed a small circle and you squeezed yourself between the twins. A great place to be really. You all grabbed hands and began what could only be called a whirlpool as you began spinning in a circle. As the song transitioned into a slow one, people started to pair off. You took both of Fred’s hands in yours and smiled up at him.

“May I have this dance George?” You knew it was Fred, however if he thought that you thought that he was George and you had just been dancing with George, he was less likely to deny you. Fred furrowed his eyebrows and as he caught sight of Angelina dancing with Alicia, he only shrugged and settled his hand on your waist.

“It’s actually Fred but yes, you may.” He spun you around slowly, carefully watching his feet so he didn’t step on yours.

“I hope I didn’t steal you away from your date.”

“You didn’t.” You most certainly did but she looked like she preferred dancing with Alicia anyway so there was no harm done. “What about your date?”

“Oh Justin? He went off to get some punch but he must have gotten lost or preoccupied.” You shrugged, honestly hoping he was dancing with someone else.

The rest of the dance was quiet, you and Fred only occasionally whispering to each other. When it finally did end, your feet were killing you and you needed to sit before you fell over. Actually, that wasn’t half bad. You parted from Fred and stumbled perhaps a little too dramatically but it did the job. Fred reacted quickly and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you up.

“Whoa there Y/N. You ok?” His sweet brown eyes were full of concern. They were full of concern for you and it made your heart flutter. He carefully took you over to a table and lowered you into a chair.

You nodded, kicking off one shoe. “I’m ok, my feet are just really sore.”

Fred kneeled in front of you and helped you take off the other shoe. “Well, that would be because you’re wearing these death traps.” He chuckled and took your foot in his hand, thumbs digging into them to try and work out some of the ache.

“So, Angelina.”

“So, Justin.” Fred glanced up at you before switching and massaging the other foot.

“Are you two dating?” You wanted Fred and you knew somehow you would get him but if he was taken, you would back off. It would have been horrible to hurt Angelina like that, even if she had your man. You also would have left Fred alone if he showed any discomfort or lack of interest at all but seeing as he was willingly trying to care for your sore feet, you didn’t think he was uncomfortable at all.

“No. If we were, I would not be over here massaging your feet.” Fred smiled and moved into the chair next to you. “What about you and Justin?”

“No, we’re just friends.”

“That’s good because currently he’s over yonder sucking face with some girl.”

You snorted and looked around, spotting him in the corner. Good for him. “It’s a good thing you and Angelina aren’t a couple either because I think her and Alicia have disappeared.” Fred only rolled his eyes and stretched his arms, his shirt rising up and his stomach peaking out. Was it getting hot in here or was it just Fred? You could really do with that punch now. “I think I’m officially done dancing for the night. You worked so hard to make my feet feel better and I would hate to ruin all your hard work.” He would stay with you, at least for a little bit. Fred was loud and honestly obnoxious but he was kind and a gentleman at heart. He would never leave you all by yourself at a dance.

“Would you like some company at the table then?”

“That would be lovely.”

---

The Yule Ball started a strong friendship between you and the twins. For the rest of the year the three of you had become practically inseparable. You loved George but some of your favorite parts of the day were when he was nowhere to be found and it was just you and Fred. Of course you were part of the reason for that, convincing George to run off and pull pranks on his own or see Katie Bell. you spent the rest of your sixth year finding ways to be alone with Fred and trying to find ways to make him like you. You never changed anything about yourself but you did pick up a couple of new hobbies that were certain to get Fred’s attention.

As the year ended and summer began, you wrote letters to the twins as often as you could. Your family was busy on holiday and though it was unknown to you, the twins couldn’t answer much anyway as they stayed in Grimmauld Place with the Order. As school began, so did more of your planning. It was hard avoiding Umbridge especially once her rule about boys and girls being close together was put in place but Fred had never been one to follow rules. You sent him secret messages, asking to meet you late at night in a hidden passage or in empty classrooms. They were innocent meetings, much to your disappointment, as Fred still had not asked you out. At this point you feared he never would. It was time to pull out the big guns. George. He was the big gun.

“George!” You chased after the ginger, shoving your way through the mass of students going about their day. “George Fabian Weasley!” That got him. He whirled around at the sound of his full name and for a second there was some fear in his eyes. When he caught sight of you, he visibly relaxed and waved, waiting for you.

“For a minute I thought my mother made her way into Hogwarts,” he laughed as you approached. ��To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He threw his arm around your shoulder and began walking.

“I actually needed to talk to you about something.” You were only a little worried about telling George your plans to get Fred but despite all of your planning, nothing was working. “Something that would be better discussed in private.” You were confident that somewhere in his heart and brain, Fred liked you just as much as you liked him but nothing was working. You needed help.

George raised an eyebrow but nodded and looked around the busy hallway before taking you over to a witch statue. “Step into my office.” He tapped the back of the witch with his wand and whispered a spell before it opened up into a hidden passage. The two of you slid inside and the opening closed behind you. “So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

How were you supposed to say it? You didn’t want George thinking you were weird for trying to make Fred like you or ask you out but that’s basically what you were doing. Well, if there was no better way to explain it then might as well just say it how it is. Or just tell a small white lie. “I like Fred and I’m trying to spend some more time with him to see if he feels the same.”

George smiled wide and patted you on the back. “Well that’s great. Personally I would love to see you get together with my twin. Is there a reason you needed to tell me? I can ask him if he feels the same.”

“No, don't ask. I’d rather see if I can figure it out. I could use some help though.”

“Sure, whatever you need.” Thank Merlin for George.

---

The first plan you conspired with George was to leave some of your things around with him and then he would have Fred deliver them. That one was easy and while it did make Fred come see you and start to match different items with you, nothing had changed.

Next step was a little harder and had a greater risk of detention. In your Advanced Potions class one day, you stole a small vial of Amortentia; it was a powerful love potion that was supposed to smell differently to each person who smelled it. You smelled honey, Butterbeer, and gunpowder; basically you smelled Fred each time you caught a whiff of the potion. You weren’t planning on giving it to Fred because making him fall in love with you because of a potion was wrong and it would be the easy way out. You just wanted to know what he smelled and see if it smelled like you.

At breakfast the day after you stole it, you approached the twins. “I need both of you to smell this and tell me what it smells like.” You set the small vial in front of them.

“Is it poison?” Fred mused, grabbing it and swirling the pearlescent potion.

“Sniff it and find out.” You rolled your eyes and took it from him before shoving it under George’s nose. He would go along with it no questions asked. He trusted you and you say this with love but he was a little more dumb in a sense. Both boys were incredibly smart and while Fred was very carefree and did whatever he wanted, he still had the good sense to question things even if they came from someone he knew. George however probably would have drank it if you asked him to. He was a delight.

George took a long sniff and hummed. “It smells nice, kinda like lemons and maybe a campfire and… trees.”

“Trees?” You and Fred both asked at the same time.

“Yeah trees. Don’t look at me like I’m stupid. Trees have a special smell.” George crossed his arms over his chest and turned away from you.

“Whatever you say Tree Boy. Fred?” You held it out to him and with a sigh, he leaned over and smelled it.

“I don’t smell trees at all, even if they do apparently have a special smell. I smell something more like fresh baked bread and vanilla and something I can’t quite place.” Fred shrugged and leaned back, watching you closely. It took a lot of effort to keep your face neutral when all you wanted to do was grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he could place that last smell.

“Great.” You quickly spun around and started to take off when Fred stopped you.

“I know what it is. It smells like your shampoo.” You couldn’t even pretend to be neutral as he said this. A large smile spread across your face and you continued walking away. That lifted a huge weight off of your shoulders. It meant that he at least found you attractive in some way so this wasn’t all a big waste. You would have been pissed if you stole from Snape for no reason.

Now that you knew Fred at least liked you a little, you and George amped it up. He would ask Fred to meet him somewhere and you would conveniently be there as well. Then before Fred could even ask George why he was brought there, George would disappear and leave you alone with Fred.

---

You thought that maybe after all of your hard work Fred would finally ask you out but he didn’t. In fact, he left Hogwarts before graduation. The average person would have given up at this point but you refused. You spent the end of the school year trying to figure out what to do next. It wasn’t until after you graduated and had a job that you came up with another plan.

