#{{she told me that she loved me by the water fountain}}

[unstable-samurai]

Instructions

Irene x Male Reader

word count: 3.2K

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You drive up to Irene's mansion, where every inch of the lawn looks meticulously manicured, and the fountain at the entrance shoots water in a pattern that can only be described as "obscenely expensive." You still can't believe you were hired to train a woman who doesn't seem to need a single day in the gym, but money is money, right?

You step out of the car and walk to the front door, a massive wooden structure that probably weighs more than your car. Before you have the chance to knock, the door opens as if the house has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Irene appears, and the first thing you think is that the photos simply don't do her justice.

She's like an upgraded version of a classic diva, someone with a beauty that would be admired in any era of humanity, now enhanced by all the improvements time could offer. Black hair cascading in soft waves, feline eyes that devour you in a fraction of a second, and a posture that makes you wonder if you're standing before a queen or a trap disguised as a woman.

"Oh, I was excited to finally meet my personal trainer," she says.

"Ms. Irene," you reply, offering your hand in a gesture that feels outdated in her presence. Her hand is soft and firm, and the grip is just enough to make you feel that you are, without a doubt, in foreign territory.

"Come on, I'll show you the house," she says, turning quickly without waiting for a response. You follow her, walking through a house that is a maze of marble, stainless steel, and glass. Every piece of art on the walls screams in a flamboyant way, "I have more money than you can imagine," and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, as if even the aroma of the house was custom-made.

"This here is the living room," she says, passing through a room larger than your entire apartment, and you pretend not to be impressed. "And over there is the kitchen. You might need something to drink after the workouts. Or during, if I decide to tire you out too much."

She smiles again, and this time you can’t help but smile back, with that kind of irony that only arises when you know you're in trouble.

"This is the bedroom," she says, stopping in front of a closed door. You feel the tension rise a bit, and she notices it. "Not that you’ll need it, but I thought you'd like to know where it is." She opens the door and reveals a room that looks like it came straight out of a decor magazine: an immense bed, silk sheets, and a view of the garden that seems hand-painted.

"Nice place," you say, more out of politeness than anything else.

"Thank you. Now, the gym," she says, as if this was the true purpose of the entire visit. She leads you to a room where all the exercise machines seem to shine with newness. "I need to stay in shape, after all," she says, leaning casually on a treadmill, her posture suggesting that the idea of sweat is something completely alien.

"Shall we begin, then?" you ask, already pulling out the water bottle from your bag, trying to appear professional.

You decide to start the session with the basics, which seems like the best approach when dealing with someone whose idea of physical effort probably consists of reaching for the remote control.

"So, Irene, have you trained before?" you ask, but in your mind, she doesn’t exactly look like the type who frequents a gym.

She smiles, that smile you're already beginning to associate with trouble. "Only if you count marathon shopping trips and half-hour Pilates sessions with my instructor who told me to breathe deeply and think of happy places. Does that count?"

You smile back. "Well, let's start with something simple. A warm-up. Just to prepare the muscles."

"Oh, I love a good warm-up," she replies.

You guide her through some basic stretches, and of course, she starts asking for help. "Can you show me how to do this one? I've always had trouble with it," she says while trying to touch her toes.

You approach, placing your hands on her waist to guide her, trying to ignore the fact that she’s perfumed for a workout. "Like this, push a little further forward... That’s it."

She lets out a soft sigh, almost inaudible, but you notice. "I don't think I've ever had someone help me like this," she says, making you realize that "help" has multiple connotations for her.

"Practice makes perfect," you respond, trying to stay focused.

After the warm-up, you lead her to the weight machines. "Let's start with something simple, like the leg extension machine. This will work your quadriceps."

She looks at the machine as if it were some kind of medieval torture device. "Quadriceps... Right. And this does what exactly? Makes me gain muscles?"

"Exactly. You sit here, adjust the weight, and lift your legs to extend the knee. It’s great for toning the thighs."

She sits down, but instead of following your instructions, she just pretends to be confused. "I don't think I'm getting it. Can you show me again?"

You lean in to help her adjust the position of her legs, and you feel her gaze fixed on you. "Like this? Is it good now?" she asks, her voice softer than it should be for a simple exercise instruction.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply.

"So, have you been training for a long time?" she asks as you guide her through the exercise. "It’s noticeable, you know... by your physique, the way you explain…"

"I’ve been training for a few years. It’s a passion of mine."

"Passion? Interesting," she says. "And are you single? Or is there someone waiting for you at home after you spend the day helping women like me stay in shape?"

You hesitate, realizing that the conversation is veering off course.

"I'm single. I guess my work takes up most of my time. What about you? You told me your husband is always traveling, right?"

"He's away most of the time, yes. His work is... demanding. But luckily, I know how to take care of myself," she says, lifting her legs on the machine with a little more enthusiasm. When Irene was done, she paused to drink water, then walked between the machines until she chose the next one. “Hey, help me here. I don't want to mess up the movement, I need your guidance." She says, standing in front of the lat pulldown machine.

"Oh, great. This one’s for your back and shoulders," you explain, adjusting the weight. "You hold here, pull the bar down, and then release slowly, feeling the resistance."

She looks at the machine as if it were an abstract art piece.

"Looks complicated. Show me how it's done?"

You demonstrate the movement, feeling her eyes on every motion of your body. When you finish, she positions herself, but instead of pulling the bar, she holds it for a second, looking at you with a false expression of confusion. "I think I’m not doing it right. Can you guide me?"

You approach again, this time placing your hands on her arms, helping her execute the movement. "Like this," you say, your voice a little lower. "Pull with your back muscles, not just your arms."

"Since you’ve been working out for a long time, you must be very strong," she comments as she pulls the bar, her muscles tensing softly under your hands. "And you must be used to lifting heavy, right?"

"It depends on the workout," you respond, trying to ignore the fact that every word she says seems to have a double meaning. "But it’s always good to vary, to do a bit of everything."

"So, how many of these should I do?" she asks, as if she’s genuinely interested in the answer, but her eyes say something else.

"Let's do three sets of twelve reps," you reply, trying to keep a professional tone. She does the first set with you close by, watching every movement, and then asks for your help with the next machine.

The dynamic continues until, by the end of the workout, she’s sweating, but in a way that looks more like a healthy glow than discomfort. She stretches, her muscles relaxing, and looks at you with that same smile that started everything. "I think you made me work pretty hard today. Maybe I’ll need a massage afterward," she says, her tone provocative.

You smile, unsure whether to take her seriously or laugh. "Massages aren’t part of the package, but we can talk about a relaxation stretch."

"We’ll see," she says, stepping closer with that smile that always precedes trouble, the kind you should have learned to avoid. “It seems like I’m the only one sweating here,” she says, with a sweetness that’s pure venom, before leaning in and, without warning, licking your cheek.

You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. "Ms. Irene, what is this?!"

"I told you, you’re not very sweaty. And I licked you to prove it," she responds with the casualness of someone asking the time.

"But what the hell does that mean? I came here to work—"

"And you’ll get paid at the end, of course!" she interrupts, her smile widening in a way that only makes things worse. “I just want… to have a little fun with you. Include that in the deal. You could earn a bonus for it, if you’d like.”

She takes another step forward.

“Irene, you’re married. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not a good idea.”

