A/N: Fully based on the dynamics from Lost Girl. Set in AHS Coven. Beta read by @madisonmontgomeryimagines <3
Masterlist | AO3
It's late at night when you come home.
As you approach the last step, you spot a shadow cast on your door. Your ears perk up and every hair on your body raises in alarm.
A pale, frail silhouette appears in your line of vision, making you stand down and greet the intruder with little emotion, "Hello."
"Hi," she replies in a small voice.
"I told you not to come hereâ"
"I know," she cuts you off, "but I didn't know where else to go. Iâm desperate."
It's a delicious sight, having Madison Montgomery pleading before you, but you don't believe herâyou can't, "You didn't find a single human to snack on on your way here?"
She weakly crosses her arms, "If Cordelia found out I fed off a human, she would kill me."
"And that's worse than dying of starvation?" you smirk and with her little energy, she manages to flatten her expression.
"You're not funny."
"Oh, pleaseâyou come to my house and ask to fuck me, at least have the decency to laugh at my jokes."
She's never been one to beg, simply standing in place, helpless, but with faux indifference written on her face, so you give in.
"Come." You unlock the door and open it to let her in, she pulls you into your bedroom and makes quick work of your clothes and hers.
Everything happens too fast for you to react.
By the time she leaves, you can barely support your own weight. You feel like you just ran a marathon and came in last place, but she looks good as new strutting out of your room.
"Glad I could be of service," you mumble before sinking into the mattress.
A metallic taste coats your tongue through your nostrils when you reach your apartment building, it makes you rush up the stairs following the source.
Once you get to your door, you find Madison leaning on the wall, gently clutching her side. Giving her a once over, you conclude that she looks fine, if a little worn, but you remain alert.
Her expression tells you all you need to know, and you can't fight the urge to oblige. Without a single word, you open the door, and she wastes no time in pinning you to it once you're both inside.
A brutal kiss drives a part of your soul through your throat and into her awaiting mouth, her eyes glowing an icy blue in satisfaction. Her balance falters after she releases you and you instinctively jump into action, holding her still and carrying her to the bedroom.
You take the time to undress her and that's when you see the source of the strong scentâa gaping wound right underneath her ribs, it takes you by surprise.
It's one thing when she comes to you for a casual feed, but coming as a last resort for life saving treatment is completely different. It raises all kinds of red flags in your mind, making you unable to mask your unease, "What the hell happened to you?"
"No talking or I might bleed out on your bed," she manages in her feeble state.
It doesn't take her long to steal what she needs in order to completely heal and then some.
You come back to your senses after a minute and when you open your eyes again, she's sitting by the edge of the bed, putting her top back on like nothing happened.
"Mads, I'm worried about you," you croak, but she ignores your concern.
"Don't be."
"I thought you had a good feeding situation at home."
You can practically hear her eyes rolling, "I said, don't worry about it."
"Maddie, Iâm serious." She attempts to get up, but you hold her down by the wrist, making her scoff.
"I don't have time for this."
"You showed up at my doorstep begging for food, even though I've asked you not to do that anymore. You definitely have time for this."
She rolls her eyes again and sits back down.
"What happened to Zoe? I thought she was helping you." Granted, the last time you actually talked to Madison, was a while ago.
"She bailed out, it's fine."
Her indifference makes you frown, "Then, who's helping you feed now?" The silence that follows makes your anguish burst out, "Are you feeding!"
She hesitates before responding, "Iâm kind of...in between meals right now, but I'm fine, it's not a big deal."
"Yes, it is! You can't just show up here whenever you want."
"You think Iâm here because I want to?" she bites back without even thinking.
Your features grow dull as a cynical chuckle escapes you, "Nice one."
"I didn't mean that." There is a hint of real remorse in her tone, but she lost her chance.
"Every time you come here and fuck me, all of the feelings I've kept bottle up come back to the surface, and I can't just lay here and pretend Iâm okay with it, when you can't even spare me a second thought." Your anger dissolves into defeat, knowing full well that regardless of your attempted convictions, you could never stop yourself from giving Madison what she wants. You hope your strict tone is enough to stop her from asking in the first place, "I can't keep doing this."
Her eyes pierce into yours, seeking to tell you something her lips can't, "That's notâ" Her phone buzzes with a message, making her sigh at the interruption. "It's Cordy, I have to go. Iâm sorry."
A few days later, you knock on the door of Miss Robixous.
A tall, curly blonde answers, "Can I help you?"
"Iâm looking for Zoe."
She gives you a once over and asks, maintaining her charming accent, "And you are?"
"A friend."
The girl in question walks past the door and returns after recognizing your voice, "Madison's not here."
"I was actually hoping to talk to you."
Zoe looks around the house briefly before gesturing outside, "Let's take a walk."
As much as you try to conceal them, your mischievous thoughts get the best of you once you're down the block, "Who's the blonde?"
"Misty," Zoe responds flatly.
"She's cute."
Zoe smirks, finally showing you some emotion, "She's also dating Cordelia, so steer clear."
"Hmm, I knew something had to be wrong with her."
"That's your type," she muses, making you take a defensive stand.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means." You let your silence speak for you, and she presses after a beat, "So, you wanted to talk?"
You decide to get right into it, "Why did you stop helping Maddie feed?"
Even though she was expecting the subject, she's taken aback by your bluntness, it makes her think for a moment and hesitate, "She was taking too much, too fast, too often, my body couldn't keep up."
You have noticed Madison's increased appetite, so that makes sense...almost, "But why cut her off, why not keep her on a diet? So to speak."
Zoe lets your question dissolve into the air as you both continue walking.
You stroll a couple of blocks quietly, Zoe chewing on her lip, before deciding to confess, "It wasn't just that. She and I used to date, remember?"
"That was so long ago, I thought you were over it."
"I wasâI am. It just never gets easier hearing her moan someone else's name." You freeze in place and she follows suit, having foreseen your reaction.
"What? Who's?" Your question comes undeservingly jealous, too quick for you to restrain yourself.
She pins you with her gaze, soulful and drowning in something you don't recognize, "Yours."
The revelation shakes you to the core.
You're coming home after a long day, a familiar scent reaching you from the ground floor.
You walk up the stairs with a mixture of dread and excitement in your chest, and once you reach your door, you find Madison. She barely scrambles for an excuse, when you're already unlocking the door and letting her in.
This has become your routine with her, and what happens afterwards, you don't always remember, but it tends to leave you with a sense of regretâor at the very least, foolishness.
In the middle of today's encounter, you ask the question that's been on your mind for a while, "Why do you moan my name?"
Maddie slows her movements in confusion and mocks, "Because Iâm here, fucking you."
You realize it's a stupid thing to ask without context, so you clarify, "Why do you moan my name when you're not here fucking me?"
"What are you talking about?" She fully stops her rhythm.
"I spoke to Zoe..."
"You idiot!" She pinches the bridge of her nose, but you're quick to retaliate.
"Do not try to insult your way out of this one."
Her hips attempt to pick up their motion, but you hold her still by the waist, making her groan in frustration, "I moan your name because I think of you. Is that what you wanna hear?"
You are left speechless for a moment, and choke on your words, "But why?"
"Because it helpsâdo I need to explain sex to you?" She's clearly losing her composure.
The wolf in you grows impatient and inadvertently shows up with a growl, "Stop playing dumb!" You shake it off, your labored breathing winding down as you return, "Sorry."
Madison finally gets off your lap, an amused tinge on her face, "Jesus, if that's what it takes to get you riled up, I should've done it a long time ago." She seems completely disaffected by your reaction and your whole conversation. She leans in for one last kiss, taking a long drag of your energy along with it, and letting out a satisfied sigh afterwards, "That's a good girl," she coos before standing up and exiting the room.
You notice she left most of her clothes behind, so you follow her steps until she's out of sight and you have to stand up to go after her.
You reach her in the kitchen with her head buried in the fridge. It's definitely a strange scene.
"Are you looking for a snack? You just had one." You are, of course, referring to your intense encounter.
"And you were a great dinner, but now, it's my turn to feed you." She takes a container out that makes you worried.
"Please be careful with those, they're very expensive."
She rolls her eyes, dismissing your concern, "Just shut up and let me make you the one thing I know how to cook." She takes out a cutting board and begins slicing some veggies with a technique so poor you're sure she'll chop a finger off.
"Is that you cooking?" you retort playfully, but she's completely immune to your snark and responds in a genuine tone.
"This is me sparing you a second, and even a third thought."
That's when it hits youâMaddie could never say it out loud, so this is her way of showing you she actually cares about you. You watch her in awe as she makes her way through the kitchen awkwardly.
When she serves you a plate and you try it, you only grow more surprised. It's actually quite good, "How did you learn to cook?"
"Don't ask questions you don't wanna know the answer to."
"No, I really wanna know the answer."
She considers it for a beat and concedes, "Zoe taught me. It's her favorite."
Instead of making you jealous, it warms your heart, but she doesn't stay long enough to see it, going back to your room and coming out fully dressed this time.
"Okay, I got what I wanted, so bye." Her tone doesn't quite reach the cynicism she aimed for as she heads for the door.
"Wait, hold on," you muster with your mouth full, getting up and handing her a set of keys, "so you don't have to wait outsideâŠ"
Her eyes glimmer and her lips curl up gently when she grabs them, "Thanks for dinner."
"Yeah, same."
She jiggles the keys a few times and opens the door before taking one last look at you, "I'll see you next time."
Trans madison taking fem!readerâs virginity? Maybe Madisonâs used to hooking up with random girls and being as rough as she wants but now she has this inexperienced girlfriend who she actually loves and she has to learn how to be gentle and take her time during sex??
"You're sure, babe?" Madison's forehead rested against yours, her voice coated in that softness she reserved just for you. You'd let her know almost from the beginning that you'd never had sex, figuring it would be fair to temper her expectations.
Madison hadn't taken issue with it, had barely batted an eye after the first few seconds she spent trying to figure out if you were serious. When she gathered that you were, she had her question or two, and that had been it. Now, that felt like a long time ago, as you lay on your back with your legs wrapped lazily around her waist.
"Yes," you promised, brushing your lips against hers. Another kiss followed, and you felt some of the tension drain from your girlfriend. "I need you, Madison," the words came out soft and breathless, and you squeezed her lightly with your thighs to drive your point home.
She didn't need further encouragement, granting you a lingering kiss before pulling away to gaze down at you as she pulled her shirt off. Leaving Madison to her own clothes, you took it upon yourself to shed the tank top you'd worn to bed. That left you in just your underwear, which you knew had a damp spot just from spending the morning making out with your girlfriend.
Your focus found Madison again, her hands resting on either side of your head as she descended for another kiss. "Perfect," she breathed into your lips before hers were painting a trail across your jaw and down your neck.
Your girl sucked and bit her marks onto your skin, eager to show off who you belonged to, and your fingers threaded in her hair to pull the heat of her mouth closer as each brush of her tongue pulled a low moan from your throat. You could feel Madison's smirk, and your breath hitched when she dropped her hips to press flush against you, toying with you as she ground her cock along your still covered cunt.
It made your hips rise, made them roll against her eagerly, but she pushed them into the mattress to still you, a flash of her instinctive response before her grip loosened slightly.
"Mine," she murmured against your breast before her mouth was making your back arch into her attention.
"I'm all yours, Maddie," you affirmed, breathless and whiny under her. She rewarded your devotion by hooking her fingers in your underwear and pulling them down your thighs.
Before you had the chance to feel shy about being exposed to her hungry gaze, Madison was kissing you again, hovering over you as your legs wrapped around her once again. You felt her fingers spread you, heard her breathless swear at how ready she found you. A breath later and she was lining her cock up with your needy pussy, rubbing your clit with the tip just to hear you moan again before she slipped lower.
"I'll go slow, just let me know if it's too much," Madison vowed, and true to her word, she was gentle as she began to press her hips forward. A low, filthy moan pulled from your lips as she sank into you gradually. You were soaked enough that she glided smoothly, and there was fullness without pain.
You barely realized your nails were biting into her shoulders until you took a slow breath and told yourself to relax, opening your eyes to find Madison panting slightly, her cheeks flushed.
"Iâ Fuck, you feel so good," her hips rolled gently, shifting the angle inside you without pulling out. "If you keep clenching like that, I'm not sure how long I can control myself."
"Can't help it," you said, as your cunt massaged her cock tighter. That earned a chuckle, and slowly Madison pulled out almost entirely, letting you remember what it felt like to be empty, before pushing back in. She started a slow, steady rhythm, carefully fucking you open as she squeezed your breast, her palm brushing against your nipple.
The sound that left your mouth was something between a gasp and a whimper, your back pressing into the mattress as she found a rhythm that had your toes curling. Madison watched you like you were something sacred, something she couldn't quite believe she'd been trusted with, and that look alone made your chest feel too small for everything beating inside it.
"That's it," she murmured, her voice frayed at the edges. "You're taking me so well, baby."
Your nails dragged down her shoulders, leaving pale trails that would bloom pink in a few minutes. The stretch of her was something you'd imagined more times than you'd admit, but nothing in your head had prepared you for the reality of herâthe weight of her, the heat, the way she seemed to know exactly where to press to make your thighs shake.
"You canâ" you started, then had to stop when she angled her hips differently and your sentence dissolved into a moan. "You can go faster. If you want."
Madison's forehead dropped to yours, her breath coming harder now, the control she was so proud of visibly fraying. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." You meant it. You'd never been more certain of anything. "I trust you."
Those three words did something to her. You saw it happenâher pupils blowing wider, her jaw tightening, a shudder running through her that had nothing to do with the physical. She kissed you then, deep and claiming, and when she started moving again, the pace was different. Harder. More desperate.
The bed creaked beneath you, a rhythmic counterpoint to the sounds spilling from your throat. Madison's hand slid down your stomach, her thumb finding your clit with an accuracy that made you cry out, and she swallowed every sound like she was starving for them.
"Close?" she asked, though she clearly already knew the answer from the way you were trembling around her.
"Yesâ Maddie, pleaseâ"
"I've got you." Her voice was steady even as her hips stuttered slightly, even as her composure finally started to crack. "Let go. I want to feel you cum on my cock."