After graduating, you decided to spend a year working in Flourish and Blotts, the bookstore in Diagon Alley. It wasn’t your dream job but it was a good place and it had a room available right above it. With Death Eaters roaming around it wasn’t as fun as you hoped it would have been but it worked. You had somewhere to live and a job to pay for food. It also turned out to be the perfect spot to continue your quest for Fred Weasley. Right after school Fred and George opened up a joke shop and despite the Death Eaters and general depressing atmosphere, the joke shop was doing extremely well.

During your breaks you wandered Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes mostly hoping for a chance to see either twin but also it was probably the safest place to be. Over the first few weeks you learned his schedule pretty easily. He worked almost all day on the weekend since it was the busiest time at the shop. He worked less on Mondays and Thursdays and every Wednesday he got ice cream on his lunch break. You weren’t stalking him, you swear. If he showed any sign of hating you or not liking how frequently he saw you, then you would have stopped. Something just felt like Fred was the one.

You decided the best place to bump into him would be Wednesday during lunch. It wouldn’t be as creepy if you just so happened to see him out and about, because you aren’t stalking him. One Wednesday, you did just that. The plan was to get him alone and talk to him. You would catch up and you would mention how much you missed seeing him and then he would finally ask you out. You walked from the bookstore to the ice cream shop with your head down and hoped you would run into Fred and not a Death Eater. Only a few feet from the store, you rammed into someone and almost fell over if they hadn’t wrapped their arms around your waist. It had to have been Fred or a very polite Death Eater.

“Y/N?” You looked up to see a shocked Fred holding his ice cream out of harm’s way. “Is that really you? Gosh it's been a while. How are you?”

You smiled at him and took a small step back. “I’m alright. How are you? I see the store is thriving.” You pointed to the bright building across the street and your heart filled with warmth. You were proud of him and George for accomplishing so much.

“Yeah business is great. What about you? What are you doing here?” He looked around the street that was eerily quiet. Diagon Alley used to be bustling with so many people it was hard to walk around but now, it looked like you and Fred were the only two people on the street. “Before you answer that, let’s go talk in my office at the shop. It’s not a good idea to just linger around out here anymore.”

If he didn’t suggest it you would have. Diagon Alley was always a wonderful place to go before school. Going to Diagon Alley was really the start of the school year. You got to buy new books for classes and new robes and quills and ink and everything else. You saw friends you hadn’t seen in a while and heard about their summers. Now the street was empty and businesses were closed down. At the moment only Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was the only store thriving. The bookstore was open for now but it wouldn’t be much longer before it was closed or ransacked too.

Fred led you towards his shop, eyes constantly scanning your surroundings. When you were almost at the store, a trash can knocked over and Fred shoved you behind him and pulled out his wand, pointing it towards the trash can. A small cat scampered out from behind it and while his and your body sagged with relief, your hearts were still pounding a million beats a minute. He quickly ushered you into the store and the difference between the feeling of the outside and the inside almost gave you whiplash.

It was bright and cheery and filled with students all trying to get their hands on new products. Wednesday was supposed to be one of the slower days but it was still packed to the brim. Fred put his hand on the small of your back and took you up a flight of stairs and to the back corner of the shop. Hidden amongst the shelves was a door the office hid behind. It was small with only a desk and three chairs but it was cozy and felt safe. He took a seat behind the desk and you sat opposite him.

“Well, now that we made it here without a scratch, tell me about how you’ve been. I had no idea you were even in the area. A lot of people have left.” He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves and you were taking back to the Yule Ball and the first time you really set your eyes on him.

“I started working at Flourish and Blotts not long after school ended. It’s really just temporary. To be honest I don’t even know how long it will stay open. Everything is shutting down.” It was scary. You didn’t know what would happen at any minute of the day. Honestly you spent so much time watching Fred from afar not because you didn’t have a plan but because just seeing him brought so much comfort and peace. You didn’t know what you would do if that got messed up.

“Why haven’t you come to visit sooner? It would have been great to see you.” Fred smiled and leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk.

“Oh well I didn’t know when you were free or how busy you were.” You were lying through your teeth.

“I thought you would have, seeing how you came into the store every day for weeks.” What? You came in on your breaks the first couple of weeks when you moved, that was right but you kept to yourself and you thought you were sneaky. He saw you?

“I did? You know it's been a long time since I first got here and so much has changed.” Your hands were sweating and your heart was racing. What was happening?

“You’re right,” Fred looked out the window, his eyes landing on the destroyed shops that lined the street. “A lot has changed,” he turned back to you, “but you sure haven’t. I mean you’re still trying to move me around like a chess piece. Has it been hard trying to hatch this grand plan to get me? It's been three years, right?”

There was no coming back from this. He knew without a doubt what you had been doing for years and there was no way you could lie or pretend he didn’t. You just hoped he would at least be your friend still after this. You looked down at your lap and tried to keep the tears in as you finally confessed. “Yeah it’s been pretty hard. Fred, I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to think I was weird but I just didn’t know what to do. I saw you at the ball and I just had to have you but I had to know what you felt first. Then it just sort of became more of a plan to get you to like me. I understand if you hate me and I promise to leave you alone if you want me to.”

Fred was silent and after a few minutes, you found the will to look up at him. To your utter surprise, Fred was leaning back in his chair and watching you with a smirk. “Darling, I don’t mind at all. It was fun to see how far you would go. Impressive as well.”

Your mouth dropped open as you stared at him. “How long have you known?”

“Since you called me George at the Yule Ball. You always knew which one of us was which but somehow you didn’t as you stole me away from Angelina for a slow dance.” Fred laughed and leaned over the desk, putting his finger under your chin to close your mouth.

You blinked once, twice, three times before smacking his hand away. “You knew the entire time?” You laughed and shook your head. “You knew and you just let me go around thinking I was playing you like a game of chess? You ass!” You burst into a fit of laughter along with Fred.

“Honestly,” Fred began as you both stopped laughing, “I was touched that you thought I was worth all of the hard work. Not as touched that you thought you were pulling the wool over my eyes while using my brother to help you.”

You covered your face with your hands and groaned, sliding down in the chair. “I hate you, Fred Weasley.” You peaked out from behind your hands and found him watching you with an adoring smile. “So you really don’t hate me for all of this?”

“If I hated you and didn’t enjoy this, I would have stopped you as soon as you put that Amortentia under my nose.” He grabbed your hands and pulled them away from your face, grasping them tightly in his. “Now that you know that I knew your grand scheme this whole time, how about I treat you to lunch? I’ve been planning this meal for three years.”

“I suppose but under one condition.” You sat up and leaned over the desk. “You have to kiss me. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for three years and I haven't because you let me play this game. I only think it's fair.”

Fred tapped his finger on his chin, humming. “I think I can get behind that.” He stood and cupped your cheek in his hand, bringing his lips down to yours. It was everything you dreamed of. His lips were soft and gentle and he tasted like honey and a hint of Butterbeer. All too soon he pulled away.

“Hey, come back. I never told you I got three years worth from one kiss.” You smirked and he rolled his eyes, moving back in.

“What a mastermind," he mumbled before his lips found yours.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfiction #hp fanfcition

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

Note

Hi!!!! Your L&C fics are my favorite thing ever, your writing is absolutely incredible, I'm a bit obsessed I think XDD

Apologies if this request is too specific, but I would die for a Lockwood x reader fic where the reader makes up their mind to do something stupidly reckless for a case, something even Mr. Reckless himself can't support, especially not when it's YOU. He begs you not to, you do it anyway, get badly injured, but he's still there to patch you up after all of it.

Have an awesome day!!!!!

a/n: my day is absolutely awesome so far, i hope yours is too!! and thank you so much, i'm so so glad you enjoy my stuff!! i hope you enjoy <3

warnings: language, injury gn reader

You knew the case was going to be a bad one from the get-go, you just didn't know how bad.

