#audrey rose | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spcebtwn · 9 months

Text

burning red

Pairing: Audrey Rose/Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: language, smut, angst w a happy ending if you catch my drift ;), soulmarks, implied fem reader but i believe it could be read as gn

Summary: Audrey always looks away like it's a choice, like it means she's the winner. It makes your teeth ache, how blatant she is.

You meet your soulmate on your first day at Auradon Prep.

It’s clear from the get-go she wants nothing to do with you. She reeks of royalty—dressed in pink, her hair meticulously styled, her teeth blindingly white. Around her neck hangs a diamond that would impress even your mother—your eyes zero in on it for a moment, the way your mother has trained you to do. There wasn’t anything on the Isle you couldn’t steal for her. Unless, of course, Jay got to it first. He doesn’t seem to notice the necklace, though. You’re the only one focused on the princess. It’s embarrassing, but nobody seems to notice that either.

She smells like vanilla and roses, so much so you’re hardly surprised when her last name ends up being the latter. Even less so when she turns her nose at you, smile going frigid the moment you speak to her. You watch as she subconsciously fiddles with the neckline of her dress, and wonder if that’s where she’s hiding your mark. It makes resentment bubble in your chest, knowing that you’ll probably never get to see.

You huff and try to taper down the resentment before it can bloom into something else. If you’ve gone this long alone, you can do it forever. Your mother has.

(You don’t think about what that’s done to her.)

—

Audrey quickly becomes an antagonist—to both the mission and your life in general. She’s a problem because she’s Ben’s girlfriend, but Mal has to be Ben’s girlfriend. She’s a problem because she lurks in the hallways whenever you try to discuss anything relating to the wand. She’s a problem because every time she catches your eye, she’ll pull Ben down into what looks like a bruising kiss, eyes fiery, like they’re saying this is what you can’t have. This is what I want.

You’re never the first to break eye contact. Haven’t backed down from a challenge since the first time Jay tried—and failed—to pickpocket you. It doesn’t do anything, though. She always looks away like it’s a choice, like it means she’s the winner. It makes your teeth ache, how fucking blatant she is. Shoulder checking you in the hallway like you’re boys. Slamming her locker closed whenever you pass. Rubbing Ben in your face like it means something, like their whole relationship isn’t a lie. You wonder if she hides her mark from him, too. If he’s ever seen her without those high necklines, the starched collars. A sick sort of satisfaction fills you at the thought you know something he doesn’t. That you’ve never seen it either, but you know it’s there.

Mal slips Ben a love cookie. You enjoy the affronted look on Audrey’s face for about five seconds before she’s yanking Chad down and swapping spit with him. She doesn’t look at you while she does it. It’s for her, for once. You bet she’s not even thinking about you.

You clench your jaw and look away. In a month, you won’t ever have to worry about her. You’ll have everything you want.

—

It’s two weeks before the coronation and the sight of Audrey and Chad in the hallway makes you sick.

With Ben, you could tell yourself she was just doing it because her parents wanted her to be queen. Maybe even because she wanted to be queen. But it wasn’t anything real. You could tell in the performance of it all. The Benny-boos. The hand holding. Her eyes sliding to you anytime Ben kissed her on the cheek, a smirk painted on her face like she was proving something. Because she was. Ben was a desperate attempt to prove something to herself.

Chad is something else entirely.

He’s more classically handsome than Ben. Bigger, stronger. Douche-ier. He flings an arm over Audrey anytime they’re close enough. It’s casual like he’s done it a thousand times. He kisses her like that, too. Like it’s an afterthought. She doesn’t make it showy, doesn’t look at you. She just sits there looking pretty and takes it. Hugs, kisses, any form of PDA you could imagine. Like she wants it. Like she likes it.

You grow used to the feeling of your stomach churning. Can’t look at Chad’s stupid face without feeling it.

You’ve gone to the bathroom to escape the sight of them in the hallway, smiling at each other like it’s the real deal. It makes you want to puke. You splash water in your face and stare up at yourself in the mirror. At your hair, combed but not shiny, not pretty like hers. Like Chad’s. Your makeup starts and ends with the chapstick Evie insists you use. Looking pretty on the Ise made you stand out. You never got good at it, and now it’s too late. You wonder if Audrey would look your way if you were prettier. If you looked something closer to royalty.

The door slams open and you blink, startled but not enough to show it. It’s Audrey—of course it is. She rushes to the sink without looking at you. In the hallway behind her, you can see Mal and Ben passing. They don’t look at her. Briefly, you feel victorious. Now you know what it feels like, you think. The thought quickly turns sour, though. It’s Ben making her feel like that. Not you.