That was all it took. The orgasm crashed through you without warning, without mercy, your body arching off the bed as waves of heat radiated through your form. You were vaguely aware of Madison swearing softly above you, her rhythm breaking as she followed you over the edge, buried deep inside you with her face pressed into your neck.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of both of you trying to remember how to breathe.
Madison lifted her head first, her expression soft and wondering in a way that made your heart clench. "You okay?"
You laughed, breathless and a little delirious. "I'm perfect."
hey! can you write a fiona goode x fem!reader fic where fiona returns to the coven and reunites w reader who is pregnant w their bb?
Fiona had always been good at knowing when to walk away. It was a quality you had admired until you had cause to resent it just a little. You had found out about your pregnancy after she'd already disappeared for a month, and your only reassurance that she'd return was the occasional postcard she'd send. You were the only one to ever receive mail from her, and that seemed like a good sign.
It had taken you another week after finding out to decide whether or not to tell Fiona about the matter at hand. For starters, it was difficult to pin down where exactly she was at any given moment. You'd been forced to resort to more creative methods, surrounded by a circle of candles as you sat cross-legged on the floor and focused your energy on finding hers, one of her necklaces in the palm of your hand to help you. When you found her, she was mercifully asleep, allowing you to slip into her dreams to ask her to call you.
She made you wait two days before she did, but her voice was soft and warm when she said your name, and you forgave her instantly. Your own voice was less steady as you shared your news, quiet when you confirmed it was hers. Fiona had been so quiet you thought maybe she'd hung up, but after an agonizing pause, she resolved to be back soon.
The line had gone dead before you could ask what âsoonâ meant in Fiona Goode time. Youâd learned, over the years, that her definitions were flexibleâsometimes a week, sometimes a season, sometimes the span between one cigarette and the next. So you waited, the way you always did, with your hand resting absently on your belly and the weight of her necklace still cool against your palm.
Five more weeks passed. You stopped checking your phone obsessively after the first ten days. The postcards kept coming, thoughâNew Orleans this time, then Savannah, then a crumpled one from a roadside diner in Mississippi that smelled faintly of coffee and regret. Thinking of you both, sheâd written on the back, the letters elegant and hurried.
You were in your third month when the front door of the swung open just as you were settling into the couch, a cup of herbal tea gone cold in your hands and a book open in your lap that you hadnât turned a page of in an hour. You didnât need to look up to know who it was. The air changed first, sharpened, sweetened with the ghost of expensive perfume and the faint, earthy undertone of spent magic. Then came the deliberate click of heels, unhurried but certain.
Fiona Goode stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the hallway light, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
She looked thinner than you remembered. The angles of her face seemed sharper, the shadows beneath her eyes deeper, but her posture was immaculate, her red lips curved into something that wasnât quite a smile. More like a question she was afraid to ask. A leather duffel bag hung from one shoulder, and she let it drop to the floor with a soft thud, never breaking eye contact.
âYouâre showing,â she said. Not an accusation. An observation, soaked in wonder.
You set the cold tea aside, your hand moving instinctively to the swell beneath your loose sweater. âYouâre late.â
âIâm always late.â She stepped forward, then stopped, as if some invisible tether held her back. Her eyes dropped to your belly, and you watched the Supremeâs composure crack; just a hairline fracture, but enough. Her gloved fingers twitched at her side. âThree weeks. I know. Iââ She exhaled a laugh that held no humor. âI got to Biloxi and I couldnât make myself leave the hotel room for two days. Pathetic, isnât it? The most powerful witch of my generation, undone by a telephone call.â
You rose slowly from the couch, one hand braced against the armrest. All you felt was the pull toward her, magnetic and maddening.
âYouâre scared,â you said.
Fionaâs chin lifted, a reflex as old as she was. âI donât get scared.â
âYou ran.â
âI took a detour.â She closed the distance then, closing the last few feet like a woman stepping off a ledge. Her hand rose, hovering just above the curve of your stomach, not quite touching. âMay I?â
You nodded, throat too tight for words.
When her palm finally pressed against the cashmere of your sweater, warm even through the glove she still hadn't removed, you both gasped. You saw her eyes widen, saw the precise moment she felt the faint, fluttering presence beneath her handânot a kick, not yet, but something. A heat. A hum. Magic recognizing magic.
âSheâs strong,â Fiona whispered, and her voice cracked on the last syllable. âGod help us all, sheâs already strong.â
âYou donât know itâs a she.â
Fionaâs gaze snapped up to yours, and there it wasâthe old fire, the imperious certainty that had drawn you to her in the first place. âI know everything, darling. Havenât you learned that by now?â But her arrogance softened immediately, crumbling into something rawer. She pulled off her glove with her teeth, a gesture so unconscious and intimate it made your heart clench, and pressed her bare palm against your belly. âIâm sorry.â
âI didnât know how to come back,â she continued, quieter now. âIâve walked away from everything. Lovers, responsibilities, whole goddamn lifetimes. But Iâve never had to walk toward something that mattered this much. Toward someone whoââ She stopped, jaw tightening. âYou could have kept it from me. You could have raised this child without me, and part of me thought you should. Part of me still thinks you should.â
You reached up and cupped her face in your hands. Her skin was cool as porcelain, and she leaned into your touch like a cat starved for warmth. âI didnât tell you because I needed you,â you said. âI told you because I wanted you. Thereâs a difference.â
Fionaâs eyes glistened, though no tears fell; she was far too proud for that. But she turned her head just slightly, just enough to press a kiss to your palm, and that was more vulnerable than any weeping.
if youâre comfortable could you write trans madison x fem!reader where theyâre both part of the coven and have this secret fwb thing going on and everything is great until reader ends up pregnant. when she tells madison, she FREAKS. I mean, this is madison weâre talking about, I donât imagine sheâd take news like that well. they get into a huge fight (maybe madison even tries to claim that the baby isnât hers? just real messy shit) and quit talking to each other. but eventually, after seeing how stressed out the reader is and how torn she is about what to do, madison steps up and apologizes, saying sheâll support the reader no matter what she decides to do, and they end up together officially. just angst with a happy ending. totally get if you donât want to write this as i can see how this could be an uncomfortable subject, but if you do, thank you in advance!
The worst part of being Madison's friend was the constant hunger for something more. It had become a monster in your chest until the first time she made out with you, which led to the first time you slept together. The worst part of being Madison's lover was the knowledge that she didn't love you; this was strictly casual, and you had told yourself you could handle that.
Maybe you could have, because you had for a year. A year living under the same roof, eating your meals together, and having sex in her king-sized bed. You were still somehow hopelessly falling even further each day, but that wasn't what became a problem. Maybe it would have in another six months, but what came first were two pink lines on a test you'd been dreading. The confirmation meant you had to talk to Madison, to sit her down and make her acknowledge what was between the two of you. Neither thought made you particularly excited; Madison would feel cornered and lash out like anything else when scared.
When you caught her, it was when she was already unbuttoning your shirt, having yanked you into her room seconds ago. "Wait, Mads, I need to tell you something," you gently pushed her away, deflecting her kisses until she paused and graced you with an expectant and only mildly irritated look.
Your heard hammered in your chest, cool dread prickling at the nape of your neck. "Before we," you gestured to her bed with a nod, your fingers messing with the fabric of her shirt to ground yourself, "...I'm pregnant." It came out gracelessly, because you didn't know what to wrap it up in, not when every time you thought about it, it gave you another wave of panic.
"No you're fucking not," Madison rolled her eyes, but her tone was serious. When you didn't budge, a scowl pulled at her features, her fingers curling and uncurling as she sought a way to discharge her own nervous energy.
"I found out this morning," you offered in means of explanation, and Madison's hands fell away from you. Your gaze returned to her face, but her usual mask was already back in place, looking almost bored if it weren't for the tension in her jaw.
"So whose is it?" Any warmth had drained from her voice, but the question dug at you more than her tone did, making you bristle as your own hands fell to your side.
"Yours, you asshole, what do you mean?" You bit the inside of your cheek as she looked you over, her expression unchanged.
"You know you're just a side piece to me, are you telling me I'm not the same? That's just stupid."
The words hit you like a slap. You flinched, not physically, but somewhere deeper, that raw place you'd been trying to ignore for a year. Your vision tunneled, focusing on the sharp line of her jaw, the way her lips curved into something cruel and careless.
"A side piece," you repeated slowly, as if tasting each syllable for poison. "Is that what you call someone who sleeps in your bed five nights a week? Who comes every time you have a nightmare? Who held your hair back when you had the flu last month?"
Madison's expression flickeredâthere, then gone. She crossed her arms over her chest, a barricade. "Don't get dramatic. That's called being roommates with benefits."
"You don't make your other 'roommates' breakfast," you shot back, and your voice cracked on the last word. Humiliation burned behind your eyes, hot and unwelcome. You refused to cry. Not in front of her. Not now.
She paced to the window, her back to you, and when she spoke again, her voice had gone flat. "Get rid of it."
The words hung in the air between you, detached and precise.
"What?" You barely recognized your own voice.
"You heard me." She turned, and there it was, the mask cracking at the edges. Not boredom. Not irritation. Something rawer. "I'm not doing this. I'm notâ" She gestured vaguely toward your stomach, her hand shaking slightly before she shoved it into her pocket. "I'm twenty-three. I'm a recovering addict. I can barely keep a plant alive, and you want me to what? Co-parent? Push a stroller through the fucking Farmer's Market?"
"I'm not asking you to marry me," you said, and the lie scraped your throat on the way out. You may have imagined it. Stupidly. Pathetically. You'd imagined her softening, imagined this forcing the conversation you'd been too scared to start. "I'm telling you what's happening. What we're going to figure out."
"We?" She laughed, but it was hollow, nothing like the sharp, practiced sound she used on red carpets and talk shows. "There is no 'we.' There never was. I told you from the beginningâ"
"That you don't do feelings. Yeah, I remember." Your hands were shaking now, so you pressed them flat against your thighs. "But feelings don't seem to care what you told me, Madison. And neither does biology."
She moved then, quick and electric, stopping inches from your face. You could smell her perfume, that expensive French shit she ordered from Paris. You'd memorized the name of it six months ago, just in case she ever asked if you noticed.
"You're trying to trap me," she hissed. "That's what this is. You got tired of waiting for me to love you back, so youâ"
"So I what? Sabotaged my own birth control?" The accusation made you see red, made you forget to be gentle with her, to handle her like something breakable. "I'm not your mother, Madison. I'm not trying to control you by getting knocked up. This happened because we were careless, and we have to deal with it."
The mention of her mother landed like a live grenade. Madison went absolutely still, the way she did before a detonation. Her eyes, that pale blue you'd drowned in a hundred times, went glassy and remote.
"Get out," she said quietly.
"Madsâ"
"I said get out of my room." She didn't yell. That was worse. Yelling meant engagement, meant she was still in the fight. Thisâthis was her shutting down, sealing off, retreating somewhere you couldn't follow.
You stood your ground for three heartbeats. Four. Then something in your chest caved, and you turned, and you walked out.
The door slammed behind you so hard the pictures rattled in the hallway.
You made it to your own roomâyour room, not hers, separate, always separate no matter how many nights you spent tangled in her sheetsâbefore your legs gave out. You slid down the door, pressing your palm flat against your still-flat stomach, and let the tears come.
Somewhere down the hall, you heard something shatter against a wall.
And then, somehow worse than the shattering, you heard silence.
---
That afternoon was the last time you talked to Madison. If you could have helped it, it would have been the last time you'd seen her altogether, but instead you had to share the dining table with her twice in the following week. You'd stopped going to the classes you shared with her, then any classes. As shameful as your situation was, you shared enough of it with Cordelia to be given some slack while you considered your options. Alone.
Maybe you shouldn't have told Madison after all, she had reacted exactly how you'd feared she would, then worse. The time alone gave you a chance to reflect far too often on the venom in her words, the tremor in her hands, and the anger in her throat.
Cordelia had been kind. Infuriatingly, impossibly kind, the way she was with everyone who came to her broken and bleeding. She'd asked what you needed, and you'd said "space," and she'd given it. She hadn't pushed about Madison. Hadn't asked why the screaming you'd both done that first night hadn't been followed by anything except the cold, awful politeness of strangers who shared a lease.
But space, you were learning, was just another word for loneliness with a better reputation.
You'd spent the week making phone calls you never thought you'd make. Researching things you'd never thought you'd Google at two in the morning, curled around a pillow that still smelled faintly of her shampoo because you were too pathetic to wash the sheets. You'd cried so much your eyes felt sanded raw, and then you'd stopped crying entirely, because there was something almost peaceful about the numbness that followed.
You hadn't decided anything. That was the truth. You'd gathered information like a person gathering stones, unsure if you were building a wall or a grave.
It was Thursday night, or maybe Friday morningâthe hours had started bleeding togetherâwhen you heard the knock.
Soft. Almost hesitant.
When you opened the door, she was leaning against the frame like it was the only thing holding her up. Her hair was down, no product in it, falling around her face in a way that made her look younger. Vulnerable. She was wearing one of your hoodiesâthe gray one with the frayed cuffs that you'd been looking for all weekâand the sight of it made your throat close.
"Hey," she said. Her voice was hoarse, like she'd been screaming or not speaking at all. You couldn't tell which.
You didn't say anything. You couldn't. You just stood there in the doorway, blocking the entrance, your hand still on the knob like a shield.
"I brought you something." She held up a paper bag, the kind from the bodega on the corner. "It's notâI don't know if you're eating, because you haven't been at dinner, and I know you haven't been to the kitchen because I keep leaving your mug there and it's still there every morning, so I just thoughtâ" She stopped, pressed her lips together, and thrust the bag toward you. "Just take it."
You took it. Inside was a container of the soup you always ordered when you were sick, and a blueberry muffin from the bakery you'd dragged her to once, months ago, after she'd complained about the paparazzi and you'd told her the muffins were worth being seen. You remembered her eating half of yours and pretending she hadn't.
Your eyes burned. You looked down at the floor instead of at her.