“No one needs to know, sweetheart,” she whispers, as if it were a secret you truly wanted to hear. “You’re too young to be so worried about life.”

You try to speak, but the words come out jumbled, as if your mouth forgot how to work.

“I-I… This isn’t right.”

She laughs, a sound that makes you feel like a mischievous boy caught in the act. “I bet I’ll make you change your mind once you see what you’re missing.” With a quick, decisive movement, she removes her top, revealing small, pale, perfect, and provocative breasts. Her smile widens, and you feel your face flush with heat. Worse than that—you feel your cock pulse in your pants.

“What do you think?” she asks, each word dripping with irony and certainty.

“Cover yourself, please!” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, but the plea is almost pathetic.

“Oh, don’t play the saint with me,” she retorts, suddenly stepping closer, grabbing your hand with firm resolve and placing it on her breast. The touch is warm and soft. You swallow hard, but it feels like the lump in your throat is stuck there for good. And the worst part? You can’t pull your hand away.

“What do you think? My boobs are small, but they fit perfectly in your mouth,” she teases, her voice lower, more intense.

“This isn’t right, Ms. Irene…” you try, but your resistance is fragile.

“Shh! Just call me Irene,” she orders, and before you can protest again, she seals any chance of escape with a kiss—warm and commanding, as if she already knew you wouldn’t say no.

Before you could even process what was happening, Irene had already wrapped her hand around your cock. With force. With a desire that you felt reverberate down your spine. “You’re so hard for me,” she whispers, her lips pulling away from yours, but the heat of her proximity still clinging to your skin.

“Irene…” you murmur, the name escaping as a whisper, almost a plea, but for what? For her to stop or to keep going?

“That’s right,” she continues, giving you no room to regain control. “I want to hear you moan my name while you fuck me good.”

Before you could refuse—or worse, agree—she pulls you toward a weight bench like she’s practiced the move a thousand times. It’s astonishing how a woman so small, so delicate, can exert such absolute control over you. You feel like a toy in her hands, powerless to resist.

You take off your shirt while she kneels to untie your shoes, making sure every detail is perfect, that you’re comfortable—but not for you, for her. When she asks you to take off the rest, you comply without question, feeling the cool air caress your exposed skin. She compliments your physique, her words sliding over your skin like hot oil. Her hands roam over your muscles, her fingers tracing the contours of your biceps.

“You’re so hot,” she murmurs, kissing your chest, her lips warm and soft. The excitement builds within you, uncontrollable, wild.

You sit back down on the bench, Irene kneels between your legs, her smile a mix of wickedness and pure desire. She takes your cock with a confidence that makes you hold your breath, her touch firm, almost possessive. “Wow… you’re much bigger and thicker than my husband,” she murmurs, licking the tip, teasing, while her eyes remain fixed on yours. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have something like this… I’m going to love gagging on this cock.”

She slowly opens her mouth, her lips stretching around the head of your cock, and the sensation is mind-blowing. You watch, mesmerized, as she starts to take you in, inch by inch, until her mouth is completely full. “Oh, yes,” she mumbles with difficulty, her words muffled as she struggles to accommodate your size.

She begins to move her head up and down, faster and faster, the wet, warm sound of her mouth creating a steady rhythm. Her small mouth adjusts to your cock, fighting the instinct to pull away, but instead, she pushes forward, making it clear she wants more.

The sight of her, drowning on your cock, is almost unbearably arousing. You can’t resist, your hands go to her hair, pulling to gain more control. With a decisive move, you push deeper into her throat, and the muffled moan she lets out is a mix of pleasure and challenge. “Just like that,” she moans, tears welling in her eyes from pleasure and effort, but with no intention of stopping. She wants this as much as you do.

You feel her throat tightening around your cock, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you as she takes you as deep as she can, not giving up even when her air becomes scarce. The mix of pain and pleasure on her face only fuels your desire further, and you continue, deeper and deeper, until she finally has to stop to breathe, gasping, but with a satisfied, lascivious smile on her face.

Irene stands up, her gaze burning with a desire that mirrors your own. She starts to take off her leggings, revealing she’s not wearing any panties. The sight of her like this, naked and ready, is enough to take your breath away.

Without a second thought, you grab her firmly, your hands holding her slim waist as you lift her off the ground with an ease you didn’t even know you had. Irene lets out a low, sensual moan as she wraps her legs around you, locking her ankles behind your back, pulling the two of you even closer. With a decisive movement, you press her against the nearest wall, the cold concrete contrasting with the growing heat between you.

“Ohhh, yes,” she moans as you penetrate her for the first time, her head falling back, hitting the wall, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You’re so thick!”

With each thrust, Irene responds with louder, more desperate moans. “Just like that, baby… more, please, more!” Her voice is a mix of command and plea, her nails digging into your shoulders, pulling you closer, as if she wants to merge with you.

“That’s it! Oh, God! You fuck me better than my husband!”

That somehow spurs you on, every movement becoming deeper, stronger, as if you’re trying to shove every inch of yourself into her. Irene bites her lip, her face in pure pleasure, and then she starts babbling, as if facial expressions weren’t enough to describe what she’s feeling. “Yes… fuck me… fuck me hard… do what my husband never could…”

But she’s not the only one on the edge. The heat of her body, the almost painful tightness around your cock, every moan and sigh, it all makes you want more, makes you lose control.

After what feels like both an eternity and an instant, you feel like you need more. With a quick move, you pull away from the wall and carry her to the bench. Irene drops to the floor, turns around, positioning herself on all fours while you sit down. She positions herself, slowly lowering onto your cock, moaning as she feels you stretch inside her, filling every inch.

She leans back against you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body sinking even further into your lap. Your hands immediately move to her small breasts, squeezing them, while your lips find her delicate neck, biting and sucking the soft skin. Irene lets out a loud moan, the sound of pure satisfaction, and arches her body, pushing herself even deeper.

“Yes… leave a mark… mark that you were here… that you fucked me like no one ever has,” she pleads, her words breathless, interrupted by moans that only grow louder as you squeeze and thrust into her.

You don’t hesitate, biting harder, leaving a visible mark on her neck, a testament to what’s happening. Irene shudders in response, her pussy tightening even more around you, each of her movements sending waves of pleasure through you, making you forget any shred of morality. She moves against you, her rhythm frantic, the need for more, always more, evident in every gesture.

“Yes… yes, baby… fuck me until I can’t take it anymore,” she moans, her hands reaching back, grabbing your neck, pulling you closer as she continues to move, to lose herself in the sensation.

Irene, breathless, leans in closer, and with a soft voice, almost a whisper, says in your ear, “I want you to fuck my tight ass.”

Her words are like a match striking the box, igniting something fierce within you. Irene rises off your lap and walks to a corner of the gym, where she grabs a bottle of lube. She returns with a mischievous smile, shaking the bottle in the air. “I brought this just for this moment,” she says.

“You had this in mind from the start, didn’t you?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Irene doesn’t bother replying. Instead, she kisses you before lying down on the padded floor, her pale skin contrasting with the dark material, her body exposed in a posture of pure submission, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Come here, you naughty boy,” she calls, her voice like poisoned honey.