She notices you eventually. Your face is mostly dry by the time she does. Still, she sneers, like you’re a piece of fucking roadkill on the street. It’s a look you’re familiar with, and a cold feeling of indifference washes over you. “Sorry, princess, bathroom’s all yours,” you say, sliding past her to leave. She huffs, though, and it gives you pause—long enough for her to get a word in.

“I know you did something to him,” she snaps, spinning around to face you. Her ponytail bounces. Her voice doesn’t waver.

Your heart skips a beat as fear begins to take hold. Fear of being caught. “I didn’t do shit,” you say, instinctively. Maybe it’s passing the blame, maybe it’s distracting her.

She glares for a moment before the facade crumbles. Her shoulders fall, her eyes pinching further, like she’s fighting back tears. Fear is replaced with guilt so suddenly it feels like whiplash. “He was my best friend,” she says, choked and quiet. Her eyes are shiny.

The same forces that branded her first words to you on your skin—And I’m Audrey, his girlfriend—tell you to comfort her. Tell you to wipe her tears. To kiss the skin they’ve stained. But you think about her and Chad in the hallway. You think about her beatific grin as she kisses him, kisses Ben. You think about the way she’d glared down at you that first day, cold as the dead of winter on the Isle. You think about the cool distant pain you feel in your chest every time you look at her, and you want to make her hurt, too. “Well, I guess he changed his mind,” you say, turning on your heels and storming off before you can think about how the sound she makes sounds suspiciously like a sob.

If it is, you’ve succeeded in making her hurt. It doesn’t make you feel better.

—

Evie makes a list of all the things she wants once the villains take over.

She wants a castle with fourteen bedrooms and a marble staircase and mother-in-law suite. She wants the spindle Maleficent cursed, all those years ago. She wants access to any wardrobe in Auradon she deems fit. Above all, she wants Chad Charming by her side. You don’t know if he’s her soulmate or not. At the very least, it’s clear she wants him to be. You wish she’d do something about it. Make it so you didn’t have to see him touch Audrey ever again.

Evie asks you what it is that you want—but that’s the only thing you can think of. Audrey, away from Chad. Away from Ben. You don’t even care if she’s with you or not. As long as she stops pretending like she could ever want somebody else.

You bite your tongue. Say diamonds, because it’s expected of you. Evie rolls your eyes, familiarly. “Of course you do,” she sighs, staring wistfully down at her list. Chad’s name is in hearts. You watch her write diamonds underneath it and feel sick to your stomach.

Because as much as you may lie to yourself, you know damn well you don’t want any diamonds.

—

It doesn’t matter if you want diamonds or Audrey or a goddamn unicorn to ride through town on. Because coronation day comes, and nothing happens.

Well. A lot happens.

The villains don’t rain down in a parade of hellfire. Auradon isn’t taken by Maleficent. Evie doesn’t get her castle, or her spindle, or Chad. But you get a scolding. A group hug. A weight off your shoulders. Maleficent is smaller than your feet now, and you don’t have to worry about taking over the world. Audrey doesn’t dance with Chad at the afterparty. She still doesn’t look at you, but she doesn’t look at him either. It does something to quell the bone deep ache you’ve become so accustomed to.

That night, you fall asleep in your dorm and think of nothing. Absolutely nothing. There’s only one thing to think about any more. And you know she isn’t thinking about you.

—

Evie does get Chad, eventually. Doug, too. She stops wearing those tights all the time, lets people see their words circling her calves, one on each leg. They sit with her at lunch now. Join all the group hang outs. You’ve got Chad and Doug and Ben, and Jane, too, has snuck her way in, sticking by Carlos’ side as if she’s still scared of the rest of you. Jay likes scaring her. You like laughing at it.

The point is, you’ve got everybody except Audrey. So it’s only a matter of time before she starts hanging around, too. It’s almost too much for you to take, her being everywhere, all the time. Inescapable. The scent of her perfume—vanilla and roses—follows you everywhere. You could choke on it. She doesn’t talk to you, not really. You communicate through everybody else. Argue with Ben at the same time you’re really arguing with each other. Passing messages without actually saying anything. Eye contact over the table. Glares, mostly. She may accept the VKs as human now, but certainly not as her soulmate. It makes you hate her, a little bit. As much as you want her, you hate her, too.

Because it hurts. Not having her hurts. It’s driven people mad before, having a soulmate out of reach. Having a soulmate so blatantly reject you. Sometimes you’re surprised you’re still standing, when she can talk about some new boy she’s dating right in front of you. It hurts right behind your ribs, makes breathing hard. You don't know how you took it, when she would kiss Ben and Chad right in front of you. Seeing her smile at somebody is torture. You’re not sure how much longer you can take it.