Everything had seemed fine when you and the other members of Lockwood and Co met with the clients, a pair of men who owned a nearby butcher's. A Type Two haunting the place, nothing you couldn't handle. George had even found a lot a decent information on the place that could help you guys figure out where the source was. The notion of it being in a butcher's made you uneasy, and you knew very little about the Type Two, though Lockwood was sure you'd all be fine.

But, standing in the shop, facing a ghost you can't see, you know you're fucked.

It's just your luck to be faced with a poltergeist, honestly.

Unlike other Visitors, poltergeists can't inflict ghost touch which, in the long run, is very handy. If ambulances can't get to agents on time to give them an adrenaline injection, then it can lead to loss of limbs or death. It sounds like a positive, right?

Well, staring at the carving knife floating a few feet away, you would much rather be faced with a Wraith or even a Rawbones.

The thing is, poltergeists have no physical form so it's harder to look for a source, hence George and Lucy scrambling around in the backroom, clattering about as they rush to look.

Ahead of you, the knife hovers in midair, its sharp, gleaming point slowly turning as if to decide which person to dart at: you, Lockwood, or Lucy and George. It's like a horrible version of Spin the Bottle.

"So, this lovely Visitor was the old butcher?" you say, keeping your voice light. Poltergeists feed off negative emotions even more than other Type Twos.

Lockwood nods, rapier in hand as he looks around the rest of the room, rooted in place. "That's what George says."

"What reason does it have to be haunting the place?"

"Killed by an angry employee, I think."

You hold back a grumble, forcing down your anger at stupid people from the past. If they'd known how many problems they'd cause in the future, would they still have been such idiots?

Probably.

"Watch your back then," you joke. "You have three employees. Keep us happy, will you?"

"There's only so much tea I can make."

The knife rises in the air slightly and you falter back a step as its sharp end points at you.

"I think I'm the favourite," you mutter, trying to keep your fear in check. It's not often ghosts threaten you at knifepoint. "Lockwood, you go help Lucy and George look for the source. I'll keep its attention."

"No way." He looks at you incredulously. "We're doing this together."

Palms sweating, you say, "Your rapier isn't going to do much against a ghost we can't see, and not all of us can look for the source because then none of us stands a chance."

"I'm not letting you face it on your own," Lockwood insists. "Not a chance. The thing's got a knife, and it can do much worse."

But Lucy shouts something from the backroom, drawing Lockwood's attention. Through the buzz of fear in your ears, you think she says they might've found something.

"Lockwood, go!"

"(name), I'm not just going to leave you to -"

The knife whizzes in the air, lodging itself in the wooden doorframe, awfully close to your shoulder. It's like the Visitor wants Lockwood to stay, but you aren't going to let him. He's the leader of Lockwood and Co, the face of it. The company needs him. But not you. You're expendable.

Your Talent isn't anything special, not like Lucy's, and your research skills are nowhere near the standard of George's. All you're good at is using a rapier and sweet-talking DEPRAC when cases go tits up. Lockwood can easily fill in for you.

"Lockwood," you grit out, trying to keep the frustration at a minimum. "Go."

He's about to argue, but George calls for help - whatever they've found is stuck. He doesn't move.

Before you can think about it, you rush over and shove him in the direction of the backroom, and he stumbles, falling into the door. He barely gets his footing before Lucy's dragged him through.

"(name)!" he shouts, but he doesn't appear. Thank god for Lucy.

"All right," you murmur, turning to look at the knife in the doorframe. "Just you and me, now, Polty."

Slowly, threateningly, the knife dislodges from the frame, shining in the dim lanternlight. From the far wall, a knife rack trembles on its hooks, and more come free. Your heart is in your throat. Maybe you'll end up like a ghost you've defeated before, an old man who'd been jumped and stabbed endlessly.

Hopefully, you'll be an easy ghost to get rid of.

The carving knife comes flying at you, and you barely deflect it with the thin blade of your rapier. Another knife darts across the room, and you duck out of the way, though it nicks your ear. You can feel the little dribble of blood sliding down the skin already.

"Do you guys mind hurrying up a bit?" you call, eyeing the large collection of knives hovering. "Not to rush you or anything, but, you know, I'm not the biggest fan of being threatened by knives."

"Almost there!" Lucy shouts. "George got his arm stuck trying to get the source out. We're trying to get him unstuck."

Swallowing, you say lightly, "Yeah, sounds fun. Maybe speed it up a little."

You can hear a little arguing, likely Lockwood trying to come back out to help but getting told off by Lucy. You almost smile. Almost.

This time, the small knife that launches at you catches your shoulder and you resist crying out in pain. If you do, Lockwood will definitely come running out, and you can't afford that. They need to get the source.

Blood oozes down your arm, staining your jumper. Your grasp on your rapier weakens, and you swap the blade into your other hand, although this hand is considerably worse with it.

"It's rude to stab people," you grumble.

The next knife is deflected clumsily from your face, half from the inability of using your other hand and half from the pain in your shoulder. You'd pull the knife out, but you know it'll make things worse. At least it hasn't hit anything vital.

You can feel the presence of the poltergeist, thick and hanging over the whole room like a blanket. It isn't the most powerful one, not like the ones you've heard Fittes agents dealing with, because, even though its presence is everywhere, its focus is dealt solely on you. If it were stronger, it'd be targeting the others, too.

"Go on then, give me your worst."

Another knife, another dodge. It feels like it goes on forever, on and on and on with the same knives over again. The blood from your shoulder has reached your hand now and, god, how you wish you could throw a salt bomb at this thing. Your fingers itch to hold one.

"Hurry up!"

Mistake. You regret speaking immediately, having let out a little too much frustration, and the poltergeist feeds on it. The knives tremble in the air, every point staring menacingly at you, and the one hanging in your shoulder tears out, bringing with it another gush of blood. You can't help the cry that escapes your lips this time.

"Get the silver net, hurry!" Lucy's voice shouts.

The world moves in slow motion. As the knives fly in your direction, gleaming, one covered in blood, your heart feels like it ceases all functions. This is where you die. You'll never be able to dodge all of them in time.

Then the first blade sinks into your shoulder, just inches below the first puncture, and you shut your eyes.

You'll miss Portland Row and your friends. Maybe you didn't cherish their antics enough - the way George sings in the shower in the mornings, waking you up, or how Lucy will blast music at full volume while hacking away at the dummies in the basement for rapier practice. Most of all, you'll miss Lockwood. His smile, the way his eyes sparkle when he realises you've bought him a new magazine from the shop, the feeling of his fingers brushing yours as he passes you a mug of tea after every case.

There isn't much you regret, but you regret not telling him how you feel about him. About the nights you spend thinking about him, wishing for something more between you both.

Metal slams to the ground. The heavy pressure sitting on your shoulders dissipates, and silence ensues.

Slowly opening your eyes, you startle, seeing a dozen knives scattered on the floor right in front of your feet. Droplets of blood drip from your fingers, forming a little puddle on the floor. You're breathing heavily, much more than you should be, and your body is trembling.

The others stumble into the room, eyeing the blades that have fallen before you. Lockwood is the first to notice the blood soaking the sleeve of your jumper.

He practically leaps over the counter to get to you. "Lucy, George, go get rid of the source and get us a night cab. Quick."

Wordlessly, the two sprint from the shop and into the night.

"You're okay," Lockwood says.

You almost believe him, falling for the assured tone of his voice, but you feel a little woozy. Knees buckling, you drop to the floor, but he catches you with gentle hands, slowly lowering you down so you can sit after kicking the knives away.

"You're okay," he says again, though it sounds like it's more for himself than for you.

"I'm fine," you say, smiling albeit weakly. "Polty didn't stand a chance."

"Polty?" Lockwood parts from your side, grasping his bag from the corner and digging in it for a first aid kit. "You named the ghost?"

Nodding, you lean your head back against the wall. "He was my best mate."

There's a small laugh. "I don't think Lucy will appreciate that sentiment."

He's beside you again before you can even really process it, gingerly touching the ripped hole in your jumper. There's a lot more blood there than you initially realised.

"Do you think you can get your jumper off?" Lockwood asks. "I need to see the cuts."

Normally, you would've made a comment at that, but your throat feels awfully dry. "Take the knife out first?"

He goes pale, eyeing the - thankfully - small knife stuck in your arm.