"Can I come in?" she asked. The humility in her voice was almost unrecognizable. Madison never asked permission.
You stepped aside.
She moved past you slowly, carefully, like she was afraid you'd shatter. She stopped in the middle of your roomâthe room that had never really felt like yours, because yours was wherever she wasâand turned in a small circle, taking it in. The untouched textbooks on your desk. The nest of excess blankets on your bed that you'd been sleeping in because you couldn't stand the emptiness. The framed photo of the two of you at some party, your arm around her waist, her smile actually reaching her eyes for once.
She stopped when she saw that photo. Her shoulders rose and fell with a breath that seemed to cost her something.
"I'm sorry," she said.
The words were so small. So inadequate for everything that had happened, everything that hung between you like smoke. But they were also the words you'd been waiting what already felt like a small taste of forever to hear, and the sound of them cracked something open in your chest.
You closed the door. Leaned against it. "Which part are you sorry for?"
She turned to face you, and for once, her mask was nowhere to be found. She looked exhausted. Hollowed out. Like someone had taken her apart and put her back together wrong.
"All of it," she said. "The part where I called you a side piece. The part where I asked whose it is. The part where Iâ" Her voice cracked, and she looked away, her jaw working. "The part where I've been pretending for a year that you weren't the only person who's ever made me feel like I wasn't completely fucking broken."
The air left your lungs.
"I'm not good at this," she continued, her hands moving like she didn't know what to do with them. She shoved them in the pockets of your hoodie, then pulled them out, then crossed her arms. "I'm not good at any of this. You know my mom. You know what she was like. And I told myself I'd neverâthat I wouldn'tâ" She stopped, her breath hitching. "When you told me, I just. I panicked. And I said every horrible thing I could think of because I wanted you to leave before you could leave on your own. Does that make sense?"
It did. It made terrible, awful sense.
"No," you said, because you weren't ready to give her that comfort yet. "It doesn't. It sounds like you decided I was going to hurt you, so you hurt me first."
Her face crumpled, just slightly, just at the corners. "Yeah," she whispered. "That's exactly what I did."
The silence stretched between you, taut as a wire. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, could feel the shape of the paper bag in your hand, the warmth of the soup bleeding through.
"I haven't decided what I'm doing," you said finally. "About theâabout any of it."
Madison nodded, slow and careful. "I know. Cordelia told me. She also told me to stay the hell away from you until you figured it out, but Iâ" She laughed, a broken little sound. "I've never been good at listening."
"Why are you here, Madison?"
She looked at you then, really looked, and you saw something in her eyes that you'd never seen before. Something raw and terrified and aching.
"Because I don't want to lose you," she said, and her voice shook on every syllable. "Not the baby, not the idea of the baby. You. I don't care what you decide to do. I'll support it. I'll pay for it. I'll drive you to the appointment and hold your hand and never mention it again if that's what you want. But I can'tâ" She pressed the heel of her palm against her sternum, like she was trying to hold herself together. "I can't go back to the way things were before you. I can't eat breakfast across from an empty chair. I can't sleep in that bed alone. I've tried, this week, I've tried, and I just keep reaching for you and you're not there and Iâ"
She stopped. Swallowed. Her eyes were wet, and Madison Montgomery didn't cry, except you'd seen her cry exactly three times before, always in the dark, always with her face pressed against your shoulder like she was drowning.
"I love you," she said. "I love you, and I'm terrified, and I'm sorry."
The words landed like blows, one after another. You gripped the paper bag until your knuckles went white.
"You have a funny way of showing it," you managed.
"I know." She didn't defend herself. Didn't deflect. Just stood there, taking it. "I know I do. And I know I don't deserve you asking me to stay. But I'm asking anyway. I'm asking you to let me try. To let me be better. To let meâ" She gestured vaguely at the space between you, at the impossible tangle of everything unsaid. "To let me figure out how to do this. Whatever this is. Whatever it turns into."
You thought about the past year. The way she'd look at you sometimes when she thought you weren't paying attention. The way she'd trace patterns on your skin after sex, infinite and aimless, like she was memorizing you. The way she'd gotten defensive when anyone flirted with you at parties, claiming it was annoyance when you knew, you'd always known, it was something else entirely.
You thought about the two pink lines. The weight of them. The way they'd felt like an ending and a beginning all at once.
"I'm scared too," you said quietly. "I've been scared since I found out. Not just about the pregnancy. About telling you. About losing you. About finding out that I meant nothing to you."
Madison winced.
"You're not nothing," she said. "You've never been nothing. I justâ" She pressed her fingers to her temples, frustrated with herself, with her own inability to find the right words. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be soft. Nobody taught me. But I want to learn. For you. Forâ" She glanced at your stomach, quick and frightened, then back to your face. "For whatever happens."
You set the paper bag down on your desk. Turned to face her fully.
"Madison." You said her name carefully, like testing ice. "If we do this. If we try. You can't keep shutting me out. You can't keep using words like weapons every time you get scared. That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works."
"I know." Her voice was small. "I know. I'llâ" She hesitated, then pulled something from the pocket of your hoodie. A small spiral notebook, the cover bent and creased. She held it out to you. "Cordelia gave me this. It's for... journaling, or whatever. For when I want to say something horrible, I'm supposed to write it down instead. And then when I'm not freaking out anymore, I can decide if I still want to say it."
You stared at the notebook. Then at her.
"You're seeing Cordelia?"
"Couple's counseling," Madison said, and the words came out strangled, like she was confessing to a crime. "She said she'd see us together, if you want. Or separately. I have an appointment on Monday anyway. She's making me do anger management, which isâ" She rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in it. "Fine. Whatever. I'll go."
You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You did a little of both, a wet sound escaping your throat that was somewhere in between.
"Can Iâ" Madison took a step toward you, then stopped, uncertain. "Can I touch you? I've been going crazy not touching you."
The question undid something in you. Madison Montgomery, asking permission. Madison Montgomery, waiting.
You nodded.
She closed the distance slowly, like you were a wild animal she didn't want to startle. Her hands came up to your face, cupping your jaw, her thumbs brushing away tears you hadn't realized were falling. She was warm, and she was real, and she was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.
"I'm sorry," she said again, softer this time. "I'm so sorry."
"I know." You placed your hands over hers, pressing them closer to your face. "I know you are."
ok, so, if you feel inspired to do so, i would literally drop dead for some fluffy madison montgomery head cannons. because i just- love her?? every time i close my eyes all i see is madison being like "wow i hate hugs and physical affection and stupid couple stuff." while she is literally cuddling her s/o and wearing their shirt. she is the physical embodiment of "was that a hug? disgusting. do it again." she thINKS SHE'S SO TOUGH BUT SHE IS BABY. basically just want to be madison's girlfriend. đ„ș
YES YES YES OMGGGG, THANKS SM FOR THE REQUEST, LOVE THIS!
Dating Madison Montgomery would include:
Is a bitch to everyone but you
You're the only one who gets to see her soft side
She's very big on PDA
Full make-out sessions when your friends are around, she doesn't give a damn
But when you hug her or hold her hand in public
She rolls her eyes and pretends to hate it
She loves it
And when you pull your hand away, she grabs it and pulls you back
Drags you to parties with her
If anyone flirts with you.... they're dead the next day. Literally.
Madison can get very possessive and jealous
You belong to her and no one else
Watching her movies together
She comments on every little thing in every scene
She steals your shirts all the time
Her excuse: "What? They look better on me anyway."
Coming to your room when she has nightmares about when she was dead
You hold her, gently place kisses all over her face and you fall asleep together
You're her safe place
Will deny seeking comfort with you the next day
"Hey Madison, did I see you coming out of (Y/N)'s room this morning?" "What? Ugh, don't be weird, bitch."
She gets very insecure sometimes
She tries to stay tough for you but just breaks down
A/N: Fully based on the dynamics from Lost Girl. Set in AHS Coven. Beta read by @madisonmontgomeryimagines <3
Masterlist | AO3
It's late at night when you come home.
As you approach the last step, you spot a shadow cast on your door. Your ears perk up and every hair on your body raises in alarm.
A pale, frail silhouette appears in your line of vision, making you stand down and greet the intruder with little emotion, "Hello."
"Hi," she replies in a small voice.
"I told you not to come hereâ"
"I know," she cuts you off, "but I didn't know where else to go. Iâm desperate."
It's a delicious sight, having Madison Montgomery pleading before you, but you don't believe herâyou can't, "You didn't find a single human to snack on on your way here?"
She weakly crosses her arms, "If Cordelia found out I fed off a human, she would kill me."
"And that's worse than dying of starvation?" you smirk and with her little energy, she manages to flatten her expression.
"You're not funny."
"Oh, pleaseâyou come to my house and ask to fuck me, at least have the decency to laugh at my jokes."
She's never been one to beg, simply standing in place, helpless, but with faux indifference written on her face, so you give in.
"Come." You unlock the door and open it to let her in, she pulls you into your bedroom and makes quick work of your clothes and hers.
Everything happens too fast for you to react.
By the time she leaves, you can barely support your own weight. You feel like you just ran a marathon and came in last place, but she looks good as new strutting out of your room.
"Glad I could be of service," you mumble before sinking into the mattress.
A metallic taste coats your tongue through your nostrils when you reach your apartment building, it makes you rush up the stairs following the source.
Once you get to your door, you find Madison leaning on the wall, gently clutching her side. Giving her a once over, you conclude that she looks fine, if a little worn, but you remain alert.
Her expression tells you all you need to know, and you can't fight the urge to oblige. Without a single word, you open the door, and she wastes no time in pinning you to it once you're both inside.
A brutal kiss drives a part of your soul through your throat and into her awaiting mouth, her eyes glowing an icy blue in satisfaction. Her balance falters after she releases you and you instinctively jump into action, holding her still and carrying her to the bedroom.
You take the time to undress her and that's when you see the source of the strong scentâa gaping wound right underneath her ribs, it takes you by surprise.
It's one thing when she comes to you for a casual feed, but coming as a last resort for life saving treatment is completely different. It raises all kinds of red flags in your mind, making you unable to mask your unease, "What the hell happened to you?"
"No talking or I might bleed out on your bed," she manages in her feeble state.
It doesn't take her long to steal what she needs in order to completely heal and then some.
You come back to your senses after a minute and when you open your eyes again, she's sitting by the edge of the bed, putting her top back on like nothing happened.
"Mads, I'm worried about you," you croak, but she ignores your concern.
"Don't be."
"I thought you had a good feeding situation at home."
You can practically hear her eyes rolling, "I said, don't worry about it."
"Maddie, Iâm serious." She attempts to get up, but you hold her down by the wrist, making her scoff.
"I don't have time for this."
"You showed up at my doorstep begging for food, even though I've asked you not to do that anymore. You definitely have time for this."
She rolls her eyes again and sits back down.
"What happened to Zoe? I thought she was helping you." Granted, the last time you actually talked to Madison, was a while ago.
"She bailed out, it's fine."
Her indifference makes you frown, "Then, who's helping you feed now?" The silence that follows makes your anguish burst out, "Are you feeding!"
She hesitates before responding, "Iâm kind of...in between meals right now, but I'm fine, it's not a big deal."
"Yes, it is! You can't just show up here whenever you want."
"You think Iâm here because I want to?" she bites back without even thinking.
Your features grow dull as a cynical chuckle escapes you, "Nice one."
"I didn't mean that." There is a hint of real remorse in her tone, but she lost her chance.
"Every time you come here and fuck me, all of the feelings I've kept bottle up come back to the surface, and I can't just lay here and pretend Iâm okay with it, when you can't even spare me a second thought." Your anger dissolves into defeat, knowing full well that regardless of your attempted convictions, you could never stop yourself from giving Madison what she wants. You hope your strict tone is enough to stop her from asking in the first place, "I can't keep doing this."
Her eyes pierce into yours, seeking to tell you something her lips can't, "That's notâ" Her phone buzzes with a message, making her sigh at the interruption. "It's Cordy, I have to go. Iâm sorry."
A few days later, you knock on the door of Miss Robixous.
A tall, curly blonde answers, "Can I help you?"
"Iâm looking for Zoe."
She gives you a once over and asks, maintaining her charming accent, "And you are?"
"A friend."
The girl in question walks past the door and returns after recognizing your voice, "Madison's not here."
"I was actually hoping to talk to you."
Zoe looks around the house briefly before gesturing outside, "Let's take a walk."
As much as you try to conceal them, your mischievous thoughts get the best of you once you're down the block, "Who's the blonde?"
"Misty," Zoe responds flatly.
"She's cute."
Zoe smirks, finally showing you some emotion, "She's also dating Cordelia, so steer clear."
"Hmm, I knew something had to be wrong with her."
"That's your type," she muses, making you take a defensive stand.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means." You let your silence speak for you, and she presses after a beat, "So, you wanted to talk?"
You decide to get right into it, "Why did you stop helping Maddie feed?"
Even though she was expecting the subject, she's taken aback by your bluntness, it makes her think for a moment and hesitate, "She was taking too much, too fast, too often, my body couldn't keep up."
You have noticed Madison's increased appetite, so that makes sense...almost, "But why cut her off, why not keep her on a diet? So to speak."
Zoe lets your question dissolve into the air as you both continue walking.
You stroll a couple of blocks quietly, Zoe chewing on her lip, before deciding to confess, "It wasn't just that. She and I used to date, remember?"
"That was so long ago, I thought you were over it."
"I wasâI am. It just never gets easier hearing her moan someone else's name." You freeze in place and she follows suit, having foreseen your reaction.
"What? Who's?" Your question comes undeservingly jealous, too quick for you to restrain yourself.
She pins you with her gaze, soulful and drowning in something you don't recognize, "Yours."
The revelation shakes you to the core.
You're coming home after a long day, a familiar scent reaching you from the ground floor.
You walk up the stairs with a mixture of dread and excitement in your chest, and once you reach your door, you find Madison. She barely scrambles for an excuse, when you're already unlocking the door and letting her in.
This has become your routine with her, and what happens afterwards, you don't always remember, but it tends to leave you with a sense of regretâor at the very least, foolishness.