—

Evidently, not long.

It’s Thanksgiving break, and you’re expected to stay at the school with the other kids who live too far away or have nowhere to go. But Ben invites you all to stay at the castle with him, and you’re sure as hell not going to refuse.

There’s a bedroom for each of you. You haven’t had a bed wider than you are long ever. You don't let yourself enjoy it, though. You’ve only got a week before it’s back to the XL twin, to the shared room with Mal and Evie. Still, it feels nice. Sprawling out, suitcase abandoned on the floor, everybody far enough away that you could probably scream and they wouldn’t hear it. You figure the week is going to be the best one you’ve had in a while.

Until Audrey shows up.

Your stomach drops at the sight of her. She doesn’t have a bag, won’t be staying here like you are, at least. But the thought that she could just drop by whenever she likes is enough to put you on edge. You hate that this is the way she makes you feel. Anxious and angry. You’re supposed to be in love. You’re supposed to be able to look at her without it hurting. To spend time together, even if it’s not every waking second like Mal and Ben, or Evie, Doug, and Chad. Even if it’s not something smitten like the thing between Carlos and Jane. Not puppy love, because it could never be. Not after everything that’s happened.

Maybe it would be biting and fast and hard. Something closer to what Jay has with Harry, back on the Isle. Maybe her tongue would still be sharp and her gaze could still be icy, but it wouldn’t matter, because you’d know she wants you, likes you, loves you. You don’t know anything now. It’s all up in the air. That, or it’s been shot down. Missing in action. Her eyes pass over you with indifference, and it makes you want to keel over, to sink into the floor.

You sit next to her in the den instead. You can feel her muscles are tight, squeezed up in an attempt to avoid any contact possible. Her sharp intakes of breath every time you shift are close enough to something to quiet the buzzing under your skin.

—

Audrey is around more than you could possibly imagine, or prepare for.

She and Ben are close again now. He was my best friend echoes in your ear every time they laugh, smile, hug, anything. It makes no sense to be jealous. Still, you are. You’d do anything to be Audrey’s friend. But she doesn’t even want that from you.

She talks to you more now, at least. Would be strange not to. You all make cookies one night—non-love-spelled—and Audrey mutters instructions to you as you work around each other in the kitchen. Pass the flour, go get the milk, don’t overmix. You follow mindlessly, too caught up in the fact that she’s acknowledging your existence to care that she’s bossing you around. You wouldn’t mind if she slapped you in the face, as long as she looked at you while she did it.

When the cookies are done, they’re perfect. Better than any of the other batches. Audrey nods at you when they come out. It’s so much in terms of what she’s done before. Nowhere near enough in terms of what you want her to do.

You eat the damn cookies and sulk when she chooses Ben to sit next to, yet again. Jay stares at you with something like sympathy when you plop down next to him for whatever required viewing Ben’s chosen for tonight, but when you glance over at Audrey, her mark is still covered, as always. Yours, too. Jay’s always been perceptive though. Has to be, in your line of work. Maybe he doesn’t need to see a mark to figure out something’s going on.

You ignore his questioning gaze until he finally turns away. He wants to talk, but there’s nothing to tell. Never will be, with the way things are going.

—

“Oh, Audrey doesn’t have a soulmate,” Chad remarks from across the room. He’s stretched across Doug and Evie’s legs, looking content and careless. He doesn’t even look up as he speaks.

You’re not sure how you’ve gotten to the topic, only know that Audrey suddenly looks intensely uncomfortable. She avoids eye contact with you, shrugs when everybody else turns to stare at her. White hot rage fills your core at the thought that she could so easily deny the fact that she’s tied to you, that the universe itself has decided you’re meant for each other. You bristle and stand up, your legs carrying you away before you can do anything stupid, say anything stupider.

As you make your way to your room, the last thing you expect is for Audrey to follow.

“Why don't you just tell everybody, huh?” she asks, pushing behind you through your bedroom door. She speaks in a harsh whisper, as if anybody could hear her all the way up here. “It would be almost as obvious as that scene.”

When you turn around to face her, her cheeks are red with embarrassment. The air around you feels hot, the way it always does when she's close. “According to Chad, I have nothing to tell,” you spit, not even a little ashamed of how pathetic it sounds. If you're pathetic, then so is she. This whole thing is pathetic.

“You know that's not true,” she says, crossing her arms. Her eyes dart down to the floor, like you're not even good enough to look at.

“Do I?” you ask, refusing to whisper like she is. “For all I know, some other girl is gonna introduce herself as Audrey, his girlfriend and none of this will matter anymore!”