"This will hurt. Hold onto my arm."

And you do. You weakly wrap your hand around his forearm, bracing yourself for the pain. He begins to count down from three, but he yanks the knife out on one, and you shout in pain, squeezing his arm.

"You pulled it early!"

"You would've made it harder to get out if I'd counted down the whole way." He looks a little bad for doing it, but you can understand why he did it. "Jumper?"

With his help, you manage to pull the thing off, hissing as you move your injured shoulder. Your T-shirt is stained at the sleeve, too, and partially at the neckline. It stings to pull it from the wound, but, soon enough, the cuts are visible. They're neat little things, nothing more than small slits in your skin, but they go deep. Lockwood will only be able to do so much.

With shaking hands, Lockwood pulls some things out of the first aid kit. You're too sore to really notice.

"You're an idiot, you know that, right?"

His voice shocks you out of the daze you were slipping into. "Hmm?"

"You shouldn't have done that alone. Look what's happened."

As he brings an alcohol wipe to the gashes, you wince at the sharp sting and the pressure he applies but say, "And what should I have done? Let you be the one to do it alone? We both know that you wouldn't have let me help, Lockwood. And you're more important in the grand scheme of things. I think I would've made quite the sacrifice if it had come to it."

"Don't say that." His voice wavers slightly, so quietly you barely hear it. "You're important to me."

He applies more pressure to the wounds, then he places wound dressings over them before grabbing a water bottle from his bag and soaking a tissue. Gently, he takes your arm in his hand and cleans away the slowly drying blood. It's messy work - the tissue keeps flaking apart, but it does the job and, soon enough, your arm is only faintly stained with your blood. He cleans the little bit of blood away from your ear quickly, placing a little plaster over the cut.

"I wasn't going to let you do it," you say, gratefully swallowing the painkillers he hands you. "You would've killed yourself to save us."

"And you didn't just try practically the same thing?"

There's an undertone of anger in his voice, but it's weak, taken over almost completely by his concern.

"(name) -" He hesitates, looking away from you. His ears are tinted slightly red. "You can't just be reckless like that. Not when..."

His fingers brush yours as you say, "When what?"

You can feel the tremble in his fingers. Although you're the one with stab wounds that still need medical attention, you worry. His smile, that cocky grin you've grown so fond of, is nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by parted lips and heavy breathing. The pulse you can feel in his fingers is erratic.

"Not when you mean so much to me. I can't lose you."

The words take you aback. For a moment, you're acutely aware of his skin touching yours, of the sound of his breaths, and the way the light accentuates the features on his face. His cheekbones look sharper, and his eyes glimmer, darkness set alight with little stars.

He mistakes your shocked silence for rejection. "A night cab should be here soon, then we can get you to a hospital and -"

His words falter when your good hand touches his cheek. Slowly, his gaze turns to your outstretched arm, gradually making its way up the limb until he's looking at you - your eyes, your lips. This is the most nervous you've seen him, and it makes you feel a little triumphant. Not many people make Anthony Lockwood nervous.

"I'm okay," you promise. "You've patched me up, and we're going to get me taken care of, yeah? But, first..."

"But first?" His eyebrow quirks, and he watches you closely.

It's something you never would do in normal circumstances. Really, you're probably not in the right state of mind, but you've wanted to do this for months. And Lockwood doesn't stop you.

When your lips touch his, you feel a sense of completeness. Like your soul has been made whole. It's as if they're the missing piece to a puzzle you've been trying to finish all your life, finally found after years and years of searching.

One of Lockwood's hands holds the back of your neck, his touch gentle, giving you enough leeway to pull away if you so wish. But you don't. You won't. No, instead your clutch his shirt with your good hand, holding him close. You never want this to end, this feeling of finally being whole. Your heart is racing, and it feels as though your very being is going to implode from pure elation.

Carefully, reluctantly, he pulls away, but his face stays close. His eyes search yours for any glimpse of regret, but he finds none, and he grins, at last. The smile sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself smiling, too, despite your pain.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for that," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You can feel his breath on your lips. "I might have an idea."

And then he's kissing you again, snatching your breath away.

Silently, you're thanking the poltergeist for the wounds, a thought that almost makes you laugh.

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #lockwood and co netflix #givemea-dam-break

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malarkgirlypop · 6 months

Text

He's the Boss Part 2 (Bull Randleman x F!Reader)

HI! I am mean and there is going to be a part three. It's gonna be spicy! But for now here is part two, hope you all enjoy! He is one fine looking man ugh! Someone find me a bull to ride! ok I need to calm down ahaha. Based on the HBO show and the actor who portray the characters, no hate to anyone involved.

I huffed in frustration, my hair wasn’t sitting how I wanted it too. I spent ages getting ready, wanting to look nice for once when we went out. I had showered, even shaved, with one of George’s razors I had stolen. My legs felt and looked silky smooth, which was good, as I was wearing the women's formal army attire. Which included a skirt, button up top, and a fitted jacket. When it was put altogether it looked nice, it hugged my curves, giving me an hourglass figure. I was trying to pin my hair back so it looked tidy but it was being stubborn, not wanting to sit in the way I had placed it down. I rummaged through the draws, trying to find anything that could help my cause.

“Ah ha!” I said in success, pulling out a can of hairspray that was discarded in one of the cupboards. I sprayed the piece that kept popping up. I waited for a moment for it to dry fully before removing my hand. I pulled my hand away slowly holding my breath, the hair stayed in its place. I moved on to my makeup, not having much with me, but the nurses I had met in the aid station were nice enough to give me one of their red lipsticks and a mascara. I drag the red tint over my lips, rubbing them together, and then coating the black liquid onto my eyelashes. I stepped back to admire my hard work. Surprisingly enough I looked like a girl. I hadn’t seen her in a while. I grinned happily with the results. I pulled on my heels, I didn’t want to wear them but the outfit would look old with big clompy combat boots covered in mud. I took one last look in the mirror when someone knocked on the door to my room. “Come in.” I called as I straightened my tie.

I heard a whistle from behind me, “My, my, my, doesn’t she dress up nice.” I posed for George as he grinned. “Give me a twirl.” I spun around in a circle as he asked. “You look beautiful.” His voice full of honesty. “You don’t look too shabby yourself, soldier.” He clicks his heels together giving me a silly salute. He offers me his arm as we make our way out into the foyer to meet with the other men who are coming with us to the pub. We had decided we would all walk there together since it wasn’t that far away.

“Oh Y/N who are you all dressed up for, surely it isn’t us.” Lieb said as he admired my outfit. I smiled at him.

“Maybe I’ll meet a nice guy down at the bar, who knows.” I tease. Someone clears their throat from behind me. I know who it is before I even see them. I turn to see Bull. I gulp. My eyes dragged down his body and back up to his face. I have alway appreciated his looks, I can’t deny he isn’t a good looking guy. But something about him clean shaven in formal attire brings heat to my cheeks. My heart pounds in my chest, no one speaks, as we stare at each other. His soft smile graces his face.

“You look amazing darling.” He says in his country accent. I have to stop my knees from giving way underneath me. I didn’t know getting a compliment could feel this exhilarating.

“You look very handsome Bull.” The men awww from behind us in a teasing matter. I laugh feeling exposed.

“Shall we go?” Bull says to the group, who agree, making their way out the door, “Don’t pay attention to them, they’re just jealous you didn’t tell them they looked handsome.” He placed his hand on the small of my back as we walked together. My breath hitched in my throat. He’s your boss Y/N. I tried to not think about his large hand on my back as we walked. But it was a hard thing to try and ignore, the way my body reacted to his soft touch. The prickle of my skin under his hand was driving me insane. I was trying to listen to the conversation he was having with Luz but all I could focus on was how good his hand felt on my body. Stop it!

We arrived at the bar, I almost whined in frustration when his hand slipped off my back. I widened my eyes at myself, shocked from the reaction I almost let slip. I smiled at him as he opened the door for me. Why is he so thoughtful, curse his good manners. His mother raised him too well, and it wasn’t in my favour. I joined the men in the booth, we had to squeeze in so that we all fit. I was squished between Babe and Bull. Luz stood in front of the table asking who wanted what, after a while of everyone yelling random drinks he told us to get fucked and that we would all get beers. We laughed as he stormed away to the bar. I shook my head at the man.