In the middle of today's encounter, you ask the question that's been on your mind for a while, "Why do you moan my name?"
Maddie slows her movements in confusion and mocks, "Because Iâm here, fucking you."
You realize it's a stupid thing to ask without context, so you clarify, "Why do you moan my name when you're not here fucking me?"
"What are you talking about?" She fully stops her rhythm.
"I spoke to Zoe..."
"You idiot!" She pinches the bridge of her nose, but you're quick to retaliate.
"Do not try to insult your way out of this one."
Her hips attempt to pick up their motion, but you hold her still by the waist, making her groan in frustration, "I moan your name because I think of you. Is that what you wanna hear?"
You are left speechless for a moment, and choke on your words, "But why?"
"Because it helpsâdo I need to explain sex to you?" She's clearly losing her composure.
The wolf in you grows impatient and inadvertently shows up with a growl, "Stop playing dumb!" You shake it off, your labored breathing winding down as you return, "Sorry."
Madison finally gets off your lap, an amused tinge on her face, "Jesus, if that's what it takes to get you riled up, I should've done it a long time ago." She seems completely disaffected by your reaction and your whole conversation. She leans in for one last kiss, taking a long drag of your energy along with it, and letting out a satisfied sigh afterwards, "That's a good girl," she coos before standing up and exiting the room.
You notice she left most of her clothes behind, so you follow her steps until she's out of sight and you have to stand up to go after her.
You reach her in the kitchen with her head buried in the fridge. It's definitely a strange scene.
"Are you looking for a snack? You just had one." You are, of course, referring to your intense encounter.
"And you were a great dinner, but now, it's my turn to feed you." She takes a container out that makes you worried.
"Please be careful with those, they're very expensive."
She rolls her eyes, dismissing your concern, "Just shut up and let me make you the one thing I know how to cook." She takes out a cutting board and begins slicing some veggies with a technique so poor you're sure she'll chop a finger off.
"Is that you cooking?" you retort playfully, but she's completely immune to your snark and responds in a genuine tone.
"This is me sparing you a second, and even a third thought."
That's when it hits youâMaddie could never say it out loud, so this is her way of showing you she actually cares about you. You watch her in awe as she makes her way through the kitchen awkwardly.
When she serves you a plate and you try it, you only grow more surprised. It's actually quite good, "How did you learn to cook?"
"Don't ask questions you don't wanna know the answer to."
"No, I really wanna know the answer."
She considers it for a beat and concedes, "Zoe taught me. It's her favorite."
Instead of making you jealous, it warms your heart, but she doesn't stay long enough to see it, going back to your room and coming out fully dressed this time.
"Okay, I got what I wanted, so bye." Her tone doesn't quite reach the cynicism she aimed for as she heads for the door.
"Wait, hold on," you muster with your mouth full, getting up and handing her a set of keys, "so you don't have to wait outsideâŠ"
Her eyes glimmer and her lips curl up gently when she grabs them, "Thanks for dinner."
"Yeah, same."
She jiggles the keys a few times and opens the door before taking one last look at you, "I'll see you next time."
Strap god Madison coming from the stimulation of strapping her gf đ
Madison's hips rolled fluidly, every thrust taking your breath in a ragged gasp each time her strap sank into you. Her fingers were interlocked with yours where her hand pinned on of yours above your head. A needy whine slipped from your lips when she pulled almost completely out, your hips canting up to try and follow her.
A low chuckle brushed your ear, her breath coming in heavy as she brushed an open-mouthed kiss against your skin. "You can take it a little longer, right, babe?" You could feel her smirk against your skin. "You take me so well, just let me do all the work."
The words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, your thighs trembling where they were hooked over her hips as you could feel fresh arousal dripping from your pussy. Madison rewarded your compliance with a slow, devastating roll of her hips that had you seeing stars behind your closed lids.
"Look at me," she commanded softly, and your eyes fluttered open to meet her gaze. Even in the dim light filtering through the curtains, her eyes were sharp and consuming, watching every micro-expression that flickered across your face. She loved thisâloved taking you apart piece by piece, loved the way your mouth fell open and your brows drew together like you were trying to solve a game you'd already lost.
"Madisonâ" you started, but the rest of the sentence dissolved into a moan when she thrust back in, deeper this time, her free hand sliding down to press your hip into the mattress.
"I know," she murmured, and for once there was no cruelty in it, just a breathless understanding. Her forehead dropped to yours, blonde hair curtaining around your faces. "I know, baby. You're so close. I can feel you."
She wasn't wrong. The tension had coiled so tight in your belly it was almost unbearable, every nerve ending singing, every subtle shift of her inside you sending electric jolts up your spine. Your hips tried to move again, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more herâbut she clicked her tongue gently against her teeth.
"What did I say?" She pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the flush spreading across her chest and the way her own breathing had gone shallow. "Let me. I've got you."
Her pace finally quickened, just slightly, just enough to push you closer to that edge. The renewed urgency told you somewhere in the back of your mind that she was letting herself chase her own pleasure, letting herself fuck into you for the sole purpose of the delicious friction that her side of the toy offered. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by your shared gasps and the occasional bitten-off curse from her lips. Her grip on your hand tightened almost painfully, anchoring you both.
And she did. She always did, even when the rest of the world felt like it was burning down around you both. Here, in the tangle of sheets and the scent of her perfume and the weight of her body pressing you into the mattress, Madison Montgomery was utterly, devastatingly in controlâand you had never felt more divine even as a new urgency spurred her thrusts to drive harder into you.
"There she is," Madison breathed, watching your face shatter as the tension finally snapped. "There's my good girl. That's it, let go for me."
And you did, crying out for her as the waves crashed through you, her name on your lips like a prayer and a plea all at once. She followed moments later, a sharp exhale against your throat, her teeth marking you as your skin muffled her groan, her body shuddering against yours as she buried herself as deep as she could go. You were trembling in sensitivity as she ground herself against you, against the pressure that the strap locked against her own clit.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then Madison collapsed half on top of you, her face tucked into the curve of your neck. Her fingers traced idle patterns on your hip, lazy and affectionate as she kept you full of her strap, clearly not yet finished with you. Her hips rocked lazily, and you couldn't tell if it was to torment you or to keep the waves of her own pleasure a lingering hum. The hand on your hip slipped away, snaked between your bodies to find something on the harness. Before you could ask, she located what she was seeking out, and you heard a low, steady hum half a second before you felt the vibrations begin.
"Now beg me to do it again," Madison was dazzling and breathless above you, her thumb resting against your clit to rub small circles that made your hips jerk and made your cunt clench around her strap, rendering you incapable of speech.
Summary: Inebriated and stubborn is a bad combination on Madison.
Word count: 1.7k
Drinking, Angst with a happy ending.
A/N: Rediscovered my obsession with this woman so you might be seeing more about her in the future.
Beta'd by @madisonmontgomeryimagines thank you!! đ
Masterlist | AO3
A night out with the Coven can never be normal. It can never just go according to plan, least of all, when Madison comes along.
She seldom ever does, claiming she has 'better things to do,' or that's what you hear, since you also choose to stay behind most of the time, but as soon as she heard you were coming tonight, she decided she would come too.
You don't feel like drinking, so you offer to drive.
Arriving at the club, everyone scatters and you end up in a booth alone with Madison, she brings over two shots and hands one to you, but you reject it, "Can't, Iâm driving."
"Suit yourself." She quickly shrugs it off and downs them both at the same time, "Can you dance? Or are you also boring?"
"Sure, let's dance."
She pulls you onto the dance floor and intercepts every drink that comes her way. Slowly, she begins getting hot and botheredâtouchy. Rubbing, grabbing, grinding.
You don't mind it too much at first, just letting it happen without resistance, and after a handful of songs, she leans into your ear and whispers, "Let's get out of here."
"I drove everyone here," you think it's a joke, but she is persistent.
So when her face gets a little too close to yours, in a less than friendly way, you have to push her away to prevent her from doing something she might regret later, "Mads, you're tipsy."
"I fucking know that, I just wanna have some fun." Her eyes turn darker and you swear you see flames dancing on her irises.
A little fun can't hurt anyone, right?So you play along with her.
The rest of the night, you let her be as handsy and inappropriate as she wants, with an occasional grope or kiss here and there claiming you as her willing prey for the time being, her drinking never wavering.
The girls come find you when they're ready to leave, and Madison is falling off her feet, so wasted that Zoe has to help you carry her to the car.
After you get everyone back to the academy, Madison is still all over you. You try to drag her to her room, but she stops at your door on your way there, clinging to the knob for dear life.
With a sigh, you unlock the door and she helps herself onto your bed, you're too tired to fight her so you might as well let her be.
You get in beside her and lay back, scrolling through your phone briefly, her hands start wandering again over your thighs and abdomen. Her fingers are cold, even though the rest of her body is radiating heatâIt drives shivers down your spine.
You get up when you can't take it anymore and announce while turning away, "Iâm gonna change." In case she feels like turning around to give you some privacy. You put your pajamas on and turn to her again, "Do you wanna change?"
She nods and you approach her to unzip her dress and help her out of it, but despite your efforts to keep your distance, she inevitably gets the wrong idea and tries to continue her advances on you, kneeling on the bed and locking her arms around your neck, her eyes traveling your body with anticipation.
"Mads, no."
She begins trailing kisses down your neck, her hands grasping at any bit of flesh they can reach.
"That's enough," you warn softly, unable to deny the effects she has on you, but knowing this really isn't the time.
Her lips latch onto your collarbone in an attempt to leave a hickey, forcing you to push her off once again and physically restrain her, tightly holding her wrists in your hands, "Maddie, I said no!" All your composure now surrendered to the desperation of getting her to understand.
Her head lifts and she seems to sober up for a split second, "Well, fuck. I just wanted to fool around, you don't have to get all pissy." She gets up and stumbles all the way out the door.
You consider following after her to make sure she's okay, until you hear her door slamming down the hall.
The next day, you walk into the kitchen as Madison is fixing herself a cup of coffee.
She looks perfectly put together at seven in the morning, not even a trace of a hangover showing on her.
"Morning, Mads," you croak, barely awake yourself, but she takes her mug and silently brushes your shoulder on her way out.
The humidity in the greenhouse always rises when the whole class comes in to work.
Your skillful hands work to create a concoction with the ingredients provided by Cordelia, when a force tips over the flask you're holding, spilling the liquid on you.
"Madison!" you growl, side eyeing the culprit as she feigns innocence. You know it's her mostly by process of elimination, but you also know what Madison's magic feels like.
"Is there a problem?" Cordelia asks, consciously staring at Madison, who bounces to defend herself with sarcasm.
"Don't look at me, if she can't handle the potion, she can't handle the potion. There's no mystery there."
So, in resignation, Cordelia turns to you, giving you a chance to counter, but you step down, cleaning yourself off with a towel.
"No problem here, Delia."
The lively chatter in the dining room reaches the whole house. You cut through it with an innocuous request, "Mads, can you pass the bread?"
"Sure," she responds immediately, a little too chirpy.
The basket flies to hoover in front of you, then slams down on the table, all the pieces falling out onto the ground. A thick silence quickly takes over.
You exhale sharply and deadpan, "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Actually, Iâm not really hungry, so Iâm gonna go to bed." She loudly pushes her chair away from the table and walks away, her heels stomping on the hardwood floor.
After a few tense seconds, dinner resumes somewhat smoothly, and once you're done, you go up to your room.
A soft knock on the door warns you that Cordelia is there, "May I come in?"
"Of course."
She sits on the edge of your bed, her voice sweet as honey, "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, as far as things go," you answer genuinely.
"So Madison does not have a personal vendetta against you?"
You sigh, "I said 'as far as things go'..."
Cordelia knows about your complex relationship with Madison. You love her, and you would love for her to let you love her, but she has not been easy to work with that department. Case in point.
"You two were doing well, what happened?"
You look out the window to avoid eye contact, "She's angry because I didn't wanna sleep with her."
Cordelia is taken aback by your confession, "You didn't? But I thoughtâ"
"She was drunk out of her mind," you cut her off to clarify.
"The night you all went out together?" You nod. "She was stumbling everywhere, why is she mad about that?"
"I don't know. I don't know what she remembers or if she remembers anything at all."
She squints her eyes, "So is she just gonna keep throwing things at you?"
"I can't stop her."
"You could try talking to her," she suggests, but you shoot right back.
"You could try talking to her."
"No, thank you. Just try not to burn anything down, okay?"
You cross your arms defensively, "Iâm not the one who does that."
"But you know how to work a fire extinguisher," she winks, making you scoff with a smile.
"Fine."
The following day, you're on the couch in the living room minding your own business, when a pair of stilettos stops right in front of you and throws a garment on your face. No magic required this time.
"You left this in my room."
You peel the hoodie off of you and realize it's the one Madison took months ago. And you're certain she used it adamantly, judging by her scent still lingering on the fabric.
"Mads, you have to stop doing this." You finally decide this has got to end with a firm but gentle tone. You're not upset about getting your clothes back, just about the incessant hostility being literally thrown your way for no apparent reason.
But Madison's words counter with a sharp coldness that almost stings, "You don't like me, why should I care?"
"Maddie, you were so drunk you didn't even make it to your room when we got home that night."
"I was tipsy, and you came in my room with me. You wanted it, admit it!" She sounds like she has something to prove, but what would that even be?
"Wait, you think we were both in your room, then you stormed out and somehow still woke up in your room, alone?"
She was ready to strike back, then freezes in place, "But I never get drunk."It's merely a thought.
"Yeah, because you don't trust us, you bitch!" Nan yells from the other room, making Madison roll her eyes at the intrusion.
"Trust us with what?" you mumble without fully processing their interaction.
"I don't trust anyone," Madison simply shrugs off.
"Why go out with us, then?"
"I didn't go out with them, I went out with you." She emphasizes like there's an intrinsic difference between the two statements. Your brows furl as you try to understand. "But that doesn't matter because somehow you didn't want me, so we can just go back to not doing that and never speaking of it again."
You finally stand up to meet her at eye level, "I didn't say I didn't want you. You were so drunk, there was no way I would have let it happen."