You kneel beside her, your hands trembling with desire as you reach for the lube. Irene smiles at you, then gets on all fours and arches her back. With steady movements, you pour the gel into your palm and begin applying it to her ass, feeling the warm, soft skin under your fingers. Irene lets out a low sigh, closing her eyes, savoring the sensation. "That's it... get me ready, I want to feel every inch of your thick cock inside me."

You don’t waste any time. With one hand, you spread the lube around and inside her ass, your fingers gently penetrating to prepare her. Irene bites her lip, her body slightly writhing, a mix of pleasure and anticipation. "Feels good, keep going... make me ready for you."

When you feel she’s sufficiently lubed, you apply the rest to your cock, rubbing it until it’s fully coated, hard and throbbing.

Irene changes position, lying on her back on the floor. You position yourself between her raised legs, and she looks at you with eyes full of desire. "Come on, don't wait any longer," she begs, her voice low and sweet. You press the tip of your cock against her tight entrance, pushing slowly, feeling the initial resistance. Irene lets out a moan of pain mixed with pleasure, and you keep going, advancing inch by inch, feeling the heat and pressure around you.

"Ahhh… yes," Irene moans, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the padding beneath her as you penetrate her slowly. "It's so big… so tight…"

You keep pushing, feeling her ass open up, millimeter by millimeter, her body adjusting to your size. The heat, the pressure, the sensation of filling her completely is indescribable, and the low moan she lets out only fuels your desire. "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me deeper," she pleads.

You obey, pushing deeper until you're finally all the way inside her. Irene lets out a muffled moan, a sound of pure satisfaction, her body arching with pleasure. "Yes… like that… don’t stop," she begs, her eyes shining with wild desire. You start to move, slowly at first, savoring every second, every contortion of her body, every moan that escapes her lips.

As you gain rhythm, Irene’s moans grow louder, more desperate. "Yes… fuck my ass… do what I never let my husband do… ahhh… harder… please," she moans, every word an encouragement for you to go deeper, to push both of you to the limit.

And you do, increasing your speed and force, your hands gripping her thighs firmly, guiding each thrust with precision, feeling her body tremble with pleasure until it all comes down to heat, sweat, the pure desire consuming you both.

Irene then begins to tremble, her body stiff with imminent pleasure. She looks at you, her eyes burning with lust and urgency. "Mmm, I’m about to cum, babe… Let’s cum together?" she asks, her voice broken by moans.

You feel her body pulsing around you, each contraction almost pushing you over the edge.

"Do you want to come inside my pussy? Fill it with your cum?"

The desire and madness of the moment take over you. “Can I?” you ask, your voice tense, almost disbelieving.

“Of course you can,” she replies with a wicked smile, "I'm on the pill, darling. I want to feel you unload everything inside me."

With that, you both move into the classic missionary position. Irene spreads her legs and bends them, her feet planted on the floor, while you kneel between her thighs, your cock positioned exactly where she wants it. Irene wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth and tightness of her pussy confirm your decision: you need to cum inside her.

You start thrusting into her, each stroke deeper and faster than the last. Irene moans loudly, the sound of her moans echoing through the gym. “Ahhh, yes… more… harder…” she screams, her eyes closed in pure ecstasy. “Fuck my pussy… Make me your cum dump.”

You’re on the verge of exploding, your entire body tense with the anticipation of climax. Irene feels it and, between moans, murmurs, “I’m almost there… I’m going to cum…”

“Me too… I’m almost there…” you reply, your breathing fast.

She opens her eyes, her gaze burning with intensity. “Have you ever cum inside a stranger before, huh? Ever filled a married woman with cum, you pervert?” She asks, her words hitting you like a wave of heat.

Those words make you lose control. With one last, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, feeling your cum release into the depths of Irene’s pussy. She screams as she cums at the same time, her body writhing beneath you, her legs tightening around your waist.

“Ahhh… I can feel it all… it’s so warm… so good…” Irene moans, her words loaded with pure pleasure, her breathing ragged as she feels every hot stream filling her. You keep moving, even as the orgasm leaves you breathless, prolonging the pleasure for both of you.

When you finally pull away, your cock slipping out, cum begins to slowly drip from her pussy.

Irene smiles, a satisfied and wicked smile, as she looks at you, her breathing still uneven. "That was… exactly what I wanted," she says, her eyes gleaming with contentment, as the cum drips between her thighs, and you watch, fascinated, as she uses her fingers to spread her lips, letting the cum flow freely. She collects some of the semen with a finger and brings it to her mouth, tasting the result of your mix.

Irene kneels beside you and leans in for a deep kiss, her lips warm and moist against yours, while her hands glide over your body, caressing you with a certain tenderness.

“So, handsome, what did you think of the workout?” she asks.

You, still with your body pulsing with residual pleasure, respond with a smile, “I loved it. It was… incredible.”

Irene smiles back. “Good to hear that,” she says, with a note of amusement, “you can consider yourself my official personal trainer now. And the best part, you’re still getting paid for it. Isn’t it the best job in the world?”

You laugh, a mix of incredulity and amusement, realizing that your concept of ‘job’ will never be the same. “So that’s it? Daily sex with a gorgeous woman and I’m going to get paid for it? What are the downsides?”

“There aren’t any. As long as my husband never finds out, of course. But that’s my problem. Your only requirement and concern is to keep me satisfied.”

With that, she gets up nonchalantly, and starts gathering the clothes scattered on the floor.

You also get up, and as you’re dressing, you can’t help but think about the absurdity of the job you’re accepting.

When you’re almost ready to leave, Irene approaches, casually adjusting her hair.

“Don’t forget, tomorrow is training day again,” she says, her voice full of light arrogance. “Same time. Don’t be late. I want more of that… energy,” she adds with a smile.

You nod, laughing to yourself as you try to regain some of your composure.

“Sure, I’ll mark it on the calendar.”

[covenofagatha]

Sugar, spice, and everything nice (Part 4)

Agatha takes you to her house after your date in the park

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: oral sex, sex toys, fingering, mommy kink

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly

Thankfully, Agatha doesn’t tease you at all with the toy the whole way back to her house. You aren’t sure you could take anymore of it. 

You can still feel phantom vibrations inside you and your hips involuntarily jerk every so often. She chuckles, watching you out of the corner of her eye, but you can see her knuckles turn white around the steering wheel when you let out a small gasp. 

Agatha tries to drive safely, but you see her teeth grit when she presses down on the gas pedal to make a yellow light. She’s as desperate as you are, and the thought only makes you clench harder around the toy still inside you. 

Thankfully it’s only a fifteen minute drive and she’s pulling into the driveway of a giant house. You didn’t even know there were houses this big in this part of New Jersey but it looks like a mansion. 

She presses a button in her car and the gate out in front slowly opens. Your jaw drops as you take in the details of the massive two-story house with a three car garage, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and you think you can see a pool in the backyard? 

And there’s a water fountain out front in the middle of the roundabout driveway. 

Your jaw drops open and you look at her with wide eyes. “You live here?” You whisper and Agatha nods with a smirk.

It’s a far cry from your 250 square foot dorm room and you’re embarrassed remembering how you practically begged her to come up with you to it the other night. 

There’s a seedling of doubt that plants itself in your mind. Agatha is clearly a very successful lawyer, with a huge home and more money than you could ever dream of. You’re nothing but a college student who works at a bakery with maybe three-hundred dollars to your name, most of which came from Agatha’s tips. You shouldn’t be here with her. You shouldn’t be with her at all. 