“How you deal with him Y/N, I will never know.” Bull jokes, he leans down closer to my face so that I can hear him over all the noise. The smell of his cigar that he smokes wafts over my face. I had grown accustomed to the smell since being friends with the man. I quite enjoyed the smell now, as I associated it with him. If I smelt the smokey, sweet aroma of the tobacco I knew he wasn’t far behind.

“Can I try that?” I asked without thinking, he looked shocked, he knew I didn’t smoke.

“Are you sure darlin’?” He asked, I nodded my head. He passed me the cigar, I put it between my lips. It felt oddly intimate, having my lips on something he had previously had his own lips on. I inhaled the smoke, god it was strong, it burnt my throat on its way down. I coughed and spluttered, the smoke didn’t taste as good as it smelled. I was handed my beer, I chugged it down trying to relieve the burn in my throat. I downed my whole beer in one go. The men around the table watched me in shock. I heard the familiar sound of Bull’s laughter, everyone else joined in, once they knew I was ok.

“Y/N are you ok?” Bull asked through chuckles. I laughed nodding my head. Someone else passed me their beer, getting up to go and order another one.

“I don’t think I have seen someone as small as you down a pint that fast.” He said surprised. I don’t think I have ever chugged a drink that fast before, but I needed something to quell the fire in my throat.

“Thank you!” I grin at him taking the compliment, he smiles at me, his hand coming out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. In doing so his fingertips drag along my cheek, the tingling returning where he touches. I gazed into his bright blue eyes, fighting the urge to lean forward and press my lips to his. A loud cheer pulled us from our brief moment, Bull removed his hand from my cheek as I leaned back.

“Yeah I don’t think I’m a smoker.” I coughed trying to clear my throat. “How is your throat not raw?” I asked

“You get used to it.” He smirks down at me. I laugh nodding my head. I spent the night stuck in the booth pressed to Bull’s side. I didn’t mind, in fact I rather enjoyed it. Being in the corner of the booth we seemed to be in our own little world. I only spoke to him for the majority of the night.

“Y/N!” George slurred, grabbing my arm and tugging me. “Let’s dance!” I laughed letting my very inebriated friend drag me from my seat and onto the dance floor. I couldn’t stop laughing, George was so drunk he was doing the most outlandish dance moves. I stood in front of him just roaring with laughter. He would grab my hands and spin me around, then he would pause almost throwing up from the spinning. I wiped the tears from my eyes as he drunkenly grinned at me.

“I think I need to sit down.” He mumbled stumbling away. I laughed watching him go, he crashed down into the booth the Easy men still occupied. I stepped forward to also make my way back to the booth, surely it was nearly time to leave. I was stopped in place, I turned to see who had grabbed my elbow. A man I didn’t know but wore his uniform smiled at me.

“You look stunning!” He flirted.

“Thank you.” I expressed my appreciation for the nice compliment.

“Your friend isn’t a very good dancer.” I laughed at the statement shaking my head, in this state he indeed was a terrible dancer.

“He is normally better at it when he isn’t so drunk.” I assured the man who still had hold of my elbow, and was standing very close. I took a step back to create some distance but the man followed after me, not giving me the space I wanted. I tried to subtly pull my arm back but even that he had a firm grip on.

“How about you have a dance with me?” He asks, grinning at me.

“Oh I would but I think our group is leaving.” I excuse myself politely, but the man doesn’t get the hint.

“That’s ok I can walk you back after we are finished.” He insists. I glance around, I can’t see any of the Easy men around to ask for help. I give a tight lipped smile to the man.

“That’s very nice of you, but I have to take care of my friend, see he is-” I whimper as the man’s grip on my arm tightens further, his finger’s digging into my skin. He yanks me forward. The smile dropped from his face. “Dance with me.” It isn’t a question or a request, it's a command. I have faced men with guns who want to kill me, but in this moment I don’t think I have been more afraid. People surround us but I can’t seem to ask for help. No one seems to notice how close the man stands to me, how uncomfortable my demeanour is.

“Can you let go, you're hurting me.” I whispered, too afraid to raise my voice any louder. He didn’t do as I asked, keeping his hold on my arm.

“The lady asked to be let go!” I heard from behind me, I instantly sighed, Bull’s voice was loud and assertive. I could feel him behind me. I didn’t even have to turn around to know what face he wore. I knew it was his scary one, because the man holding my arm instantly dropped it like it had burnt him and scampered away without another word.

I rubbed the inside of my elbow, trying to ease the pain from where his fingers dug into my skin. I turned to face Bull. I sent him an appreciative smile, but he didn’t return it. My face dropped, was he mad at me too. But I looked again, no it wasn’t anger on his face, it was concern. His brows furrowed together and his lip drew down at the sides.

“Thank you Bull.” I stepped forward and hugged the man gently, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head on his chest. His arms came around me returning the hug gently.

“Are you ok?” He asked as we embraced. I nodded, not looking up at him. “If that ever happens again Y/N, you call for me immediately.” He pushed me back so I was looking at his face as he spoke, he looked very serious.

“You’ll be the first one I call!” I smile at him, he nods finally letting a small smile fall on his lips. “Are we heading back yet? My feet are killing me.” I was ready to go home and crash, I looked over Bull’s shoulder. Easy men looked like they were getting ready to leave. Poor George was slung over Perco's shoulder, barely able to stand. I watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, as Frank almost fell over from the man not helping at all. Perco hit him in the side, muttering things to him, I’m sure he was cursing him for being so drunk. Bull turned his attention onto what I was watching too. I stood close as we people watched, laughing together when Perco tried to start walking and George stayed in place.

“Do you think we should help them?” I asked, still laughing but feeling bad for Frank.

“Yeah. I think Frank is going to murder George, look at him he looks so mad.” Bull and I chuckled. It was so funny to watch. We made our way over, I draped Luz’s free arm around my shoulder as Perco thanked me.

We walked in the cool night air. Perco and I just basically dragged the very inebriated George home. His head hung low, and his eyes were closed but he made some effort to try and walk. It was hard work.

“God George you’re so fucking heavy!” I puffed, readjusting his arm around my shoulder. If my feet were killing me before, now they are dead. Stupid heels. Bull followed beside me. The Easy men who weren’t so drunk had walked ahead of us because we were so slow, but Bull stayed behind to keep us company while we walked Luz home.

Bull and I took Luz up to his room. We placed him down on the bed, Bull took off his jacket while I pulled off his boots. I almost yanked him off the bed, his boots were on so tight. I pull his left boot as Bull undoes his tie, leaning his head back on the pillow.

“You got it?” He asked after he was finished, watching me struggling.

“Almost.” I said through gritted teeth. I gave it a good tug, it came loose sending me flying back onto the floor. I burst out laughing, Bull joining in. I smile wryly at him. We tucked Luz into bed, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for if he needed.

Bull walked me back to my room. I walked inside, but he stayed outside. I kicked off my shoes, happy to have them off my feet. I turned grinning at the man, he leaned in the doorway just watching me with a smile.

“Thank you again for helping me tonight. But I also wanted to thank you for the rest of the night as well. I had so much fun, I’m glad you came.” I walked so we were closer, he was still propped up in the doorway looking down at me.

“I had fun too, I’m glad you asked me to come.” We just smiled at each other, not saying anything. The tension was palpable. I realised that I didn’t want to impress him because he was my boss. I had secretly known that months ago, it was an excuse to hide my true feelings. My true feelings were that I liked this man, more than I have ever liked anyone in my life. No one else has made me feel the things that Bull does. All he needs to do is smile at me and I melt. George was right, I am smitten. I looked at him, did he like me the way I did? Maybe I should see? I stepped forward, we were almost touching. I could feel the warmth from his body radiating off of him. I waited testing the waters, I didn’t want to pounce on him. He held my eye contact, the smile falling from his lips. It was as if gravity was pulling us together, like two magnets. I was so close to his face, we jumped back when we heard a door slam down the hall. He cleared his throat standing straight. The moment had passed, I stepped back.