Time stills for a moment when something clicks in her mind, making her features light up as she regains her flawless posture, "So I was right to trust you." She begins to leave with a strut in her step, "You can take me out tonight, just the two of usâŠAnd make sure I don't drink too much this time."
Madison finally showing you her more vulnerable side.
(For anon)
Youâd been dating Madison for a few months. The two of you had kept it casual even though you spent a lot of time together. It was mostly because she didnât want to take it any further, and you respected that. She just wanted to have fun and have someone to hang around with that she liked.
You knew she could be⊠prickly at times. Most people that knew her complained that she was bitchy and self centered. It was true, of course, but that wasnât all she was. She didnât show it often, but Madison got attached to people and then had a problem showing that she cared for anyone.
The two of you made plans to hang out at the Academy, but when you arrived sheâd sequestered herself in her room. The door was locked and when you knocked, she initially told you to go away. Once you told her who it was, she unlocked the door and let you in.
âYou okay?â
âYeah. Perfect.â Her eyes looked a bit red and her cheeks were slightly flushed.
âAre you sure, Mads?â
She scoffed at you and turned away. âYes. Just drop it.â
âAlright. But if you need to talk to me about anything, you can. You know that, right?â
Madison paused, remaining silent for a moment. She fiddled with her clothes for a moment and heaved a heavy sigh. âUgh. This is so stupid.â
Taking a chance, you stepped forward and opened your arms. She hesitated, but embraced you tightly. You held onto her for as long as she wanted and when she stepped away, she thanked you. âJesus, you came to hang out and Iâm just a mess.â
âYou donât have to apologize. Everyoneâs a mess sometimes.â
shamelessly requesting reader & post-prison brooke car sex đ€·ââïž
Brooke didn't wait for you to take her home. The afternoon sun was hot and persistent, and she directed you to pull into the alley behind a store. The second the car was in park, she was upon you. Your lips crashed together like colliding planets, Brooke's impatient fingers pushing your shirt up so warm hands could grope you.
When she broke away for a breath, you pushed the seat back, away from the steering wheel. Almost before you could blink, Brooke was climbing over the center console to straddle your lap. Firm hands pulled you into another hungry kiss, her teeth abusing your bottom lip before her tongue would soothe the throb away.
"I missed you so fucking much, babe," she breathed the words against your ear when she pulls her own shirt off. "Missed feeling you, hearing you beg, stretching you open just for me." Every word set your skin ablaze, a sharp whine uncoiling from your lips as your lover's fingers pinch your nipple. "Are you gonna be a good girl and give me what I want?"
"Yes! Fuck, god, yes," you were too eager and you knew it, but that only seemed to fuel the fire in your girlfriend. Her hand slipped between your bodies, undoing your jeans so her fingers could slip under your waistbands.
Brooke's kiss migrated to your neck as long fingers spread you without touching where you craved her. The effect was immediate anyway, a pitiful sound on your tongue that pulled a quiet chuckle from her. A single fingertip danced lazy circles on your clit, nice and slow until your hips began to subtly shift with her attention. Only then did she sink her fingers into the warmth of your pussy, her teeth pressing patterns of her ownership into your neck.
The first touch of her inside you was a shock of pure white heat. Your back arched, pressing your chest flush against hers, a choked cry swallowed by the sweat-damp skin of her shoulder. She worked you with a practiced, devastating rhythm, two fingers curling deep inside you, a third already nudging at your entrance while her palm kept a firm, delicious pressure against your clit with every thrust.
âThatâs it,â she growled, the vibration humming against your throat. âThatâs my girl. So fucking wet for me. All for me.â Her words were a velvet purr, a possessive spell that coiled tight in your belly. You could only cling to her, your fingers digging into the taut muscles of her back, your world narrowing to the slick, driving motion of her hand and the hot brand of her mouth on your skin.
You were already close, teetering on that glorious edge, when she stilled. A sob of protest tore from you. Brooke pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. Her gaze was dark, blown wide with lust and a fierce, adoring intensity.
âNot yet,â she commanded, her voice rough. âYou donât cum until Iâm inside you. Really inside you. So hurry up and get us home."
Please say a very special thank you to @stopkillinglilyrabe, this fic is our collaboration and wouldn't have been possible without their help and hard work. Here's something to feed y'all with the holidays coming up
Under the cut because 7k words! Think of this as an extension to jealous fwb Maddie đđ
"Let's watch a movie," Madison's voice is low and lazy, the suggestion coming from a place of not wanting to drift off just yet. You turn to look at her, her pretty eyes drowsy and fighting sleep, and she looks so endearing that you couldn't dream of disagreeing.
"Sure, yeah. One that you're in, or�" you bait her already knowing the answer; anything without her starring in a role is inherently inferior to her filmography. Still, you ask, because she looks pleased whenever you bring up her fame.
"Obviously," she affirms, rolling her eyes at the question and nodding towards the TV remote. You take it and turn the television on, cycling through the various options she has readily available, settling on something vaguely feel-good, since you know she won't last long after the credits roll. You press play, and she leans heavily into your side, snuggling close for the shared warmth and the security of your arms around her.
You can't remember if you fell asleep during the movie, which means you must have, at least for a few minutes. Madison is still wrapped securely in your arms, her breathing slow and even as she wanders dreams. Slowly, you free your numb arm from underneath her so you can stretch some of the stiffness away and restore your circulation. That's when she stirs, blinking up at you and pausing to take you in before she looks at the screen where the credits are slowly traveling up the television.
"The credits are rolling, what are you still doing here?" Even though she's just woken up, her defense is already up and armed.
Your brow furrows in confusion, the tender affection in your chest churning into uncertainty. "Wait, Mads, are you serious? WeâŠ" You trail off under the withering glare she gives you, and she pointedly shifts away from you, untangling herself from your arms.
"RightâŠ" You try to push the dejection down before it can overwhelm you. Slowly, you climb out of Madison's bed, circling around it to approach the door. "Goodnight," you say quietly on your way out, gently closing the door behind you. Only when you hear it lock âso immediate that you know Madison hadn't bothered to leave bed to lock itâdo you let the rejection burn a bitter taste onto your tongue.
Behind the door, Madison is feeling that familiar hole in the center of her chest. It's like a void that persistently sucks the air from her lungs, that aches with the throbbing beat of her heart, that feels like it's sucking her into its emptiness. She's asking herself the same question you are: why? Neither of you have ever known the answer.
The following day is uneventful and brings you no closer to answers. To distract yourself, you decide to hang out with one of the other girls for a small movie night. As the evening descends, you rest your head on Zoe's shoulder, your body heavy with sleepiness from a night of tossing and turning. Still, you were the one to say you wanted to watch the movie, so you fight to keep your eyes open and on the screen. Rather than tease you, Zoe simply fixes the blanket over the two of you, letting you be, as the movie continues to unfold before you. The simple kindness and companionable silence is appreciated; you could use a simple hangout session with a friend.
Truth be told, you're only half watching the movie, regardless of how excited you had been for it. The previous night with Madison lingers in your thoughts, how quickly holding her had turned into a stony dismissal and the sound of a lock clicking into place behind you. You tried not to let it get to you, maybe she had just been tired, but it still nags at you even now. You had known that falling for Madison was beyond unwise (and against the unspoken rules of your arrangement,) but you hadn't been able to stop yourself, and perhaps that was fated to be your undoing.
The creak of the floorboard is the only warning you get.
You donât even have time to lift your head from Zoeâs shoulder before a voice, sharp as shattered glass, cuts through the filmâs soundtrack.
âWell, isnât this a charming little slumber party?â
Madison stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the hall light. Her arms are crossed, her hip cocked, and her expression is a perfectly curated mask of bored disdain. But her eyes, glittering and cold, are fixed directly on you.
Zoe tenses beside you, her posture going rigid. âWeâre just watching a movie, Madison.â
âObviously.â Madisonâs gaze flicks to the television and then back to you, stripping you bare. âThough, it looks like someoneâs fighting a losing battle against a coma. Poor thing. Long night?â
The question is a barb, aimed directly at the memory she knows is haunting you. Your cheeks grow warm. You try to sit up, to put some space between you and Zoe, but a strange paralysis has taken hold.
Madison takes a few slow, deliberate steps into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She stops beside the couch, looming over you. The air grows thick with her perfume and her animosity.
âYou know,â she says, her voice dropping to a venomous purr meant only for your ears, âif youâre that desperate for a cuddle buddy, you could have just said so. Though Iâd have thought youâd prefer someone with a little more⊠spark.â
Her eyes hold yours, challenging you to deny it, to remember the heat of her skin against yours before the ice set in.
Zoe finds her voice, protective and firm. âLeave her alone, Madison.â
âIâm not bothering her,â Madison croons, not looking away from you. âIâm just making an observation. Itâs just so⊠domestic. Itâs making my teeth ache.â She reaches out, not towards you, but to pluck a piece of invisible lint from the blanket draped over yours and Zoeâs legs. The gesture is possessively intimate and dismissive all at once.
Her fingers brush against your thigh, and the contact is like a static shock. Your breath hitches.
She sees it. A tiny, triumphant smirk twists the corner of her mouth.
âEnjoy your movie, kids,â her tone dripping with false cheer, âdonât do anything I wouldnât do.â
With a final, scathing glance that sweeps over the entire sceneâthe shared blanket, your proximity to Zoe, the sleepiness in your eyesâshe turns on her heel and walks out, leaving a chilling silence in her wake.
The magic of the film is shattered. You canât even remember what was happening on screen. All you can feel is the ghost of her touch on your leg and the searing heat of her jealousy.
Zoe lets out a slow breath, âWhat is her problem?â
But you know. You know exactly what her problem is. And as you stare at the empty doorway, the nagging worry from last night is suddenly eclipsed by a new, terrifying, and thrilling realization; Madison Montgomery, for all her stony dismissals and locked doors, was watching. And she cared enough to make sure you knew she was watching.
***
A few nights later, you find yourself once again panting in Madison's bed, recovering from her possessive ministrations, a satisfied expression on your face. As you come back to your senses and the haze slowly leaves your brain, a gentle thought sprouts within you.
"Iâm sorry about the other night with Zoe," you begin, your breath still not completely even, "It was shitty of me, knowing you were in the house, I really didn't mean anything by it, but I get why it ticked you off." Your words come tentative, not wanting to break the magic of the moment, while also being a real attempt at an apology.
Madison doesn't spare you a look before scoffing, "Seriously? I already forgot about that." It's cynical, almost mocking.
When out in public, you understand Madison's need to put up a façade âit's her way of protecting herself from the constant scrutiny, but whenever it's just the two of you, her indifference feels like a blow to your stomach.
"Are you done brooding?" she snarks to break your trance, you mumble something in response, but she has no interest in what you have to say, "'Cause it's past your bedtime."
You stare at her for a moment, unsure what to make of her behavior, and chuckle dryly at her remark, sitting up on the bed as you scan the floor for your discarded clothes. From the corner of your eye, you can see her inspecting her perfectly manicured nails to offer her disdain for your prolonged stay. So, with a defeated sigh, you gather your belongings, lean over, and leave a peck on her cheek with a soft, "Goodnight." Then, sneak back into your room, still in your underwear.
Once more, she locks the door before you can notice the way her skin burns where your lips made contact.
***
When you close the greenhouse door behind you, Madison's words are already echoing freshly in your mind. 'Don't take too long, I want to leave early enough to stop at the cafe before we get there.' Things have been feeling stressful recently, and you wanted to take a day with her to recharge and just leave behind some of the tension. Madison had been short with you ever since she woke up, but at the same time, there was a frustration in her eyes each time she said something that made you draw back. Maybe it was just a long night.
What's important is that today is a new day and a fresh start, and you're unwaveringly determined to make it a good time for you both. First, you just need to confirm the address with Cordelia, then you can head out and enjoy the day in nature.
Cordelia stands with her back to you, carefully adding a few drops of something into a glass beaker. She acknowledges your presence in a cheerful enough tone, "Good afternoon. Are you and Madison still going to the arboreal gardens today?"
"Yeah, I think so." You offer a small, nervous smile to the back of her head. You're leaving the destination a surprise to your⊠Madison, but you feel pretty confident that she'll come around to the idea once you're there. "That's why I'm here, actually. I just wanted to make sure I have the directions right. It's the first left after we take the exit, right?"
"Yes, that's correct," Cordelia turns to you with a smile, her eyebrows gently raising as she looks you over. A playful gentleness dances in her eyes when she assesses you, "I didn't realize today was a date."
"I- it's-" You cut yourself off, shaking your head and hiding your face in your hands for just a second, just long enough to get your composure back. You look up at her with a small, helpless smile, "Things have just been stressful recently, I guess."
"Between the two of you? You seem as close as ever." She tilts her head slightly, inviting you to unload your worries. The offer is tempting, and you find yourself leaning into the idea before you can think better of it.
"I guess I just don't know how to read her, every time I think I'm making progress, it feels like we take a step backwards."
Cordelia sets the beaker down carefully, her full attention now on you. The gentle, earthy scent of the greenhouse seems to deepen, as if leaning in to listen. âProgress toward what?â she asks, her voice soft but deliberate. It isnât a challenge, but a genuine question.
You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, âI donât know. Understanding her? Making her⊠happy? Itâs like trying to hold onto smoke. One minute sheâs warm, and the nextâŠâ You trail off, thinking of the icy silence youâd left behind in your room. âI was five minutes late today. Just five minutes. And the look she gave me could have frozen hell over. I was just finishing up the surprise for her.â
A knowing, almost sad smile touches Cordeliaâs lips, âAh. So the cold shoulder is for what she deems a slight, while you were in the midst of doing something for her. That does sound familiar.â She picks up a small, delicate pruning shear and turns it over in her hands. âSome plants, you see, have very deep roots in poor soil. Theyâve learned to protect themselves by growing thorns, by closing up in the cold. They arenât trying to punish the sun for being slow to rise; they are simply acting on an old, deep fear that the warmth might not come at all.â
She looks from the shears back to you, her gaze piercingly kind. âHer reaction likely has very little to do with your five minutes, and everything to do with a story sheâs been telling herself for a long, long time. A story about being disappointed, being forgotten.â
The insight strikes you with the force of a physical blow. It makes a painful kind of sense that you feel should have been more obvious, âSo what do I do? How do I⊠change the story?â
âYou donât,â Cordelia says simply. âYou canât rewrite someoneâs past. But you can be relentlessly, consistently present in their now. You prove the story wrong. Not with grand gestures, but by being there. By being reliable.â Her eyes twinkle. âEven when youâre five minutes late.â
She gestures around the lush greenhouse. âYou donât yell at a frost-touched plant for being damaged. You provide continued warmth, you make sure its roots are steady, and you wait. It may never be a plant that basks openly in the sun, but it will grow. And its blooms, when they finally come, are all the more precious for their rarity.â
You stand there for a moment, the humid air settling around you, the weight of Madisonâs cold shoulder feeling a little less heavy. It wasn't a personal rejection. It was a defense mechanism. âBe the sun,â you mumble, more to yourself than to her.