Agatha will always be able to take you out, treat you to the nicest things – the brand new laptop, the sex toys. She gave you her credit card and told you to buy whatever you wanted. 

You had to settle for a picnic in the park. 

“Hey,” Agatha says gently, interlocking her fingers with yours and rubbing her thumb on your skin soothingly. “Everything okay?”

You must be wearing your shame on your face and you shake your head and try to offer a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just kind of crazy that you live here—” you wave your hands, motioning to her house, “and I’m just a college kid.” 

“Oh, honey.” She reaches over and tilts your chin to face her, making you look right into her eyes. Your cheek twitches with the effort of hiding how insecure you feel. “You’re so much more than that.” She leans across the console to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

It makes you feel a little better. “Really?”

She nods earnestly. “You’re so pretty and smart and hard-working. That little crease above your eyes you get when you’re thinking hard about something is so cute. The way your mouth opens in shock when I tip you. And—” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye and you feel your stomach warm, “you’re really fucking hot when you moan for me.” 

Heat sears through you and you gasp, clasping her cheeks and pulling her to you, your mouth meeting hers in the middle. 

Agatha wastes no time before sliding her tongue into your open mouth, flicking against yours and she sucks on your bottom lip, a filthy moan escaping you. Her mouth is hot on yours like she’s hungry, like she’s trying to devour you — and you let her. 

She swallows up the sounds from your throat and you tangle your fingers into her hair to try and get her closer, you need to feel more, you need her so much you can hardly breathe. 

Your skin feels like it’s burning, more wetness pooling in your already soaked underwear from earlier, you clench around the toy and wish she would turn it on to give you some much-needed relief. 

Her tongue licks against yours and she groans and pulls back, resting her forehead against yours while she pants. 

She huffs out a laugh as your breaths mix together. “Should we bring this inside?” 

And all your worries about not being good enough melt away. “Yes, please,” you say, not even bothering to hide how desperate you are for her. 

Agatha’s eyes dart down to your lips and she kisses you one last time like she can’t help herself before opening her door and getting out. You follow in suit, grabbing your overnight bag with all the sex toys, and she leads you up to the front door, fumbling with the keys with shaky hands before finally unlocking it. 

You barely have time to admire the gray laminate flooring or the extravagant chandelier that hangs in the entryway or the extensive bar tucked into a corner of the living room as she wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into her, her lips finding yours once again. 

This time, when her tongue traces against your lips, her hands slip under your shirt and the heat from her splayed fingers makes you gasp. You drop the bag and your hands wrap around her shoulders and you don’t think it would be possible to be closer to her than you are right now. 

She walks you backwards until you hit the wall, her mouth never leaving yours, and her thigh slots between your legs, and you grind against her, the same way you did on the park bench. 

Tension grows in your stomach, not taking long at all with how worked up you still are, and Agatha’s hands roam higher under your shirt, brushing against the edge of the lacy bra you put on for her. She cups your breasts and you gasp into her mouth, your hips stuttering against her leg. 

And when Agatha circles her thumbs against your nipples, you keen, your back arching off the wall with a sigh and she smirks against you. 

“Agatha,” you breathe. “Mommy.” 

She groans like the name is too much, too good, and you throb at knowing you have that effect on her, and then she’s grabbing your hand and yanking you into the living room. Your lips are swollen and your cheeks are flushed and the mess between your legs keeps getting worse and you need her more than you thought possible. 

“Lay on the couch,” she rasps and it’s dizzying to hear her like that, like she needs you just as much as you need her. 

You obey and in an instant, she’s straddling your hips and tearing off her blazer and the blouse underneath, throwing them somewhere in the room and you inhale sharply at her smooth pale skin, her black bra, her stomach. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” you say before you can think about it and she uncharacteristically blushes before bending over you, her hair tickling your face, and kisses you softly. 

It turns every bit as filthy as the other ones and soon enough, she’s tugging at the hem of your shirt to help you take it off while your hands trace the outlines of her ribs. 

Her lips nip at your chest, soothing the sting with her tongue, and your fingers bury into her hair to keep her there when she sucks on your nipples over your bra. Your hips rut up, the toy inside you providing a little bit of stimulation but nowhere near enough, and the heat inside you only gets worse when Agatha gets frustrated with your bra and rips the middle of it open, giving her access to your breasts. 

Before you can make a comment about your torn lingerie, her tongue swirls around your nipples and your eyes roll back, all the thoughts in your head vanishing. You make a strangled noise and your hands fiddle with the clasp of Agatha’s bra before finally unhooking it. 

She pulls away to shrug it off and then lowers herself against you to kiss you, her nipples sliding against yours and you gasp at the feeling. 

Agatha huffs out a laugh, a hand sneaking between your bodies to dip into the waistband of your skirt and you moan, hips jumping—

A phone rings. You think it might be yours coming from your bag by the door, but through the haze in your mind, you remember that your phone is set to silence. 

Which means — Agatha swears and looks between you and her blazer that’s laying on the floor, where the sound is coming from, as if she’s trying to decide what to do. 

The ringing stops eventually and Agatha smirks before dragging her lips against your collarbone, her hand pushing up your skirt and sliding a hand between your legs. You jump when she cups you over your underwear and she chuckles teasingly before stroking two fingers up and down, pressing the outer piece of the toy against your clit and you can feel how wet you are, and the sudden pressure on your clit makes you moan. 

Her ringtone plays again and this time Agatha growls before quickly getting off you and retrieving her phone from her blazer. 

“What?” She barks into it and you see the clock on the wall say it’s a little past 9 pm. Who would be calling at this hour? You watch as her body position changes and she slumps defeatedly into herself, eyes looking anywhere but you. “Are you serious?” 

Agatha turns around and massages her forehead while you try not to get too distracted by how good her ass looks in her tight-fitted pants. You are positively aching right now and you wonder if she would be mad if you started touching yourself. 

You feel like she would so you sit up and squirm on the couch instead. 

“Fine. Give me fifteen minutes,” she says and she sounds pissed. She hangs up the phone and curses, grabbing her shirt and blazer off the floor. 

You chew on your lip tentatively. “Everything okay?” 

Agatha pulls her shirt over her head, fluffing out her hair from the neckline. “This stupid case I’m working on has hit a snare. That was my partner at the firm, he needs me on a video call in fifteen minutes with some of the other attorneys to discuss how we’re going to move forward.” Agatha sighs and walks over to the couch, cupping your cheeks and kissing your lips, making your clit pulse while you sit there, suddenly cold. “I’m so sorry, honey.” 

“No, it’s your job, I completely understand,” you say, still a little letdown but trying to hide it for her. “I’ll still be here after.” 

She gives you a sweet smile and it’s hard to be annoyed when she looks at you like that. Agatha softly brushes your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear, and kisses your forehead. “That’s my good girl.” 

It’s hard to miss the shudder that runs through you when she says that and she smirks. 

“You’re welcome to explore or come hang out in the study with me. I have some swimsuits in my closet if you want to go for a late night swim,” she offers, eyes twinkling at the thought of you in a swimsuit and you laugh. 

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” you say and she squeezes your shoulder before going into her office, leaving the door open as an invitation. 