“Darling, if you need anything, come get me.” He said as he tapped my chin.

“Goodnight darling.” He smiled at me as he closed my door, leaving me standing in the middle of the room. I stared at the door, willing it to open, for him to come back in, but it didn’t happen. I heard his footsteps retreat down the hall. He was too polite to come barging back in like I had wanted. I sighed getting ready for bed.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #hbo war #bull randleman x reader #bull randleman #george luz #frank perconte

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ghastlytofu · 7 months

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YES OKAY I listened to Father Figure by George Michael over and over and over again while writing this. But @hiriaeth..... your post crawled into my brain matter!! accessed only the horniest and most Sopping Wet Sad parts!! and this happened oops.

nsfw wyllstarion fic with feelings beneath the cut :)

He's floating, now. It's not their first time, nor their fifth. Weeks after soft confessions full of hard truths, the indisputable realities of their lives made more and less complicated by their unexpected camaraderie, it is comfortable. It is familiar.

It is novel still.

"Eager," Astarion hisses into the fabric of Wyll's trousers, above the pulse-point in his thigh. Only it's more of a whisper, equal parts hunger and reverence for what lies beneath.

Beneath his haphazardly discarded clothing there is the solid weight of a rod within him - smooth stone, phallic and flared at the base, enchanted with warming runes that tingle pleasantly on contact. And there is a lot of contact. Lines of nascent fire run parallel on either side of the device, pulled further into his clenching heat by the harried, desperate movements of his hips as Astarion sits astride him, casual as can be. His lover strokes his own cock, grinding slowly, unhurried as he bears witness to Wyll's pleasure.

He feels. He feels.

"One little stone cock and you're this undone?" he tuts, one hand idly palming his balls now. "Your other lovers haven't been doing their job." He looks... not displeased - at least not with Wyll - and removes his hands from their work, crossing his arms over his pale chest. His brow is furrowed in consternation.

Wyll laughs, exalted in surrender and so turned on he wants to... wants to do something. Chew through his own flesh maybe, or Astarion's. "What other lovers?" he manages at last, panting through his pleasure and aching for- Astarion huffs out an answering laugh before he can complete the thought, breath soft on his skin.

Wyll's been asked to stay still - asked, only, it wasn't a request. Not really. There's a tilt in his lover's unusually sharp smile, a playful gleam in his eye. "You'll want to heed me," he says, promising nothing. His words are flint but his face is honey-sweet, like Wyll knew he'd be. Hoped he'd be, his soul whispers, and for once in his life he was rewarded for his faith.

Isn't that how it's always been between them?

Astarion merely stares into Wyll's good eye, placid as a lake. Wyll wonders if he's satisfied with what he sees there, but before he can ask the other man is grinding his hips into his own again, victorious as Wyll stutters on words he wasn't going to say.

The weight of expectations and the song of yearning deep within his heart, the hot blood throbbing in his cock, his composure warring against the perilous realization that he wants. That he needs. He cries out as his unfettered ego breaks against the rocky shores of the unknown.

Deft fingers are unbuckling his belt, drawing his trousers down and out of the way. Revealing the mess in his smallclothes - oil and precum and the thick unforgiving stone of that damnable disembodied cock, hours in him now, hours.

Astarion's tongue is a fine instrument. Not least for all its charm or its propensity towards vexatiousness. He knows what to do with it, how to drive Wyll to madness, surely he knows-

His lips - a little cold, a little dry, but soft as satin and sure as the sun make their way from Wyll's chest down to the waistline of his undergarments. Damp as they are with slick and arousal and sweat, they leave little to the imagination. Astarion licks a horizontal line above them - a demarcation of intent - before nuzzling his face into the fabric covering Wyll's package and he cannot hope to contain the throaty noise that escapes his mouth, hips juttering forward, betraying his excitement wholesale if his moaning hadn't already given him away. The stone cock within him shifts sweetly in response to his movements and he chokes on the sensation.

Astarion looks half mad, half affectionate. His normally well-coiffed hair is a mess, owing to their earlier activities more than these before them but his sole focus is on Wyll now. He pets Wyll's face, tenderly. Smiles meanly and sing-songs,

"Young, dumb, and full of cu-"

Wyll groans, half ecstasy and half exasperation at Astarion's insistence on being completely insufferable at every inopportune moment.

"Do not finish that sentence," he grinds out. His teeth are clenched and it's hard to focus on chastising him. It is rather difficult to speak in general when his attention's so divided between the cock in his arse and the one on display before him.

"Or what?" Astarion scoffs, reaching down between Wyll's legs, stopping momentarily to gently roll his balls in his hand before drifting lower still, until he's fingering the base of the stone phallus. Those clever fingers circle his twitching, swollen hole and Wyll tries to remember what words are. His body is too hot. He wonders if this is what Karlach feels like all the time - vitality and scorched earth bound impossibly to one's own living form.

Astarion continues, words blithe, seemingly disaffected. "You are young, and dumb..." He pushes the phallus in, alternating between shallow, quick thrusts and slow and deep, and Wyll gasps like he expects that magical stone cock to come up through his throat. His want is beading at the tip of his cock, fluid pearlescent in the fading light. "And full of come, my sweet," he whispers, torturous tongue applying delicate kitten-licks to the head of his cock which drive him mad but aren't enough.

His horns - 'not the only one,' he had teased some nights ago, the absolute cad - slam against the pillow behind him as his hips cant up, up into that sweet cool mouth only to be overwhelmed by the presence of implacable stone pressing hot and hard into his prostate. It's sweet, it's so sweet and he wants to scream. He twists desperately, Astarion's weight upon him a cornerstone of comfort amidst the ache, and the moan that escapes him is gutteral and involuntary.

It's torturous and too good.

And for a moment, he can't help the fear that washes over him. Not of his lover, of course, nor their current activities, but of his devilish patron Mizora. Of the last time he had attempted... not this, but an approximation of this, with an almost-lover who was many years removed from Wyll's present. Still. The joy Mizora had taken in denying him the respite, this most fundamental of intimacies. It ached then and the threat of it aches now.

Astarion - perhaps via their tadpole, or perhaps Wyll's feelings are more naked on his face than he'd initially thought - takes Wyll's chin in his fine-fingered hands and says, "If she wants to watch, I'll give her a show." No coyness in his voice - well, none more than usual - but... defiant. Protective. It rises in Wyll's heart like an echo, a mirror he didn't know he had - there's a hot swelling in his chest and behind his eyes that has little to do with his throbbing cock. It's been so long since someone cared what he wanted.

Since someone had looked after him.

"See, Mizora?" Astarion's lips, his eyes, his flesh say in tandem. There is mirth and fury in his voice. "There's no room for you here." Bony fingers dig indelicately, indulgently into the sharpest part of Wyll's hips, centering him. Steady. He stares into Wyll's sending stone eye as if he expects her to be staring back. But there is only Wyll, his eyelashes fluttering delicately under the scrutiny.

He's a <good boy> one of them thinks, and between the hot flush of arousal that takes him then and the tadpole-fueled psionic power they're imbued with he cannot tell if it's Astarion or himself that thinks it. That feels it. It makes him cry out regardless.

Astarion, who surely must've heard it - or thought it - only smiles wider and grinds his bare arse against Wyll's leaking cock once more, the pressure of his body weight pushing the warm, pulsating stone phallus deeper still into Wyll, and he cries out, feeling wrecked- feeling-

Faster, he's moving. Wyll can only hold on, torn between wanting to grind down into the fullness or up into Astarion, who is reaching back down and pushing his thumb into Wyll's perineum, staring at Wyll through his lashes, his sweaty brow - their minds brush as their bodies brush, and he hears-feels 'My good, sweet boy' and all at once he is launched off the precipice of pleasure and to his completion.

When he comes to his senses, gasping for air still, heart hammering inside his chest - never one to linger in his own afterglow, as attentive in bed as he is on the battlefield - it's to find Astarion furiously stroking himself, head thrown back as he chases his own climax. Wyll surges up to- help, perhaps. Encourage, at least. But Astarion puts one hand to his chest and shoves him back down, gently but insistently. In seconds Wyll's chest - old scars, new ridges, all parts him - is striped with his lover's spend, evidence of his satisfaction.