You won't matter anymore, you want to say but can't. It looks like she hears it anyway.

She scoffs. “Sorry I’m not as good as some other girl, then,” she says, which is just about the craziest thing she could say. The stupidest thing she could say.

You think about Ben. About Chad. About her cruel smile as she kissed them, held their hands in the hallway. About how she'd rather be with them than with you, seemingly would rather be with anyone than with you. “You know that's not the point.”

It's silent for a moment. You aren't sure what to say to her, if there's anything to say. Any words you have are cruel, and the thought of hurting her more makes your throat close up, a little.

She doesn't feel the same, though. “You can't give me what I want,” are the next words to leave her mouth. Your eyes shut on their own accord, as if that'll somehow make the rejection feel better. You can't give her what she wants. All you want is her.

It's bullshit, you think, suddenly. She feels the same way you do. She has to. “And what is that?” you ask, stepping closer to her. She backs up against the wall, but meets your gaze. It seems like a challenge, but that may be wishful thinking. “What do you want? To be queen? Because that ship has sailed.”

She says nothing, but she doesn't look away either. If she won't back down, then neither will you. “I know you don't want Chad,” you continue. “Is it the hiding you like? Do you want to lie to everybody for the rest of your life?”

“Okay,” she says, and it sounds like she's surrendering, but you just can't stop that you've started, now that she's finally listening to you.

You step closer, the heat becoming almost unbearable. “What is it, Audrey? Because I’m starting to think you hate me just to hate me.”

“That’s enough.” She places a hand on your chest, and you freeze, the entire world minimizing to that point of contact. She's never touched you before. It feels like her palm is made of dynamite.

She's staring down at her own hand, eyes wide but brows furrowed. Her cheeks are flushed. You can't stop yourself.

When you finally kiss her, sparks ignite under your skin. You always thought it was cliche, but now you know why so many people use that metaphor. Everywhere you touch her is like fireworks, like the universe rewarding you for finally giving in. She makes a noise of surprise, caught in her throat, but she doesn't pull away. After a moment of terrifying stillness, you do, scared you've messed it up, scared she’ll hate you even more now, scared she’ll run away the second you're off of her.

She does none of these things. The second you come up for air, the hand on your chest moves to the back of your neck. It's hot even through the layers of your hair, but what's hotter is the way she pulls you down with a haggard breath, so hard your foreheads knock together for a moment. You hardly notice it. Her skin is warm against you. You touch her where her pretty ironed dress covers it, where her collar hides the mark, hides your mark.

She kisses you like she's drowning for it. It isn't casual, like with Chad. Not for show, like with Ben. It’s desperate and hot and a long time coming. You lift a hand to her hip, thumb rubbing over the bone. You can’t feel her, not really, not through the dress. You want it off. Instead, you opt for ducking your hand underneath it, gripping the swell of her ass. The fabric of her underwear is much thinner, and feels suspiciously lacy. She breaks away for a second to moan, a reedy sound that’s a far cry from her usual polished tone. Her mouth slams shut, like she’s embarrassed, and she surges forward once more before you can comment on it.

You can feel her lipstick rubbing off on your own lips—it’s sticky but you don’t care. Don’t care about anything but her. “Can’t believe you made me wait this long,” you mutter against her lips, knowing you were fully prepared to wait forever.

She leans back against the door, shoulders sagging but hips jutting forward to meet your own. You take the hint and slide a thigh between her legs. “Done waiting,” she says, eyes falling closed as she grinds against the fabric of your pants. “Done caring.”

About what, she doesn’t say. You don’t ask. You hope she'll tell you later, hope this means there’ll be a later. You hope it’s more than just giving in, hope it’s giving up, hope it’s something that’ll last once she walks out. Her hand trails up to the top of your shirt; she tries to pull it down, searching for your mark, and huffs when she can’t find it. “Alright, alright,” you chuckle, brushing her hand off you so you can reach your own down to untuck your shirt, unbuckle your belt, unzip the pants. You have to shove your underwear down a bit for the mark to be visible—it’s sprawled across your hip, a place no garment of clothing doesn’t hide.

Her fingertips brush over it greedily, and it feels like you’re on fire. You wish she’d take the dress off so you could see your own words branding her. But you don’t push, want this to be on her terms, just like everything has been. You do drop your head to her shoulder, let out a ragged breath when her fingers sweep lower, running featherlight over you. You do squeeze your eyes shut and say, “Audrey,” voice low and quiet. Just as encouragement.

Her voice is clipped when she finally says, “Bed.” You obey without second thought, pulling her back with you.