You decide to look around a bit. First, after you shrug off the ruins of your bra and put your shirt back on, you go into the kitchen where you’re met with white marble countertops, a huge stainless steel fridge with post-it notes stuck to it with reminders like Check on Vidal case and Talk to Wanda about Wu finances and Bananas, eggs, chicken, bourbon. You read each one and then with a jolt, see one that makes your cheeks heat up. Date with y/n Tuesday — clean the house. 

On the island, the faucet in the deep sink is gold plated and the wine rack tucked into the side is filled with expensive bottles. Not a speck of dust anywhere and you’re just in awe of how nice everything is. 

That hint of insecurity starts to creep back in and you decide to go back to the study and be with Agatha. Even just sitting near her will make you feel better. 

She’s sitting at a big mahogany desk and looks up over her computer to smile and you can see the AirPods in her ears like she was hoping you’d come in. In front of the desk is a glass coffee table with two leather couches on each side of it, all perpendicular to her desk.

You trace the spines of the books on the shelves lining the walls, some lawyer books, some of the classics, and even a few fiction books that you’ve read. 

There’s still the ache inside you, although it’s dulled to a steady, muted heat and you decide to settle on one the couches and watch her. 

She starts talking, saying a lot of fancy lawyer words that you don’t quite know the meaning of, but you’re content to rest your chin in your hand and stare. It’s absolutely enchanting to watch her in her element like this, and it’s hot how effortlessly she takes power and says things so matter-of-factly. 

And then she starts to flip her pen around her fingers on her left hand and it makes your mouth water. You can’t stop looking at her now, watching her long fingers easily and absentmindedly move the pen while she listens, brows furrowed together. 

All of a sudden, the heat is roaring back to life inside you with a vengeance and you shift on the chair, gasping when the toy presses further into you. 

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, it could be really distracting for her and she needs to focus — and yet, you can’t stop yourself from spreading your legs in her direction and pushing up your skirt to show her your soaked underwear. 

The pen between her fingers clatters onto the desk and she rushes to pick it back up. Feeling emboldened, you slide two fingers into your mouth and hollow your cheeks while you suck, giving her the best pair of doe eyes you can, and Agatha sputters out a cough, a slight pink tinting her cheeks. 

You skim your wet fingers down your chin and neck, and then over your shirt before rubbing up and down your panties. Agatha’s jaw clenches as she tries to focus on the meeting but her eyes keep straying back to you. 

When you finally move your underwear to the side, revealing your swollen pussy with the toy still inside you to her for the first time, she swallows roughly and puts a hand under her nose to try and look collected. 

You’re about to take the toy out of you, but she gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head, telling you to keep it in, so you settle for pressing the piece against your clit and grinding your hips up to amplify the pressure, a small gasp coming out of you. 

Agatha tousles her hair and reaches down into the pocket of her blazer to pull out her phone and lay it face up on her desk. She taps and the next thing you know, the toy turns on. 

Your hand flies to your mouth to smother the moan that tears itself out from deep in your chest and you can’t stop your back from arching off the couch. Your head lolls to the side, still never looking away from her with glazed-over eyes, and the ghost of a smug smile is on her face. 

She lets you build up, waits until your hips are uncontrollably rocking up into the vibrations, and turns it off. The look you give her must be absolutely pitiful, but you don’t care and she turns it back on. 

This time, the intensity is lower than it was before and you push up your shirt to pinch your nipples to get a little more pleasure. Agatha’s teeth sink into her lower lip as she watches you with dark eyes, fingers tightening around her pen, and you know she’s not paying attention to her meeting at all. 

Little sounds start to fall out of your mouth and you clench around the toy, your movements becoming more jerky and manic as the tension inside your stomach grows. You know you won’t last much longer, she can see it too, and you wonder if she’ll let you have it. 

Agatha flips the page she was taking notes on and scribbles something down in big letters. Without moving her body, she turns the notebook around so you can read it. 

Don’t cum. 

You whine softly, trying to plead with her, but she shakes her head again. And then she turns up the vibrations and your fingers grip onto the leather so hard there might be marks. 

She plays with you, bringing you closer to the edge and then shutting it off and then starting with a low buzz before repeating and it’s torture. You’re a sweaty, shaking mess on the couch all because of her, and you can see how much she’s enjoying it. 

“Okay, great, sounds good,” she says, and your head perks up. “Of course, I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. Have a good night.” 

She slams her laptop shut, yanks out her AirPods and drops them on the desk, and you don’t even have time to think before she’s walking over to you and situating herself between your legs. She shoves her hands under your ass and hauls you forward so you’re laying on your back under her, resuming the positions from earlier. 

Agatha rolls up the sleeves of her blazer, that sight alone making you clench around the still-vibrating toy inside you, and she taps a button the phone she brought over. 

It turns off and she tosses her phone onto the coffee table before taking a hold of the toy and sliding it out of your wet pussy. You whimper at the sudden emptiness and Agatha laughs before her fingers rub at your clit. 

“Please, Agatha, mommy,” you cry. “I need you.” 

But she doesn’t give you any more than that, just traces her fingers through your folds, dips in at your entrance, and just comes back up to circle your clit. 

She shushes you. “Honey, I don’t want to rush. I want to take my time and explore you and figure out what you like and don’t like.” 

It’s so chivalrous, and any other time you would let her, but she’s had you on the edge for too damn long and you can’t take it anymore. “Agatha, I like you, you can do that later, just please fuck me!” 

She chuckles before obliging, pushing two fingers into you and curling them roughly and you moan loudly. Agatha smirks above you and leans down to suck at your nipples and tug on them with her teeth while she starts to fuck you, your hips rolling to meet every thrust. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re a whimpering puddle beneath her, you’re sure your wetness has dripped onto the couch beneath you, but you can feel the coils of pleasure tightening in your stomach and you know it won’t take you very long at all from all the edging you’ve been through. 

“Agatha,” you moan again and she pauses and easily fits a third finger into you and the stretch is delicious. 

She switches to your other breath, scraping her teeth against the curvature of it and then swirls her tongue around your nipple and when she swipes at your clit with her thumb while her three fingers drag against your fluttering walls and with one last perfect curl of them, you cum and it’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, relief finally flooding through your veins, the dam finally breaking after being built up for hours. 

But Agatha doesn’t stop there, she barely gives you any time to recover before she crawls down your body, takes out her fingers, and licks up your slit and it makes you keen. 

“Fuck,” you groan weakly, hands flying to her hair and tug gently and she moans against you, the vibrations going straight to your sensitive clit. 

Her tongue dips inside you, brushing against your walls, and you make a sound you’ve never heard before. “God, honey, you taste so good,” she says, her words muffled by your pussy and when she picks her head up to readjust, you can see that the entire bottom half of her face is glistening. 

Agatha swirls her hot tongue against your clit and then thrusts inside you, making you see stars. You’re still reeling from your last orgasm and you can feel your second one start to creep up on you as she continues her administration, the rhythm of your hips faltering against the movements of her tongue. 

But she keeps having to stop because your underwear that’s pushed to the side continuously gets in the way and rubs against her cheek so she lets out a frustrated grunt and tears the fabric so she can peel it off you without having to move your body.

“Come on,” you joke in reference to the second piece of lingerie that she’s ripped today. 

“I’ll buy you some more tomorrow, sweetheart,” she promises with a wink and then her mouth is back on you, finally unburdened by your underwear. 