They are still for long moments. Astarion rests his head against Wyll's chest - and Wyll knows him well enough to know he's enjoying the thundering of his heart beneath his ribcage, the sound of blood coursing through his overheated body - before groaning and wearily trying to flip them over. This time, he lets Wyll help.

The enchanted stone cock slips out of him with a wet noise that he can't bring himself to be embarrassed about. The whole of him is exposed, laid plain here in this quiet place. His body moves like molasses and feels just as sticky as he rolls over and nuzzles into Astarion's too-cold chest, offsetting some of the unbearable heat.

Astarion holds him as he cards careful, knowing fingers through Wyll's hair, over his horns, tracing the transmogrified points of his ears with a kind of intention that's kind and intentional.

They lay together in the fading light, and it is more than enough.

#good evening wyllstarion nation 😘#take my p*rn offering homiesexuals #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #astarion ancunin #wyllstarion #bloodpact #fanfiction

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jamminvroomvroom · 2 years

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something about him. part 3

GR x fem!reader

find the other parts on my ✨masterlist✨

hi hey hello it’s me again bc i cannot stop writing and need to be stopped lmao. so i’ve hit over 1k and idk how or why bc i’m unhinged but tysm i love u all <333 it seemed only appropriate to post something in honour of that and also in honour of george being so sexy and brave and sexy. you don’t NEED to read part 1 and 2 but it all kinda interlinks and will probs make more sense if you do!! so yeah okay, enjoy!! feedback is good for my soul <333 (formatting goes out the window when i post on my phone so heads up for that also)

in which george needs a bit of comfort.

warnings: 18+ puhlease!! it’s just smut. all smut. smut smut smut. some swearing, tiiiiiny bit of angst at the beginning and a lil bit of fluff at the end!!

3.2k words

george was stood facing you in the media pen, face drenched in disappointment and an underlying fury that made your thighs clench. it was probably inappropriate timing for george to be turning you on, but wasn’t it always? you were so in awe of the man stood before you, so in awe that as he made his way out of the media pen, you were quick to follow.

you didn’t know where he was going. back to the mercedes garage to watch a race ruined for him? back to his motorhome to stare blankly at a wall, or scream, or both? you didn’t particularly care about his destination, all you cared about was talking to him, just for a second. you had nowhere to be, no one else to interview, and so you went after him, following him cautiously through the paddock, something you figured you’d get used to doing.

you hadn’t slept with him since canada, but you assumed that would quickly change at some point this weekend. you’d just wrongly assumed that it’d be on a champagne high after a podium. that didn’t matter to you anymore. watching him crash out and risk his own race to check on his fellow drivers, the bravery that he’d shown, made you want him more than any podium ever could. the icing on the cake had been listening to him criticise the fia. that, you decided, was pretty sexy of him.

“george,” you called out, finally catching up to him. “can i have a word?” you were trying to be inconspicuous, trying not to draw any attention to your exchange, which should have ended in the media pen. he stopped at the sound of your voice, turning around to face you. suddenly, you didn’t know what to say, the sight of him knocking the air out of you. his eyes were telling a story, one of frustration, that you would happily let him take out on you if he so pleased.

“go ahead.” he encouraged, looking at you expectantly with those gorgeous, steely blue eyes. your mouth went dry. it was rare for you to feel so shy, especially under his gaze, something that usually made you feel so powerful.

“i, um, i just wanted to tell you that you were amazing out there. what you did, i,” the way his eyes softened as you spoke so sincerely, the way his guard dropped filled you with the confidence you’d been lacking. you were back in your comfort zone. you dropped your voice an octave, looked up at him through your eyelashes and carried on your sentence. “i think you should be rewarded in some way.”

his face changed instantly, eyes narrowing as he smirked down at you. his body language transformed completely; he no longer looked tense, he looked right in his element. if he couldn’t be out on track, this was the next best place he could be, hovering over you.

“do you think so?” he asked, that unmatched level of banter returning, smirk not faltering once. you nodded profusely. “i’m going back to my motorhome.”

ten minutes later, your back was against the door, leg hooked over his waist, lips battling furiously. one of his hands cupped the side of your neck, firm enough to remind you that he was in charge, and the other was splayed out across the bare skin of your thigh, fingers digging in to the flesh exposed by your dress riding up. he held you there for a while, soft lips continuing to clash messily with yours. your hands were holding his face, keeping him close, enjoying the feel of his body pressed so tightly to yours.

his hand on your neck dropped down to your other thigh, swiftly picking you up. you smiled against his lips, feeling his lips twitch in response. he just felt so good. your arms went around his neck, holding on as he moved you away from the door and navigated you through the motorhome and into the makeshift bedroom.

he dropped you down on the bed, shedding himself of his jacket and unzipping his race suit. you could see his abs through the sheer material of his fireproofs, your glossy eyes fixed on the material and the way it was pulled against his skin. you ignored the smug look on his face, ridding yourself of your light jacket and your shoes, leaving your dress on. you wanted him to take it off of you.

you could only watch on, lip caught between your teeth, as he continued to strip down before you. his race suit hung around his waist, tormenting you, and he removed his fireproofs. you leant back on your hands, eyes trailing over his body, watching the way his muscles rippled delectably. by the time he was finished, left only in his underwear, you were on the verge of panting. you never wanted this arrangement to come to an end.

george stood at the foot of the bed, looming over you seductively; a predator and it’s pray. you needed him to cut to the chase, desperate to feel his weight on top of you, his hands back on your body, anything really. his eyes ran up your body, lingering on where the hem of your dress was fanned out across the tops of your thighs.

“take it off.” george instructed, tongue wetting his lips.

“want you to do it.” you whined. his jaw went slack, momentarily, before he was back on form. he sighed.

“get up.” his voice was low, direct, sending a shiver down your spine. you quickly obeyed. once you’d wiggled off the bed, standing before him, his hands were on you instantly. he turned you around quickly, pressing your back against his front. you were held against him with one hand, whilst the other brushed your hair over your shoulder, your neck exposed for him.

george began to pepper kisses up and down your neck, up and down, hand smoothly dragging the zipper of your dress down, cool fingers grazing your spine. your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as you basked in the pleasure of his touch, the buzz that he’d managed to wash over your body.

“such a fucking brat. never listen to what i tell you.” the silky material fell off of your body, leaving you shaking against his chest in nothing but a set of lace. navy blue, it complimented his eyes nicely. you definitely hadn’t worn it on purpose.

his hands were everywhere, and you were so, so dizzy, breath shaky and laboured as he nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking and swirling his tongue. you could barely form a coherent thought, his bare chest moulded with your back being the only thing you could comprehend. you could feel every single ridge of his body, every single thing he had to offer you, and it was making your head spin. your mind went completely and utterly blank when you felt his hand push at the base of your spine, bending you over the end of the bed.

you turned your head, cheek pressed into the duvet. you could see him out of the corner of your eye, watching as he lowered himself down, hovering over you, his tall frame managing to cover you completely. he ground himself against you, letting you feel how hard he was already. you groaned lowly, feeling his lips kiss up and along your shoulder blade until he reached the base of your neck. his face was centimetres from yours, noses brushing.

“can you be good?” he mumbled, plush lips bumping your cheek. “hmm? gonna be good for me, sweetheart?” george was whispering in your ear, kissing back down your cheek until his face was buried in the crook of your neck. you gasped at the feeling of his tongue flattening, dragging up your neck, teeth suddenly nibbling at your ear lobe. the rapid change of sensations had you arching your back, ass pressing harder against his crotch. george hissed, but it quickly became a laugh, a cruel laugh that reminded you, once again that he always had the upper hand. “answer me.” he was still laughing, low and dangerous, nothing funny about your predicament.

“i’ll be so good for you, anything you want.” you gasped out like you needed air. all you needed was him. he let out a hum that signified his approval.

george worked his lips down your back, reaching the band of your bra. you felt his tongue graze the lace band, teeth tugging lightly. his hand glided up your back, pinching the clasp until it popped open. his thumbs rubbed at the light marks in your skin, some made by the indents of the material, others that he recognised from your night well spent in canada. his tongue was back on you, grazing right down the centre of your spine until he reached your panties. you rolled your eyes as the band was pulled away from your skin, snapping back against you. when you turned your head to glare at him, urging him to get on with it, you were met with a boyish grin that made your heart race.