âPrecisely,â Cordelia encourages you, picking up her beaker again. âAnd right now, your sun needs to go and thaw a particular frost-touched flower. Donât keep her waiting any longer, the first left after the exit, remember?â
A genuine, relieved smile spreads across your face, âThank you, Cordelia.â
âGo on,â she commands, turning back to her work, her tone warm and dismissive, âand try to enjoy your date.â
*** Noon on a weekday at Miss Robichaux's means most of the girls are in class.
Today you have an hour to kill, so you take advantage of the emptiness in the kitchen to make yourself a snack.
You open the fridge to retrieve the cream cheese while the toaster pops, and hear the turntable in the living room starting up, the volume cranked to the top, as you sense footsteps approaching.
Before you can look behind you to find the intruder, a hand grabs yours and begins to twirl you while Stevie Nicks sings.
Your back ends up pressed to Misty's chest, involuntarily swaying to the beat of the music along with her. You're a mere passenger in this moment, unable to stop whatever's happeningânot that you're in any rush to do so.
"Do I smell bagels?" she smiles into your ear, making you giggle.
"Yes."
"Can I have some?" She doesn't stop dancing when her eyes turn playfully pleading.
"Sure."
A throat clearing stops you from taking the slices out of the toaster, your neck snaps in its direction when Madison angrily waves her hand to stop the music, "And just what do you think you're doing?"
"Madison, we were just dancin', don't get your panties in a bunch," Misty retorts, letting go of you.
"I wasn't talking to you, Swampy," Madison bites back, not caring to conceal the venom in her words that makes your breath catch in your throat. Her deadly eyes pressing on you force out a mumble.
"We were just dancing, what's the big deal?"
Her deafening silence amplifies your heart beating in your ears. She ignores you and stares at the living room with a sharp exhale. Suddenly, the turntable catches fire, the flames quickly spreading onto the whole shelf. The heat, bright orange, loudly begging for attention.
"Mads, what the hell!" you scream, panicking in place.
Misty swiftly jumps into action, grabbing the water jug sitting on the counter and running to empty it over the flames, drowning them out completely.
Madison stands on her spot, watching the scene unfold with disinterest all over her face, "And she can put out fires, total package."
You sigh in resignation, asking the all too persistent question, "What is your problem?" You thought you knew the answer, but every time the question occurs to you, it grows less rational.
Cordelia and the rest of the students come downstairs to witness the aftermath of the fire and inadvertently, the beginning of your fight with Madison.
"My problem is that you seem much too comfortable throwing yourself around to any witch who will have you!" she yells out to the crowd, almost as if putting on a show.
Her recklessness makes your whole body tense, not being as apparently comfortable with an audience as she is, "Watch how you speak to me."
She crosses her arms and shifts her weight on her feet, cocking her head to the side as a challenge, "Or what, you'll leave me for Swampy over here?"
"You can't kick me out of your room one moment and get angry at me for spending time with other people the next," your voice grows louder, "You've made your decision and set your boundaries, and you are not in a position to take on this battle, Maddie."
You catch a light gleam in her narrowing eyes before she spits, "Whatever, I don't need to hear this." And with an eye roll, she turns around and leaves the way she came, the clicking of her heels echoing through the otherwise silent house.
You watch her disappear through a door with shaky hands and labored breathing. Gossiping whispers drown out your thoughts as you stand fully exposed to the rest of the students.
Her nonchalant façade may be enough to fool everyone else, but you saw the way her features twitched before she left. She's bruised by the consequences of her own behavior.
You didn't intend to hurt her, you were only trying to stand your groundâWhy must everything be so complicated with her?âThen, your eyes lock with Cordelia's and you know what you have to do.
Be the sun.
But the sun isn't always a gentle warmth. It can be brash and scorching, and sometimes, that momentary discomfort is exactly what a flower needs in order to continue growing.
You run to catch up with the sound of expensive stilettos and follow it all the way to the green house, where the smell of tobacco points you to the far corner.
Madison is sitting on the floor, a freshly lit cigarette hanging from her lips. Her nose is graced with a shade of pink, but no tears are fallingâshe's much to proud to let you see them.
Once you reach her, you sit beside her, knowing better than to stare, and the calm that follows feels suspiciously comfortable.
"Are you okay?" You remain composed, looking straight ahead and making a real effort to decipher what she needs, but her expression is stoic as she blows out the smoke through her mouth, so you chose a more vulnerable approach, "Come on, Mads, don't do this," you beg her to not close up for once in her life. Wishful thinking.
"Me? How about you stop being a coward and just say what you came here to say?"
"You know what I came here to say." You take a slow, steadying breath. "This isn't working. I give you all of me, and you take it until you don't want me anymore, then you push me away, and that's fine because I know that when you need me again you'll come find me," she always does, and that's what makes it fine, "but you can't blow up at me if I hang out with other people in the meantime. It's not fair to anyone."
"So what's your brilliant answer, hm? You're just going to wait around with whoever's available, like a patient puppy waiting for its master to come throw it a scrap?" Madison's words drip venom, her eyes flashing a warning at you before she looks away, across the greenhouse to the panes of glass.
The words make your patience start to crack, frustration threatening to bleed from the edges. You cling to your composure, your jaw clenches until it hurts. A slow, deep breath before you find your voice again. You can do this, you've practiced saying this dozens of times in your head. "You are using me to hurt yourself, and I think deep down, you know it tooâ"
"I don't need your psycho-analysis," Madison cuts you off. "I just need you to be there when I call for you, I thought that was obvious. Clearly that's too much, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. So sorry I don't want to share my toys with the boring, basic bitches in the house." Her shoulders are tense, and if you try to focus on her hands, you see they're trembling subtly where they rest on her lap.
"You don't have to be so mean to them." What's the point in fighting for yourself? Madison always makes the rules. You always follow them. Those are the roles you have chosen.
She turns on you, leaning closer, her voice raising in frustration. "Why do you always take their side?"
"I'm not! I'm just saying you could stand to be a little nicer to everyone, including me!" Finally, it breaks through. The ache of knowing that this was never an equal give and take.
"Nicer? You want nice?" Madison's face scrunches with distaste, "Nice is for people who don't have to fight for every single thing they've ever gotten. You think they're nice to me behind your back? Please."
You scoot just a little closer, trying to close the distance and return to something resembling calmness. "You're creating the exact treatment you say you hate. If you'd just give them a chanceâ"
Again, Madison's sharp tongue interrupts you, "A chance to what? To pity me? To whisper about my family, my money, my past? I don't need their chances. And I don't need you either if you can't even manage to see that. Go ahead, go crawling back to that swamp slut if you need to be coddled so badly," she spits.
Finally, your patience wears thin enough that it snaps entirely, something you hadn't known was possible. Suddenly, the blood roaring in your ears gives you a silence that feels almost calm. "Well, if I'm just a toy to you, what are you going to do, play with me until you finally break me? Well congratu-fucking-lations Madison, you did it. Now you can finally be alone, like you always wanted."
She rolls her eyes at you, slowly clapping her hands a few times, "Oh, please. Spare me the dramatics. You knew what this was from the start. Nobody breaks anybody who isnât already cracked. And honey, you were practically shattered when I found you." Madison raises her chin, a challenge in her eyes as she bristles, "I just gave you something pretty to look at in the pieces."
That's the straw that reaches your breaking point. Heat rushes through your body, anger drowning out the hurt or feeding off of it, and hot flames lap up the palm of your hand to dance along your fingers, "I can light things on fire too, you know! Don't try to play the savior card, the only reason you ever got your way with me is because I let you."
You force your jaw to unclench before you draw blood, and continue, "You love pretending that you're some superior being, gracing us mortals with your mere presence, when really you're just a spoiled little nightmare, who thinks she is entitled to everything and everyone at the snap of a finger." A humorless bark of laughter bubbles from your lips as you shake your head, scarcely even noticing the way your words have been raising in volume to strike back.
"You're like a fiend, Madison. A fiend that feeds from the people closest to you, until you drain them of all they have to give. You don't know a goddamn thing about me, so don't fucking talk to me about having to fight for everything, when you make me fight and beg for crumbs!" You close up your fist to extinguish the flame; you don't want it, you don't want the connection to the cruelest girl you've ever loved right now.
"Stop yelling at me!" She stands up, her arms close to her body, hugging herself. Finally, the tears fall from her wet eyes, and she doesn't look at you. She seems frozen in place, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, but her whole body trembling. She could have ignored you and stormed off the way she does multiple times everyday, but instead, she stayed and took it, took the anger she's been giving you.
The anger doesn't leave, but the guilt still punches you in the gut. You force yourself to your feet, but you don't dare to try to touch her, just standing in front of her, silently begging her to look at you. Your voice is softer this time when you speak. "Cuddling up in your bed late at night watching movies is not hooking up. Getting violently jealous whenever I so much as speak to another girl is not hooking up."
Madison doesn't say anything, still won't even look up at you. She still doesn't move, so you take a tiny step closer, close enough to feel the heat of each other without touching. "Maddie, if those are your rules, then this⊠this isn't a game I want to play anymore. Doesn't matter how much I love you, I can't keep doing this."
At last, the spell is broken. A muffled sob breaks through her silence, followed by a sniffle, and Madison turns away. Impulsively, desperately, you grab her wrist as gently as you can. Biting your lip, you squeeze her hand softly.
"Iâm sorry I called you a nightmare, you might actually be the girl of my dreams. I just can't keep torturing both of us."
She pushes the door open, and you let her slip through your fingers as she walks away. You finally stood up for yourself, for your friends. You should feel some release in all of the emotion that's been building inside of you, but instead, it just feels as though the weight on your chest has doubled.
You lose track of the days that have passed. You haven't left your room much, let alone the house. You are beginning to get used to sleeping alone again. Even when Madison kicked you out to send you shuffling back to your own bed so many nights, the warmth of her contact had lingered in your thoughts and on your skin.
You're sound asleep until you're not; until something is dipping the mattress beside you and brushing against you. You wake with a jerky motion, flinching away from the unexpected danger. Nothing happens. Whoeverâor whateverâit is, doesn't move, and slowly your gaze brings their shape into focus and recognition dawns on you.
"Mads? What are you doing here? We can't do this anymore, I told you." It still hurts, maybe even more knowing that it was your decision. But that means you got to jump before you could get hurt. It should be a victory, but it doesn't feel that way.
"No, I know. Justâplease," Madison is begging and her voice is broken, a breath away from cracking open. Her arms are wrapping around you so she can cling to you like an anchor. Your heart breaks with her, the desperation and despair in her voice undoing your defenses. Nothing in you can bear the thought of pushing her away, of sending her back to her lonely room, so you wrap your arms slowly around her and hold her impossibly close to yourself. You know that she'll speak when she's ready, so you try to push away the sleep clinging to the edges of your mind and you bow your head to kiss the top of her head.
You can't tell how much time the two of you spend like that, clinging together in silence. You almost think Madison has fallen asleep when her voice, quieter than you've ever heard it, breaks through.
"Sorry I'm too much." It's low, but it sounds sincere, and dampness finds your neck where she hides her face, "I just don't know how to stop. I see you with someone and I just get so fuckingâ" a shuddering breath cuts her off, and you rub soothing circles over her back, "I get so sad and that makes me so fucking angry."
"You're the only girl I want, Maddie. But I need to be able to have friends too. Even if I'm dancing or watching a movie with them, I'm not looking at them the way I look at you." Gently, you raise her chin so your eyes can find hers. "Okay?"
She nods and meets your lips with her own, a soft brush that echoes again and again until her warm hands are cupping your cheeks. Silent reassurance transfers from your lips to hers, and when she pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, "I can be better about everything." The promise is a whisper, sealed with another kiss as her form shifts to prop herself up slowly.
Madison's form looms over your own, her head bowed close to yours so that the curtain of her hair hides the two of you away from the world. Her lips keep dappling your neck, your collarbones, trembling when she whispers apologies between them. She sounds so quietly earnest that your heart aches for her as you guide her lips up to yours. You lose count of how many times you kiss her as her fingers roam your body, her hands curling around your hips almost timidly.
You feel the shuddering breath she takes against your mouth, the way her whole body tenses for a moment, before the kiss deepens, transforming. The timid grip on your hips solidifies, becomes possessive. The soft, apologetic murmurs turn into a low, needy groan against your tongue.
She nips at your lower lip, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to draw a gasp from you that she swallows whole. âIâm done talking,â she rasps, the words a hot vow on your skin. Her hands slide from your hips, one skimming up your side to cradle your face, her thumb stroking your cheekbone with a reverence that contradicts the fire in her eyes. The other hand travels downward, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts with a purpose that makes your back arch off the bed.
A new, potent silence fills the space between you, broken only by the ragged symphony of your shared breaths. Madisonâs declaration hangs in the air, not as a dismissal, but as an invocation. The time for words, for the careful stitching of apologies, has passed. Now, there is only the language of touch and lips and teeth, a dialect she resumes with fluent, desperate intensity.
Her fingers, now sure and seeking, map the territory theyâd previously only timidly explored. The slide of her palm over your hip, the press of her thumb into the soft hollow of your belly; every touch is a claim, a confirmation. She watches your face as her hand delves lower, her eyes dark pools of stormy arousal, studying every flutter of your eyelashes, every parted gasp.