Your head falls back again, eyes closing, but she nips at your inner thigh. “Look at me,” she orders and you nod shakily. 

Agatha holds eye contact while she tongues at your clit and you whimper, needing just a little more. But she sees this, knows exactly what you need, and slides two fingers into your dripping pussy again and your walls instantly bear down around them. 

“Yes, fuck,” you groan, feeling better than you ever thought possible with her mouth on you and her fingers in you. You’re so close again, heat vibrates under your skin, and the muscles in your stomach tense. 

And then Agatha sucks on your clit with a particularly hard thrust inside you and it sends you flying over the edge, your vision going dark for a few seconds while pleasure racks every crevice of your body. 

She gently fucks you through it and then pulls her fingers out of you, making you wince at the emptiness. Agatha laps at your wetness, thoroughly cleaning you up, while you squirm because of how sensitive you are. 

“You okay?” She asks when she finally pulls back with a laugh. You are sure that you look absolutely ruined sprawled out on the couch like this. 

You nod weakly. “Yeah, except I don’t think I can move right now.” 

She smirks and bends over to kiss you, letting you taste yourself off her lips. Agatha moans when you slip your tongue into her mouth this time, and you realize you can feel the heat radiating off her so you begin tugging at her blazer to get it off. 

Once her blazer and shirt are off, you pull at the belt on her pants and she huffs before standing up to take them off. She’s wearing matching black underwear and you grab her by the hand to pull her back onto you so she’s straddling your waist again. 

“Mommy,” you plead, not sure what you’re asking for. You just want to make her feel as good as she made you. 

But there’s a glint in her eye. “Will you let mommy sit on your face?” She asks and your breath catches in your throat before moving your head up and down furiously. “God, you’re hot,” she mutters before she shimmies up your body and looks down at your face framed between her legs. 

She reaches down to pull her underwear to the side and holy fuck she is a mess. Her folds are swollen, sticky and shining, you can see how wet she is, and you can smell her.

“Please, mommy, I want to taste you,” you whine and she closes her eyes momentarily to savor how desperate you sound for her. When she opens them back up, the pure heat inside them makes you shiver. 

“Make mommy feel good, honey,” she says, voice trembling, and then lowers her pussy down onto your waiting face. You moan at the taste, at how soaked she is, and you take your time, tracing her with your tongue while she lightly grinds against you. 

Small noises fall from her lips as she starts to ride faster when your tongue curls inside her, the feeling of her warm walls around you making you groan into her muffledly. 

“God, baby,” Agatha whimpers, pulling on your hair to hold you right where she needs you and then grinds down harder, your mouth absolutely coated in her. You can feel her clit dragging against your tongue and you do your best to flick up at it with each drag of her hips and it makes her moan. 

Her legs start to shake around you, with effort and pleasure, and you grab onto her ass to help her keep moving. Agatha’s breaths come out short and shallow and she starts riding you harder, her wetness making a sound as she slides against you. 

You try to say something, you’re not even sure what — it just comes out garbled against her and the vibrations pull a high-pitched whine out of her and you sharply inhale, a burst of heat exploding in your pussy. You’ve never seen anything hotter in your life than her falling apart on top of you and you double-down your efforts, closing your lips around her clit and sucking, her head falling back. 

There’s a slight flush on her neck, a redness that’s spread down to her chest, and you think she must be a goddess. 

“Fuck, hon, I’m so close,” she pants out and you just hold out your tongue while she grinds down hard, over and over, until she cums with a loud gasp.

Her hips shake as she undulates through it and she collapses forward, putting her hands on the arm of the couch so she doesn’t fall on top of you. 

It takes a moment to collect herself, your mouth still full of her as she hasn’t moved from on top of you, and she winces when you teasingly slide your tongue inside of her. 

When she finally moves her thigh over your head and gets off, you suck in a deep breath and she endearingly rubs her thumb over your lips to clean her wetness off before popping it into your mouth. You suck on it, enjoying the way her eyes get even darker if possible, before she helps you off the couch. 

Her gaze darts down to your mouth and then takes in the rest of your disheveled state. “Want to take this upstairs?” 

Does she even have to ask? “Of course,” you say and you think you might be becoming addicted to her, every atom in your body yearning to taste her and feel her. 

She smirks and drags you by the hand out of her study, pausing at the foot of the stairs before pointing to your bag that is still by the front door with a wink. “Better get those toys, honey. We might need them.”

[k-hotchoisan]

Hear me out... yeosang greek mythology-esque AU where every few decades a maiden is sent as a sacrifice to the one they believe is the god of love and fertility. A very confused deity yeosang usually just rolls with it and puts these young ladies to sleep for a night ot two before returning them to their people (cuz that one time he just sent someone back the entire village panicked and blamed her for not being a "good enough offering" and he felt bad for a century). But this time... for some reason... he just can't take his eyes off the sleeping girl before him (there can be backstory here like he's met her before while parading as a mortal or sumin idk) and decides... maybe this time he'll keep her...

alrighty aphrodite

<yeosang x fem!reader>

every eleven years, a young maiden is chosen as sacrifice for the god of love and fertility, at least they think they do, only for Yeosang to put the sacrificed maiden to sleep because he doesn't want to deal with them.

but when it’s you being chosen to be the next maiden, Yeosang decides, maybe this time, he’s gonna keep you for himself instead.

Genre/warnings: smut with plot, (kinda) Greek god au deity yeosang x maiden!reader, mentioned elements of sacrifice (though not too heavy nor gory), unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, masturbation (m), obsessive softdom! Yeosang, he’s actually fucking whipped for you, praise kink, mentions of virginity (where reader is NOT but it’s not elaborated further), yearning!yeosang

wc: 6k

a/n: I’m sorry this took SO long to develop. Truth to be told, this prompt has been stuck at the back of my mind and boy, I really wanted to make this beauty work. Also a special thanks to @bro-atz for helping me develop (this is for you as well hehe) Enjoy! 🩷

Walking through the cold and pale marble temple, you watch the way the vines curl around the pillars, creeping its way up to get some sun. The temple is insanely huge, standing tall thanks to blocky pillars, with intricate carvings, which you identify as white marble being slowly overtaken by soft moss and stubborn vines. 

You know, despite the gorgeous temple, its practices to serve Aphrodite were but.

Despite the anxiety you feel, you know you could do not much to fight against the elders and their ridiculous traditions. For centuries, chosen maidens by the fertility deity have been offered to appease the gods for the blessings of fertility of the town’s land and women every 11 years. No one knew how the gods looked like, but it seemed that every time a maiden was sent, the fields would bloom and flourish, couples would be blessed with a pregnancy. 

Of course, why wouldn’t they continue this ridiculous tradition?

And this year, you were chosen. 

You remember the last conversation you had with your mother before you had stepped foot into the temple. 

“I’ll come back mother. Weren’t there rumours that one of the maidens managed to come back?”

Your mother’s index finger flew to her lips. “Be careful of what you utter, my daughter. They don’t like the reminder that their choice was rejected.” 

You blinked at her, recalling the incident where one of the maidens got “returned” right after the ceremony and from what you could remember, led the elders to grow furious on top of anxious, then demanding that another sacrifice to be made, since the maiden was now considered “rejected” by the deity. The poor girl. Surely this deity couldn’t be that picky, right? 