“let me take my time, my love. need this.” he groaned, and you swear your eyes rolled back in your head at hearing those words. god, you needed it to.

“anything you want.” you panted again, relaxing further into the mattress to let him do as he pleased.

clearly george thought you were getting a bit too comfortable, a light slap on your ass jolting you up slightly. again, your head whipped around, an unsympathetic, devilish grin taking centre stage on his usually angelic features. he peeled your panties down over the curve of your ass, hands grazing your legs as he pulled them off of you. as soon as they were off, you heard them drop onto the floor.

your skin was littered with goosebumps, the lack of contact leaving you anxious with anticipation. you could still feel the heat of his body, squirming on the bed for a second, before you were flipped over, suddenly flat on your back. your hair was fanned out, eyes refocusing ahead on him. he was back on top of you before you could even blink, slotting himself between your legs.

your unclasped bra was yanked off, tongue circling one of your nipples the second you were bare. george rolled his hips, boxer clad cock grinding right against your clit and you whined, the pressure being overwhelming after such a build up. your legs climbed higher on his waist, urging him closer, a silent beg for him to give you something.

“george,” you whined, “need you to fuck me. need anything, please.” you were an unashamed, needy mess, writhing on the sheets beneath his body. he pulled away from your nipple with a pop, staring down at you.

“this isn’t about what you need, darling.” he cooed, bringing one hand up to stroke your face. his hand trailed down, the soft action suddenly replaced by his fingers grabbing at your jaw. “listen to me,” he started, deep voice barely above a whisper, but commanding enough to leave you wide eyed and hanging on to his every word. “i’m going to fuck you, okay?” you nodded frantically, jaw still resting firmly between his fingertips. “but,” you pouted, suddenly not liking where his was going. “you won’t cum until i let you, okay love?”

you stared up at him, pout only intensifying. he started rolling his hips and that was all it took for you to be convinced that anything was better than nothing. you were more than happy to let him have his fun, let out all of his frustrations, because you knew just how fucking incredible the end result would be.

“please, george, need you in me.” you begged, brain as fuzzy as it always was when he touched you. he sat back on his knees, about to remove his boxers when you both noticed the wet patch you’d made. george groaned quietly at the sight, quickly peeling them off.

“quite the mess you’ve made.” george tutted, settling back between your thighs. “let’s see how messy you’ve gotten yourself.” he mumbled, spreading your legs for him. “look at you, darling. fucking drenched.”

he pressed the pad of his finger against your clit, rubbing so lightly that you could have been imagining it, if it weren’t for the shockwaves running through your body. you felt so overstimulated and he’d barely done anything at all. he watched as you clenched around nothing, your pussy getting wetter and wetter while he did next to nothing. you knew that his ego was definitely getting its boost and that knowledge made your eyes roll back.

there was just something about him, something about his arrogance, his self assured way of carrying himself through every given moment that drove you wild.

finally, he leant over you, fingers still toying with your clit as he did. you were already boneless, waiting, desperate, but all of the teasing seemed worth it when you felt the head of his cock stretching you open. his eyes were on you the entire time, adding depth to the sensations you felt, somehow intensifying the way he was opening you up.

just as you began to question this strange, intimate moment, you were caught off guard by his lips moving, his words barely registering until you felt the harsh snap of his hips.

“this is for me. you’re all for me.”

george was relentless, fucking you harder than he had the first time, something you didn’t know was possible. he had you pinned down, spread open deliciously as he pounded into you, fingers slow on your clit, not at all matching the pace he set with his hips. he was playing with you, winding up your body so skilfully and so cruelly, your eyes squeezed so tightly shut at the overwhelming feelings. he kept you on your toes, speeding up the circles on your clit until he felt you clenching around him, at which he stop his fingers.

“don’t you dare, sweetheart. don’t you fucking dare.” he muttered straight in your ear. he could feel how close you were, could feel how hard you were squeezing him, trying to obey him.

“george, please. need to- fuck fuck fuck.” your pleads were cut short by his fingers back on your clit, rubbing furiously, just for a few seconds to get you nice and close for him. this time, when he pulled his digits away, he pulled out of you too. “what’re you-“ you cried out, frustration taking over.

you watched him roll off of you and onto his back, taking a seat against the headboard. he patted his thigh, once, twice, and suddenly it made sense.

“you want to cum for me, darling? come and get it.” he ran his hand over his cock, tempting you towards him.

your body was exhausted already, but you needed him and you had a feeling that he needed you just as badly. so, you managed to flip yourself over, crawling the short distance across the mattress until you were kneeling beside him. you swung a leg over, settling nicely on his lap, taking a second to catch your breath.

“come on, my love. know you can take me.” he urged, hands grabbing at your hips as you kneeled so that you could sink down on him. you took your time, adjusting to his size, despite just having him inside of you. he seemed to be enjoying how long it was taking you to sink down on him fully, but you didn’t care like you usually would. after everything that had happened to him, you’d let him be a bit smug.

“so full. god, you’re so big.” you moaned, rocking your hips slowly at first, starting to build up a rhythm. he looked so sexy, rested against the headboard, hands lazily guiding your hips.

“come on, sweetheart, pick up the pace. know how bad you need it.” george was getting close and he needed you to get there too. you weren’t exactly far off.

you ground yourself down on him, rolling your hips as you felt him hit that spot inside of you, wondering how he could possibly be so deep. you were a mess on top of him already, whining as you rode him erratically. just as you started to raise your hips, sliding yourself up and down, you heard the worst, most annoying sound in the world: your phone. buzz after buzz after buzz had you worried, so you leaned over, pulling the device out of your jacket pocket. the changing angle made you yelp, which made george laugh. at least he knew you couldn’t ignore him.

where are you?

ocon dnf - need you at the pen

hello???

“oh god,” you cried out, his cock hitting that spot as you read the messages you’d missed. “need to go, oh fuck.”

“you need to cum.” he looked so smug that you wanted to slap him, but as long as he was making you feel so good, you’d refrain.

“no, no, need to go.” you made no effort to stop, rocking your hips like your life depended on it, tits bouncing.

“you’re not leaving this bed until i’ve had you shaking on top of me,” he sat up, grabbing your ass with both hands, rocking you even harder on his cock. “twice.” he grinned, pressing a kiss to the centre of your neck when your head fell back, an animalistic moan ripping from the back of your throat.

you could feel yourself clenching around him, and you quickly found yourself spilling all over his cock, crying out nothing but his name like it was a prayer, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you came.

george didn’t stop, no, arms wrapping around you to hold you down on his cock, hips rutting erratically into yours. a sob tore from the back of your throat, accompanied quickly by a scream, complimented by his own moans tumbling out of his mouth. he was hitting your spot just right every time, vision turning white as you came again, even harder than you had the first time. you could feel his release filling you up, the pair of you entangled in the centre of the bed. you stayed on his lap, chests heaving as you both tried to catch your breath, slumped in each other’s arms.

“how the fuck am i supposed to go out there like this?” you joked, giggling as the exhaustion you felt battled the insane rush of endorphins and adrenaline. you felt the vibration of his laugh against your chest, his breath fanning your neck.

“i’d offer to give you a piggyback but i think that would be a bit suspicious.” he teased. you raked your fingers through the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

“are you doing okay?” you whispered, wondering if he felt any better.

“i’m okay.” he replied. “i’ll be even better if you finish up those interviews and let me take you to dinner later.” his voice was still light, but the teasing was replaced by something else, something hopeful. your breath caught in your throat. a date?

“you’re something else entirely, do you know that?” you couldn’t even mask the awe in your voice, barely even tried to.

“oh, i know, love.” you pulled back, fingers still locked at the nape of his neck, stomach flipping a little bit at the actual, genuine smile on his face. “is that a yes?”

“help me stand up,” his fingers glided over your shaking thighs. “and i’ll consider it.”

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