It's only when she’s sitting on the edge of your bed, letting you press open-mouthed kisses to the column of her neck, that you risk tracing your hand up her spine until your fingers come to rest on the zipper of her dress, a question. “Yeah,” she sighs out, head dropping back so she can look at you. “Get a move on, already.”

You grin and obey, a light, “Yes, princess,” coming out of your mouth before you tell it to. You don’t miss her intake of breath, the way her hips shift minutely.

The zipper goes easily, and she stands up to shuck the dress all the way off. There’s so much of her to look at that you don’t know where to start. Except you do. You start at her mark, because where else would you start? It’s stark black, contrasting nicely against her tan skin. The words are tiny, but unmistakable. Clear enough that anybody would know it’s a mark. You still don’t understand why she hides it. It’s not like it bears your name, the way yours does. Not like it makes her any less perfect.

“Thought I told you to get a move on,” she complains, falling back onto the bed.

She lays down and you follow, glad to finally be touching her for real. You touch the mark, with your fingers and then your mouth, kissing the skin there, and she shivers. You let your lips trail down her chest—pausing to work more diligently at her breasts, reveling in her gasps—until you’re lingering just above the hem of her underwear; your suspicion was right, they are lace. She lifts her hips and you take the hint, tugging them down.

You can’t stop yourself from immediately bringing your mouth to her clit, lapping at it until she exhales shakily, a quiet, “Fuck,” falling from her lips.

It’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever heard her say. She even refuses to say oh, my god, instead opting for gosh or goodness or something equally Aurodonian. It feels like you’re taking her apart, and you feel your own core pulsing between your legs at the thought. You bring a finger to join your mouth in teasing at her folds, circling there a few times before you let it slip inside. It goes easily—fuck, she’s wet—and you both moan at the feeling of you inside of her.

You can feel her sink into the bed as you finger her open, almost lazily. You’ve wanted her for so long that you want to enjoy this now that you finally have it. You have a feeling that patience won’t last long though, and your suspicions are proven when Audrey groans and props herself up on her elbows, put-upon.

She stares down at you with a flush that starts high on her cheeks and spreads down to her chest, angry and red, filled with want. There’s a spark in her eyes, and you brace yourself for whatever’s coming. “Gosh,” she starts, breathless. “Chad would’ve already been—”

You push another finger in just to stop her from finishing that sentence. She breaks it off with a gasp, hips lifting from the bed, urging you to go harder, deeper. You do, figuring maybe now is not the time to take things slow, not after you’ve waited so long. Not when she clearly wants to keep this rolling.

You finger her in a manner you know is nothing if not efficient. Though, really, apart from the angle, you don’t have much control in the matter. Audrey’s hips grinding down onto your fingers control how fast, how hard, how deep you go. Still, she gasps out little praises like so good and just like that and knew you’d be perfect for me. It makes your skin feel impossibly hotter, and you squeeze your thighs together in a desperate search for some sort of friction. It quells the need inside you well enough to focus on the matter at hand. Literally.

“Ah,” Audrey moans, sounding fucked out and breathless. “Curl your—um—”

She doesn’t manage to find the word fingers, but you follow the instruction anyway. Her head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, shoulders rising and falling as she pants, hips coming down harder, faster. “Mmm, right there,” she says, pressing her lips together. Her hands are fisted in the sheets so hard you can feel them moving underneath you, and it only makes you redouble your efforts. You can tell she’s close, and when your thumb joins your tongue in laving at her clit, it’s over for her. Her thighs clench around you, hips jolting forward as she gasps. Her walls pulse around you, and you feel like you’re holding her heart in your hand.

You fuck her through it, stopping only when she falls back onto the bed, squirming. Again, you follow, and she kisses you all soft and sweet. Something you never would’ve guessed you’d get. You wish she’d save it for later, though, when you didn’t feel like you were about to explode with want. You wish some of that bite would come back right about now, because even as she curls her fingers in your hair hard enough to sting, you can tell she’s cooling off, winding down. You still feel like you’re on fire, though. “Alright,” she sighs, once she’s caught her breath, pulling away and brushing her hair out of her face. “Your turn.”

You laugh, even as relief floods through your veins. “I was worried there, for a second.”

“No need to fret. I’m very generous,” she promises, crawling down the bed until she’s centered in front of you.

You scoff, but it’s too breathy to be convincing. “Sure you are, princess,” you say, but she’s already wiping what remains of her lipstick off, and looking down at her you find that you really, really can’t refuse.

#descendants #audrey rose #audrey descendants #audrey descendants x reader #audrey rose x reader #evie grimhilde #chad charming #ben florian #mal bertha #jay descendants #is there even an audience for this or am i just posting into the void #can you tell i like people who are mean to me #reader insert

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