You continue to thread the path before you, the soles of your feet getting used to the coldness of the marble floor by now. 

You enter the fountain room, and as its title, sits a large marble fountain, a statue lady draped over with a long piece of fabric looking down onto three cupids that spit out water, while she, herself pours water out of a vase.  

The sound of flowing water could honestly put you to sleep, if it wasn’t a curt reminder that you’re meant to drown here. Rose petals decorate and almost fully cover the surface of the bottomless fountain. Maybe it was a ploy to at least relax the previous maidens. There are a handful of people, all dressed in white robes that hide their faces, while the elders are dressed in ivory.

“There she is. Beautiful y/n”, the elder woman smiles, the emotion not reaching her eyes. You force a smile back. “Come, the water’s not cold.”

You dip your toes in. 

The water is fucking cold. 

“Think of it as a blessing to us, that you’re doing a gracious service to the village”, another elder curtly reminds you while she tosses more rose petals into the fountain. 

Two other women lie you down onto the water and more petals are strewn across the surface. Your hair is wet by now and so is your dress. You cringe at how cold the water is biting against your skin but you bear with it. 

The older woman turns around.

“We are gathered here today to witness the blessing Aphrodite will be giving us. We pray that the maiden reaches the goddess safely and may she stay in good hands”, she announces with clasped hands. 

“May Aphrodite bless us all.” She yells, her hands raised to the heavens, before the two hooded elders beside her shove your body into the fountain, sinking you to the depths, the last thing you’re hearing are loud chants that gradually become muted as you slowly accept your fate. 

A familiar hymn plays, and it catches Yeosang’s attention. 

“The maiden offering is here”, his Cupid announces. 

Yeosang only sighs in defeat, annoyed that his rose gardening has been interrupted, muttering how these mortals were being ridiculous, while still walking over to his marble foundation, careful not the crush the roses that had fallen onto the grass. 

“I genuinely have no idea how to stop these people from sending women down the fountain”, he complains to nobody in particular. 

“Why not just appear in front of them and tell them you’re the deity?” The little Cupid suggests as he floats beside Yeosang. 

He turns to his minion with folded arms. “No way. These people would pelt me with stones before they even decide to give me a chance to prove that I am. I’ll just do the usual.”

“Put them to sleep and then tie a red string on their ankles?”

“-to make sure they don’t get hurt or freak out or something. Then send them back up when enough time has passed.”, he continues with a small pout. “I’m still shocked at the way they freaked out when I sent the previous one back four decades ago.”

The Cupid purses his lips, listening to Yeosang rant about this for the nth time ever since he took over the temple and the rituals started every 11 decades as they near the fountain. 

He continues his rant up till he reaches the fountain. “Besides, none of them they send are ever my cup of tea. I’m sure this one’s not any-“

Then Yeosang immediately quietens down when his eyes land on the sleeping maiden before him. His Cupid casts him a confused glance, then back to the maiden on the fountain, wondering what suddenly silenced Yeosang. 

It’s just another maiden, his Cupid thinks. 

On the contrary, Yeosang can’t seem to keep his eyes off the maiden who’s unconscious, covered in rose petals like the previous maidens. What made her so different? He doesn’t know, but there’s a strange tinge of familiarity when he rests his eyes on your sleeping figure. 

The cupid’s eyes widen when Yeosang personally picks you up from the water with his bare hands. He never did that to the previous maidens, for he would complain about getting his robes wet. 

He sets you down on the cloud bed, watching how you’re breathing softly while he waits for the cupids to hand him a spare robe for you to change into. 

“Yeosang, aren’t you gonna change out?” His Cupid asks as he hands Yeosang the fresh set of robes. 

You stir from your slumber, feeling softness against your skin. You slowly open your eyes, before you remember what happened, and you shoot up, soaking in the unfamiliar environment surrounding you. It’s a beautiful, spacious, and airy room. Your eyes land on a male who’s fitting stalks of roses into a glass vase. 

“In a bit”, Yeosang replies, his eyes not lifting from you. 

He turns to you just in time, and you freeze. 

Oh gods, he’s stunning. His eyes are a shade of gray that makes him look all the more dreamy, and his lashes are long. His hair is a soft platinum blonde, contrasted by the bright red roses that rest on his hair. He looks like a statue himself. 

“You’re awake”, he greets with a curt nod. 

“You’re-“

“—Aphrodite‘s descendant, Deity Kang Yeosang”, the flying child announces. 

“Oh! Pardon my rudeness, Deity”, you squeak, going on your knees, your hands on the cold, marble ground. 

But Yeosang has his hands around you, lifting you up. “You don’t need to-“

“Oh but I should. You’ve been blessing our village with bountiful fields and beautiful children. It’s only right that I bow on their behalf”, you insist. Yeosang is speechless, mostly because it’s the first time that he has allowed a maiden to be conscious around his quarters, and that he’s speaking to one. He doesn’t really know what to do, let alone why he even did that in the first place. 

Yeosang looks away sheepishly. “It’s part of my job. Please, you may rise.” Despite his seemingly soft demeanour, you realise how chiseled his arms are, his muscles lifting you up together with him. When you’re finally facing him, you can’t help but wonder if this was the view that every maiden had—and that maybe it’s not so bad after all. 

Yeosang practically gave you the living quarters you woke up in, in which you were obviously thankful, offering for any help in exchange for it. Yeosang declined but you insisted, telling him you should repay him, so he decides to let you tend to one of his rose gardens around the temple.

It had been a few days since. 

By then, you had warmed up to the deity, spending time with him in the gardens, exchanging stories. Through these interactions, you realise how mellow and soft Yeosang is—usually stories of gods warn of them being picky, petty and sometimes, even wrathful. Yeosang didn’t seem to tick all of these boxes. It seemed like he would rather tend to his myriad rose gardens and caring for his cupids.

“Has anyone told you you’re absolutely beautiful, Yeosang?” You say, missing the way his ears are turning as pink like the roses that lie on his head. The both of you are cutting off the fresh buds that bloomed to collect the petals that afternoon. 

Yeosang’s cheeks flushes, rubbing the nape of his neck with a smile. It’s no different from what he always hears, especially as Aphrodite’s descendant, but to hear it from you makes him feel flustered for some reason.

“I mean not just how you look, but the way you treat the things around you.” 

“I’m not following”, a confused Yeosang replies, and it makes you giggle. 

“I’m saying, you’re gentle and kind too.” 

Gentle and kind. Of course he is, considering that has been something he’s been his whole life. It’s well known how much of a temperamental and petty his ascendant had been known to be, and he knows he’s not like that.

Distracted by his thoughts, he feels a sharp pain shoot in his finger. He flinches and pulls his hand away, realising his finger has been cut by a rose thorn.

This has never happened before. 

"Are you okay? Let me see-" you interject, taking his hand to inspect if the cut was deep, and you instinctually place his finger against your lips to suck on his skin. 

Yeosang's heartbeat is climbing at an exponential rate right now, wondering why do your lips feel so soft. Would it feel as soft if it wasn't just on his fingers? How would you taste against him?

"Are you okay, Yeosang?" your voice snaps him out of his rapidly growing crooked thoughts. His eyes meet yours and he forces a smile, letting himself enjoy the way you're gently stroking his fingers. He thinks it feels nice.