âSee?â she murmurs, her voice a gravelly vibration against your throat where she dips her head to taste your pulse. âThis is what I should have been doing all along. Reminding you.â Her teeth graze the tendon, a gentle threat that liquefies your bones. âReminding us.â
The last barrier of fabric is pushed aside, not ripped or rushed, but dealt with a focused, almost solemn efficiency. When her fingers finally find you, slick and warm and wanting, a broken sound punches from her chest. Itâs part groan, part sigh of homecoming. She stills for a heartbeat as her fingers slowly glide into you, her forehead dropping to rest against yours.
âGod,â she exhales, the word soaked in awe. Her thumb begins a slow, torturous circuit on your clit, a rhythm as old as time, yet perfectly, uniquely attuned to the hitch in your breath, the tremble in your thighs. âAll that stupid noise in my head⊠it just goes quiet when I touch you. Only you.â
Her kiss, when it returns, is different. Itâs no longer an exploration or an apology. Itâs a mirror of the movement of her hand, deep, rhythmic, consuming. Itâs a feed-back loop of sensation; you gasp into her mouth, and she swallows it, using it to fuel the next circling press, the next slow, deep glide of her fingers.
Her possessiveness now is a tender cage. The arm braced beside your head trembles with the effort of her control, her bicep curving close to your cheek. You can feel the fierce pound of her heart through the thin silk of her tank top, a wild drumbeat syncing with the pulse thrumming under her skillful touch.
"Look at me," she rasps, the command softened by the desperate plea beneath it. Your eyes, which had fluttered shut, open to find hers. The vulnerability you saw earlier is still there, but it's been forged into something sharper, hotter, "I want to see it. I want to see you remember that you're mine."
And you do remember. In the clench of your hands in her hair, in the arch of your back seeking more of her, in the silent cry that shapes your lips as the coil inside you winds tightâitâs a reminder deeper than thought. Itâs in the way her name becomes the only word left in the universe, a mantra chanted against her lips, against her skin, as she guides you, relentless and reverent, to the edge.
The fall is not a crash, but a slow, delicious unraveling. She kisses you through it, absorbing every shudder, every sigh, her own body trembling with the force of giving you this. As the waves subside into gentle, lapping aftershocks, her movements slow to a halt, her hand resting, a warm, comforting weight against you.
She doesnât pull away. She collapses into you, her face buried in the curve of your neck, her limbs heavy and spent. The silence returns, but itâs lush and full, no longer fraught. Minutes pass, marked only by the slowing of your hearts. When you look at Madison again, she's watching you, that small furrow back in her brow, so your arms tighten around her and you roll with her.
She looks up at you, eyes wide and clear, and for just a second you understand the vulnerability there as you become the vixen and she embodies the hare. Your lips reassure hers until the tremble leaves them, and you paint a path down her neck where you nip at her throat and leave love letters written in indents and tender bruises on her skin.
Her breath hitches, a sharp, sweet intake of air that you feel against your lips. The surrender in her body is total, a yielding that is more potent than any command. The fierce protector, the one who loomed and trembled and claimed, has melted away, leaving only Madison laid bare beneath you. Her hands come up to cradle your face, her thumbs stroking your cheeks, as if sheâs memorizing you in this new light.
You kiss her again, and this time itâs you who is the apology, the benediction, the promise. You taste the salt on her skin, the lingering echo of her own desperate need. Your hands, no longer guided, are learning her anew. You push the thin silk of her tank top up, and she arches off the bed to help you, a silent, urgent cooperation. The garment is discarded, joining yours somewhere in the shadows.
The sight of her, finally laid bare, steals the air from your lungs. In the dim light, her skin is a map of silvered shadows and pale curves. You follow the topography with your lips, from the hollow of her throat, over the furious flutter of her heart, down to the swell of her breasts. When you take a nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue, her back bows off the mattress with a sharp whine of a moan. A ragged, âPleaseâŠâ is torn from her, and itâs a sound of pure, unfiltered surrender.
Your own exploration is a slow reclamation. You use your lips, your tongue, the gentle scrape of your teeth to rewrite every anxious thought sheâd whispered earlier. You trace the line of her ribs, the soft plane of her stomach, feeling the muscles jump and quiver under your touch. Her hands are in your hair, not guiding, but clinging, her fingers tightening and loosening with each new sensation.
When you finally slide down her body, settling between her thighs, you look up the length of her. Her head is thrown back, eyes shut, lips parted. One arm is flung above her head, the other hand fisted in the sheets. She is a vision of exquisite tension.
âLook at me,â you echo her own command, your voice husky.
Her hazel eyes, dazed and dark, find yours. The connection is a live wire. Holding her gaze, you lower your head, but before your lips can kiss her flesh, her voice makes you pause.
"Tell me you love me again." It's so quiet you have to strain to hear every word, but it registers so loudly in your mind.
"Maddie, I love you more than I'll ever love anyone or anything." It's terrifyingly true, this is a love that has every possibility of ruining you. You'd always liked to play with fire, and the flame looks down at you with shining eyes and gentle fingers.
The first touch of your tongue wrenches a cry from her that seems to come from the very core of her being. Her hips jerk off the bed, and you settle your hands on her, holding her gently but firmly in place, a silent vow that you have her, that she can let go. You taste her, the sharp flavor of her desire, and you drink her in like a woman dying of thirst. Your tongue paints broad stokes that claim all of her before you tease tight circles around her clit.
You learn her rhythm quickly, the way she gasps when you flick your tongue in a certain way, the broken sob that follows a slow, firm press. You feel the tension coiling in her, tighter and tighter, a spring wound to its breaking point. Her pleas become a fractured litany, your name mixed with wordless, desperate sounds.
âIâm here,â you murmur against her, the vibration drawing another sharp cry. âLet go, Maddie. Iâve got you.â
Itâs the permission she didnât know she needed. With a final, shuddering gasp that sounds like both agony and ecstasy, she comes apart. Her body convulses under your hands, under your mouth, a beautiful, unraveling symphony of release. You stay with her through every pulse, every tremble, until she is boneless and spent, her breathing a series of ragged, slowing sighs. And then you begin again. Your mouth presses more firmly against her and you suck gently but insistently, her swollen clit throbbing against the pad of your tongue. Madison's surprise is sharp in the air, and her fingers tighten in your hair as a chorus of broken whimpers climb from her throat, her hips jerking in pleasure and sensitivity combined.
It's easy to lose track of time, to close your eyes and just focus on making Madison feel good after so much pain had found the spaces between the two of you. She came back, she sought you out. This wasn't a summons when she had crawled into your bed and begged not to be kicked out, just as it isn't blind servitude when you adore her and chase her pleasure. You feel her muscles tensing again, hear her voice becoming breathless and tight, and so you suck harder as your tongue rubs firm pressure against her. Your body does the begging your occupied mouth can't, hands squeezing her hips with an urgent plea as your eyes search for hers. Her body bows as she comes undone a second time, and you can't stop yourself from letting your fingers so slowly slip into her cunt and pulling a third and fourth orgasm from her.
When she falls into the mattress, boneless and breathing hard but even, you crawl back up her body, collapsing beside her, gathering her trembling form against you. She turns into you, burying her face in your chest as you gently tangle your limbs together. The silence is profound, a warm, satiated blanket that wraps around you both. Guilt and pride alike lap at the inside of your chest as you wait for her to come to again, your cheeks warm with the realization that you literally fucked her senseless, that the pleasure must have been so overwhelming that she passed out as you overstimulated her form.
Long moments pass. The only sound is the slowing syncopation of your heartbeats. Finally, she stirs, tilting her head back to look at you. You watch a journey of emotion she won't tell you about in the pools of her eyes, wide with panic as they dart around an unfamiliar room. You can see the formation of a dozen questions, but then she squeezes your arm, reassures herself you're real, that she didn't just dream your forgiveness into being. The storm in her eyes has passed, leaving a clear, tender shade in its wake. The furrow is gone from her brow, smoothed away by your hands, your lips, your touch.
She doesnât say âIâm sorryâ again. She doesnât say âthank you.â She simply looks at you, and in the quiet, shimmering depths of her gaze, you see everything: the apology, the gratitude, the fierce, enduring love, and the quiet, certain peace that has finally, blessedly, settled between you.
âThere you are,â she whispers, her voice rough with spent passion and unshed tears of a different kind.
You smile, brushing a sweat-damp strand of hair from her forehead, âHere we are.â
"Think we're even now?" It's supposed to be a joke, but you can hear the insecurity, and in response you hold her just a little closer. In the moment, you feel like peace has won out, that you'll move heaven and hell for this girl, and the way her arms tighten around you, locking you into the safe harbor of her body, tells the real truth. You were never keeping score. You were just finding your way back to this moment.
hi! could you do something for fiona being flirty with a new witch at the academy đ she has some sort of ulterior motives, of course, but reader is too flustered to think about that right now. i loved your fiona x marie post btw!
Thank you so much!
"Well, what have we here?" A voice rich as satin made you look up from your place at the table, the tome you were reading temporarily forgotten about. Fiona Goode was watching you, her arms crossed as she appraised you like a predator searching for the weakest link in the herd.
"I couldn't sleep," you offered in response, lifting a shoulder and willing your heart to slow down before she could hear it hammering against your ribs. Your first reaction to the Supreme paying you a personal visit was to think of the mistakes you could have made, but when Fiona took a seat on the edge of the table, your mind quieted rather abruptly.
"Insomnia," she purred, the word a velvet caress. She shifted, one silk-clad leg brushing ever so slightly against your knee as she settled comfortably on the table. "A common ailment. But you... you don't seek warm milk or a boring little romance novel. You seek forbidden knowledge."
Her hand, cool and smooth, came to rest atop yours where it lay on the wooden table, trapping it gently. "Tell me, does your heart race like this when you read about the old rituals? Or is it the company that's got it all flustered?" Her gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, a playful, predatory gleam in her own. "A bright young thing like you, all alone in the dark with such dangerous words. You need a guide. Someone who knows which paths are worth walking and which are just deliciously dark diversions."
Your mind screamed danger, that this was the wolf and you were the deer, but you were frozen in place. "Who's to say it can't be both?" You managed, your cheeks aflame under her attention, and you looked down to your book to try and hide your flushed features.
Fionaâs laugh was a low, thrilling sound that seemed to vibrate in the space between you. âOh, I like that,â she murmured, her fingers sliding from the back of your hand to gently tilt your chin back up, forcing you to meet her gaze. âA little brave. A little reckless. But I think we both know the answer."
Could i request one where reader is part of the witch hunters but ends up falling for madison
You told yourself you didn't believe in gods, only in the monsters you had seen and, eventually, come to hunt. It didn't matter why you started, no one cared in a boys club about trophy kills. All that mattered was you got the job done, you weren't a soft idiot like Hank, cozying up to the Supreme Witch's daughter and whispering about playing house.
No, you were staking the so-called academy out, monitoring every move any of the witches inside made. And then something happened. Those idiots you called your peers closed in and invaded in the middle of the night. Well, that certainly wouldn't do, a group of men sneaking up on sleeping women. So you did what you did best; caused a loud distraction. You drove right through the oak doors into the foyer, the van's horn blaring.
You had shot Hank without a second thought, and by then the girls were already coming to investigate, and that was your cue to lie low and let things unfold on their own. Within seconds, the air was thick with screams and smoke, flames lapping to life out of thin air. You'd been scrambling backwards from a curtain that had caught ablaze when she spotted you.
With a sweep of her hand, Madison had you slammed against the wall, so hard your head spun and the breath was crushed from your lungs. She was across the room from you, slowly stalking closer with her supermodel-stride, but you could feel her slender fingers wrapped tight around your throat. You gripped your knife tighter, raising the curved blade as she came within a few steps of you.
Madison didn't even bat an eye, and you heard her voice so clearly you swore she was inside your head. "Put it down." You didn't want to. You didn't tell your arm to move, but it lowered anyway. Madison tilted her head as she regarded you with a smirk, her fingers curling around your neck, gripping you tighter than her magic had.
It was then that you knew the game had changed, you were her prey. You didn't know if the sudden surge of attraction, of sublime desire was the same whisper that had controlled your body or if it was genuine. You just knew she would have you on your knees before the night was over.
The lights and hints of color fly by because Madison is driving and she told you once that she'd always liked to go a little too fast. The wind is roaring over the music because the windows are all down, but she reaches over and turns the volume up. You keep track of the roads. Well, not quite the roads. The turns.
You started playing this game when you noticed that playing it made the needle on the gas gauge stay in place for hours. It starts with the first left turn into a main road. Then, you drive until a right turn is available, and you take it, then the next left and so forth.
Madison looks like she hasn't slept in days. At the last rest stop, while smoking a cigarette she told you that she's not sure which is reality and which is the dream. You nodded, because you aren't sure either.
You dream of letters you never write, entire email exchanges that cease to exist when you wake. You watch the needle remain unmoving for twenty minutes.
One of her hands leaves the steering wheel and comes to rest on your thigh, palm up. You slide your fingers into the gaps between hers, and she kisses your hand.
In a drive thru, a blinking neon sign above your head, you think you see a horned rabbit among the bushes. You look at the wards etched abover each door of her car.
Madison smiles that movie star smile and everything is perfect, it's just the two of you and the world is a blanket of dim numbness surrounding you.
madison being reader's first? reader starting out careful and timid but then it's Greedy Hours
+ more Sugar Mommy Madison, Mommy kink
Madison had flown you to Brazil for the weekend, insisting that your first time should be special. She had spent hundreds of dollars on lingerie for the event, anything you could want for. She had bought you the most delicious dinner of your life, and when you pulled her back to the hotel room with you, she had grinned at you with that dazzling smile.
The grin that had been plastered on her face all night, a mix of genuine amusement and predatory anticipation, only widened as you fumbled with the key card to the penthouse suite. The door finally swung open to reveal a room drenched in the deep gold of the setting sun, glittering off the panoramic windows that showcased the beach below.
âImpatient, are we?â Madison purred, her voice a low, velvety hum that vibrated right through you. She let you pull her inside, the door clicking shut with a finality that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
She didnât give you a chance to speak. In one fluid, practiced motion, she spun you around, your back pressing against the cool wood of the door. Her hands, adorned with rings that felt cool against your flushed skin, came up to cage you in. âYouâve been a very good girl all night,â she whispered, her breath hot against your ear, smelling of expensive wine and dark chocolate. âAnd good girls get rewarded.â
Her mouth found yours, but it wasn't the gentle, exploratory kiss from dinner. This was a claim, full of teeth and tongue and dominance, a devouring that left you dizzy. You could only cling to the silk of her dress, the world narrowing to the scent of her perfume and the demanding pressure of her lips.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes were dark pools of desire. âNow,â she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. âShow me what I bought you.â
With trembling fingers, you led her into the master bedroom. The lingerie she had purchased, a scandalous confection of black lace and satin, was laid out on the king-sized bed like an offering. She watched, her hip leaning against the door frame, as you undressed. Her gaze was a physical weight, heating your skin everywhere it landed.
âBeautiful,â she murmured, pushing off the door frame and closing the distance between you only after you had pulled the lingerie over your heated flesh. Her fingertips, trailing up your bare thighs, made you shiver.
She turned you to face the floor-to-ceiling mirror, your reflection a stark contrast of your nervous excitement and her cool control. Her hands settled on your hips from behind, her chin resting on your shoulder as her eyes met yours in the glass.
âWatch,â she ordered, her voice a husky whisper right beside your ear.
Her hands began to move, slowly, deliberately. One slid around to the front, palm flat against your stomach, pulling you back flush against her. The other crept higher, fingers skimming the lace of the bra before dipping low again, down your hips and beneath the waistband of lace underwear. You gasped, your head falling back against her shoulder as her touch slipped between your thighs.
âSee how much you want me?â she cooed, her fingers tracing slick, aching circles that made your knees weak. Your whimper was the only answer you could manage. âAll of this desperate, pretty little mess is all for me. Isnât it?â
âYes, Madison,â you choked out, your hands gripping her arms for support.
âYes, what?â Her fingers stilled, the absence of the sensation a torture in itself.
âYes⊠Mommy.â
The title, something youâd only ever whispered in jest, hung in the air between you. A slow, triumphant smile spread across her lips in the reflection.
âThatâs my good girl.â
In a sudden, powerful movement, she spun you away from the mirror and pushed you down onto the mountain of pillows on the bed. She loomed over you, her dress falling away to reveal her own exquisite lingerie, a blood-red slash against her pale skin. She didnât undress you fully; instead, she just moved the fragile lace aside, her eyes burning with possessive fire.
âIâve spent a fortune on this night,â she said, lowering herself over you, her thighs bracketing your hips. âBut this,â she whispered, her mouth hovering just above yours as her fingertips teased your cunt. âThis is what I really paid for.â
Those words stole your breath in a ragged gasp, made your hips buck in an earnest attempt to get her inside. Madison let you get away with it, moaning into your mouth as two of her fingers sank slowly into you.
The stretch was exquisite, a perfect, filling pressure that made you see stars. A broken, grateful sob escaped your lips as your body welcomed her, clenching around the sudden, delicious intrusion. Madisonâs moan was a dark, satisfied sound against your neck as her mouth moved to claim you, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.
âSo tight,â she breathed, her voice thick with lust. âSo perfect for me.â
She began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that was sweet torture. Her fingers curled inside you, pressing against a spot that made you cry out, your back arching off the bed. She used her other hand to pin your hip to the mattress, her strength absolute, controlling the very pace of your pleasure.
âLook at me,â she commanded, her tone leaving no room for disobedience.
Your eyes, hazy with need, fluttered open to meet hers. The predatory amusement was still there, but it was softened by a raw, blazing intensity that stole what little breath you had left. She was watching every flicker of pleasure on your face, devouring your reactions as her fingers continued their relentless, curling rhythm.
âThis is mine,â she stated, her thrusts becoming deeper, more purposeful. âEvery gasp, every tremble, every single drop of your pleasure. It belongs to me.â
You could only nod, your world reduced to the feeling of her inside you, the scent of her skin, and the possessive fire in her gaze. The coil of pleasure in your belly tightened, burning and inevitable. You were hurtling towards the edge, your fingers digging into the silk sheets.
âMommy⊠Iâm⊠I canâtâŠâ
âYou can,â she purred, leaning down to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your whimpers. âAnd you will. Cum for me. Now, my good girl.â
It was the final command that shattered you. The orgasm ripped through you with a force that was almost painful, a blinding, white-hot wave of sensation that left you clenching and spasming around her fingers. You screamed her name into her mouth, your body seizing as she worked you through it, her strokes gentling but never stopping, drawing out every last shuddering pulse until you were a boneless, trembling wreck beneath her.
Only then did she slowly, tenderly, withdraw her fingers. She brought them to her lips, her eyes locked on yours as she sucked them clean in a vulgar, possessive gesture that made a fresh wave of heat flood your cheeks.
âJust as delicious as I imagined,â she murmured, a smug, satisfied smile playing on her lips. She lowered herself beside you, propping her head on her hand as she traced idle patterns on your oversensitive skin. âAnd that was only the beginning, babe. The night is still young.â
The promise in her voice, dark and sweet as the chocolate on her breath, sent a new, thrilling shiver of anticipation through your spent body. This was only the first reward, and you were already desperate for the next.
+ cock worship, continuation of Trans Sugar Mommy Madison emptying your head for you
Madison's hand was a gentle anchor in your hair, holding you so lightly in place that she was really just resting her hand on your head as your lips grazed across silky underwear. Her bulge was slowly stirring and growing in response to your attention, and you couldn't deny the small rush that ran through you at seeing her response to your devotion. How could you ever doubt her attraction to you when you got to see it up close firsthand?
Elegantly manicured nails scraped fondly against your scalp, rewarding your attention and letting you close your eyes to just focus on feeling Madison's cock through the thin fabric containing her. Your lips parted, open-mouthed kisses finding their way along her length until you reached her tip. Your eyes opened then to look up at the blonde with so much faux innocence as your hot mouth sucked at her cockhead through the fabric of her panties.
"Fuck, babygirl," Madison's praise was half sigh half hiss of pleasure, her grip tightening without pulling you. Her gaze didn't stray from your face, her cheeks gently, subtly tinted. "Do you have any idea what you do to me? Do you feel it?" Now she gently pulled you closer, pressed you against her cock for just a heartbeat, "That's all because of you, doll."
A soft, wet spot was already blooming on the silk, a testament to her arousal and the heat of your mouth. You hummed in response, the vibration earning a sharp, quiet gasp from above. The sound went straight to your core, a bolt of pure lightning.
"Let me show you," you murmured, your voice husky against her, "how much I love what I do to you."
Your fingers, which had been resting on her thighs, slid upward to find the delicate lace waistband of her underwear. You hooked your thumbs under the fabric, your question silent but clear in the way you paused, looking up at her for permission.
Madison's breath hitched. Her blue eyes, usually so cool and composed, were dark with desire. She gave a single, slow nod, her hand leaving your hair to brace herself against the cushions on either side of her. "Yes," she breathed. "Show me."
With deliberate slowness, you drew the silk down her hips, freeing her. Her cock sprang free, thick and beautifully erect, the tip glistening with her arousal and your dedication. The sight made your mouth water. You didn't break eye contact as you leaned in again, this time with no barrier between you.
Your first touch was a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the very tip, a hint of salt and a taste of pure Madison. Her abdomen clenched, a sharp, involuntary tremor running through her. Emboldened, you let your tongue swipe slowly across the slit on her tip, collecting the evidence of her desire.
"Look at you," she whispered, her voice strained with the effort of holding still. "So pretty on your knees for me."
You took her praise and let it fuel you. Finally, you parted your lips and took the head of her cock into your mouth, sinking down slowly. The feeling was exquisite as you felt the world outside these walls drift away, as your focus narrowed down to Madison and her pleasure. Your sugar mommy threatened to be the death of you, the gentle weight on your tongue, the faint throb of her pulse, the soft, choked-off moan that escaped her lips.
You set a slow, deep rhythm, one hand wrapping around the base of her to stroke and tenderly squeeze the part of her you couldn't take. The other found its way back to her thigh, squeezing gently in time with your bobbing head. The world narrowed to this: the scent of her perfume mixed with the musk of arousal, the sounds of her ragged breathing, and the overwhelming sense of power that came from reducing the always composed Madison to a trembling, pleading mess.
Her composure was fraying. "So good, baby," she panted, her hips giving a tiny, uncontrolled thrust. "Your mouth is... heaven."
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, and were rewarded with a broken, "Fuck!" Her hand returned to your hair, not to guide you, but to fist in it, holding on as if you were the only solid thing in the room. You knew she was close. You could feel the tension coiling in her body, hear the pitch of her moans climbing higher.
Pulling off with a wet, obscene pop, you looked up at her, your lips swollen and slick. "I want to feel it," you told her, your voice wrecked. "I want to taste you, Madison. Please."
The raw need in your voice was her undoing. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second before locking with yours with an intensity that stole your breath. "Then take it," she commanded, her voice a low, desperate rasp. "Take all of me."
You didn't need to be told twice. You swallowed her down again, taking her as deep as you could, and that was all it took. With a guttural cry of your name, she came, her release hot and desperate on your tongue. You drank her down, milking her through every last shuddering wave until she was spent, collapsing back against the couch, boneless and breathless.
For a long moment, the only sound was both of you catching your breath. You rested your cheek against her thigh, pressing a soft kiss to her skin. Finally, she stirred, her hand gently cupping your jaw, guiding your face up to look at her.
Her expression was one of awed, sated wonder. She traced your bottom lip with her thumb. "My God," she breathed, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across her face. "You're perfect."
Friends with benefits! Madison who gets (irrationally) jealous over reader being close to other witches, and then takes it out on her later in bed. Reader realizes sheâs a lot rougher than usual, and when she connects the dots, has a field day teasing her, being all "omg youâre jealous you care about me đ„°đ„°"
You were leaning against the wall in the kitchen, laughing at something Queenie had just said, your hand resting lightly on her arm to steady yourself. It was innocent, easy. That kind of casual touch you shared with a friend.
You felt the temperature drop before you saw her.
Madison materialized from the shadows near the staircase, her icy gaze fixed on the point where your fingers met Queenieâs sleeve. Her expression was a perfect, placid mask, but you knew her. You saw the tiny, almost imperceptible tightening at the corner of her jaw.
âUgh, are you two swapping cookie recipes? How mundane,â she drawled, slinking forward. She didnât wait for an answer. Her hand snaked out, her perfectly manicured fingers wrapping around your wrist with a surprising amount of force, pulling you away from Queenie. âI need to borrow this one.â
She didnât give you or Queenie a chance to respond, simply turned on her heel and dragged you toward the grand staircase, her grip like a vice.
âMadison, what the hell?â you hissed, stumbling after her.
âShut up and walk,â she snapped, not looking back, her voice a low, venomous tone that left room for no argument.
She all but threw you into her room, the door slamming shut with a wave of her hand. The lock clicked loudly in the silent tension of the room. The grand bedroom was full of soft silks and velvets, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in her eyes. And then she was on you.
Her kiss wasn't the usual playful, demanding thing you were used to. This was different, it was punishing. Her teeth caught your bottom lip, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but close. Her hands weren't exploring; they were claiming, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, shoving you back against the door harshly.
âWhoa, Maddie,â you gasped, turning your head to break the kiss. âEasy.â
âI said shut up,â she murmured, her voice dangerously low as she buried her face in your neck, her kisses turning into sharp, possessive bites along your collarbone. Her fingers worked at the buttons of your shirt with frantic, impatient energy, tearing more than one loose in the process.
It was rougher than usual. A lot rougher. There was no teasing build-up, no slow seduction. Her touch was almost angry, a silent conversation of nails and teeth and bruising grips. You were along for the ride, a thrilling, terrifying ride, but your mind was racing even as your body responded.
And then it clicked. The cold stare from across the room. The way sheâd specifically targeted your interaction with Queenie. The possessive fury she was taking out on your skin.
A slow, incredulous smile spread across your face even as she pushed you onto the bed.
She was on top of you, her knees pinning your hips, her hands tangling in your hair to tilt your head back. You let her, the smile never leaving your face.
âYouâre jealous,â you breathed out, the words a revelation.
Madison froze. For a single, glorious second, every bit of her furious momentum halted. Her mask of angry passion slipped, revealing a flash of pure, unadulterated panic.
âWhat?â she scoffed, trying to recover, trying to dive back in and shut you up with another kiss.
You turned your head, avoiding her lips. âYou are! Oh my god, youâre actually jealous.â You couldnât help it. âAll this⊠thisâŠâ you gestured between the two of you, ââŠbecause I was talking to Queenie?â
Her cheeks flushed a perfect, pretty pink. Busted. âDonât be ridiculous,â she sneered, but it lacked its usual bite. It sounded petulant. âI just donât like my things being touched by other witches. Itâs tacky.â
âYour things?â you echoed, your grin widening. You pushed up onto your elbows, forcing her to sit back. She tried to glare, but she looked more like a cornered, feral kitten. âMadison Montgomery. You care about me. Youâre jealous because you care.â
âI will murder you,â she threatened hollowly, pointing a finger at your face.
But you just giggled, joy and triumph surging through you despite the danger. You reached up and caught her pointing finger, pulling it to your lips to kiss it. She tried to snatch it back, but you held on.
âAdmit it,â you teased, your voice softening. âYou saw me with someone else, and you got all irrationally, supremely jealous.â
She looked away, her bottom lip jutting out in the most magnificent pout youâd ever seen. The fight seemed to drain out of her, replaced by a flustered, embarrassed exhaustion
â...Shut up,â she mumbled, refusing to look at you.
It was all the confession you needed.
You gently pulled her down, rolling so you were hovering over her now, looking down at her beautifully frustrated face. âItâs okay,â you whispered, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her forehead. âIâm yours. You know that, right? You didnât have to try and break me to prove it.â