"It doesn't hurt. Don't worry", his voice lowers a pitch, his gaze softening as he watches the way your hands go from stroking his injured finger to playing around with the rest of his fingers, thinking it would help ease the sting. 

Yeosang places his hand on your cheek, gently stroking against your skin and his smile spreads to you. 

“Thank you. I’ll go and wash the wound. Don’t worry about it, really. It’s just a small cut”, he assures, almost reluctant to leave your side when you let him go, and he walks back to his chambers.

As he rinses his hands, Yeosang's cupid floats to his side, watching the way his deity has his eyes locked onto the maiden.

“You haven't sent her back up, Yeosang. I’ve never seen you do that.” 

Yeosang doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to reply. 

There is silence for a while, as the Cupid watches Yeosang bloom the roses.

“How long will you keep her?”

Yeosang watches the way you smell the roses from his bedroom window. His heart flutters. 

“For a little longer.”

You watch the rain fall and hit the leaves from the window of your room. The room is spacious, much too spacious for your liking. It wasn't you that you didn't hate being in the temple, having Yeosang and his little Cupids around were comforting, but during some days, the thorns of being home sick would prick you. 

Something is starting to bubble in Yeosang when his thoughts drift to you as night falls. Unfortunately, he seems to have realised it too late. 

Undoubtedly, the incident of Yeosang getting pricked by his rose bushes closed the distance between the both you. And that night, you realise you didn’t want to sleep alone. 

That night, Yeosang is still up, his concentration on finishing a book he had bought from the mortal realm. Then he hears a soft knock on his open door. 

His gazes flies to his door, his heart speeding up when he sees that it’s you standing at his doorway. 

“Is it okay for me to intrude?” You ask. “I feel lonely in such a big room.”

Yeosang blinks before remembering to respond. 

“Sure. There’s plenty of space on the bed”, he offers, shifting uselessly on the large bed to make space for you. You break into a smile, crawling into his shared space, the comfort of having Yeosang by your side already easing your worries. 

“What are you reading?” You ask, peeking over to his book trapped in his long fingers. 

He tips the book to show you the cover. 

“I got it at the marketplace.”

Your eyes brighten. 

“Right! You can travel to the mortal realm”, you remember him briefly mentioning it to you. 

He nods. “I can bring you back to the village from time to time to get stuff if you want.”

“You can bring me back?”

“I try to, discreetly, I guess. The mortals in the village for some reason didn’t like it when I brought back one of the maidens back directly once.”

Suddenly, the pieces start to fall into place. It’s all starting to make sense. 

Yeosang doesn’t realise he’s frowning. “You…yearn to go back there?” The words taste bitter in his mouth while he waits for your answer. 

“Well, I’ve grown rather attached to this place actually. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go back from time to time. You can send me back whenever you’re ready to, Yeosang”, you reply. 

Oh gods. Yeosang was internally preparing for the worst but for now, he’s satisfied with whatever arrangement he has with you. He’s never had a maiden stay longer than this, and he’s getting very comfortable with your companionship. 

You stifle a yawn, eyelids growing heavy. Your fingers brush against his playfully, and it gets his attention even though his eyes are empty on the pages of his book.

“You’re my favourite thing about this temple”, you mutter, shutting your eyes. Yeosang freezes in his spot, his heart hammering in his chest. 

“I think you’re my favourite thing about being a deity”, is his delayed reply. When he turns to gaze upon you, you’re asleep—comfortable and calm—just a hair’s breadth away from him. 

That night, he had the most comfortable night of sleep since the past few decades. 

Since then, your own bed in your quarters grew cold, and Yeosang’s bed only grew warmer as you continued to seek comfort with the deity. 

Yeosang wouldn’t lay his hands on you, even though he was fine with your small touches. He’d grown accustomed to it. 

Nonetheless, it doesn’t change the fact that his heartbeat accelerates when he feels you shift closer to him and lean your head against his arm or shoulder—whichever you felt like it—while you join him in reading whatever novel he has his nose buried into. 

Your hair brushes gently against his skin again, and it’s making him more jumpy than usual for some reason. Is it the way that he’s conscious of how physically close you are to him? Is it the way that your scent surrounds him like a veil recently? Is it the way your laughter sounds more beautiful than the hymns the harps could play?

He glances down at you, realising you’ve fallen into slumber, your breathing light. Yeosang smiles, his gaze landing on your face. 

Then the scent of you hits—sweet and intense—it makes Yeosang’s mind cloud. He feels his body warm up, and his eyes trail down from your face to your bare shoulders—where the strap of your nightgown had slipped past your shoulder—the lace trimming of your nightwear had lowered down your chest, revealing your soft breasts just shy of your nipples—

Fuck. Yeosang’s mind is on its road to being a goner. The discomfort that’s starting to bulge against his robes being the biggest indicator. 

He seeps deeper into his twisted fantasies, letting his hand slip down to palm his thickness, groans leaving his lips soft and controlled enough so that he doesn’t wake you up. His suppressed fantasies start to bubble to the surface—flashes of you in between his legs, your tongue lapping his nectar from his base to the tip, then struggling to take his cock full into your pretty mouth. Shit. It’s driving him to the edge. Yeosang swallows hard. He knows that everything about this is so wrong, but he can’t help it. The pleasure trickling into his veins and the risk of getting caught if he’s too loud—it only adds onto the rush that his cock is feeling, and he’s fucking loving it.

The robe is slowly shed off his chiseled body, the speed of his hand fucking his cock increasing when his fantasies start turning to you above him, settling onto his cock, eyes so glazed out and pretty for him while he spilts you open. He dreams of melting into your velvet heat and it only makes more precum leak out of his cockhead while he struggles to keep his breathing slow. 

He eyes flutter shut, a strained moan slipping past his lips. He doesn’t know how you’re not being awoken by now, but frankly, he doesn’t care. 

And when you shift in your sleep slightly, accompanying your movements with a sleepy groan, it only makes Yeosang’s predicament worse. He watches the way your top has completely slipped down, your nipple growing perky and hard from the cool air. Oh, what he’d do get a taste of it between his lips. 

The sounds of his hand fucking grow louder when his thoughts grow wilder when he wonders how you’d taste between your legs—sweet like the nectar of the roses you grow for him maybe. 

The precum seeping only grows white and thicker, the sensitivity burning through his body, making Yeosang press his head deeper against his pillows, his hand movements more desperate.

When his fantasies reach to one of you cumming and fluttering with tears in your eyes on his cock, Yeosang bursts with a broken cry of your name, his white and thick cum making a mess of his body and undone robe. His breathing is shaky, staring at the thick cum that stained his hand under the silver moonlight. 

It was then the realisation looms over him--there's no way it's possible to send you back up. Not when the need to hear you scream and cry his name is creeping into his veins like the thorny vines of his rose bush. 

“With all these roses around, doesn’t Yeosang get sick of the smell?” You ask the Cupid while your hands are busy snipping off the buds. 

He shrugs. “I guess he’s used to it.”

The Cupid casts another glance to the rose bush, furrowing his eyebrows, seemingly reflecting his confusion. 

“Although, you’re not wrong—the roses recently seem to smell stronger, and I’ve never seen buds this dark before.”

“Something wrong with the roses?” You hear the soft deep voice echo through your ears. 

“Yeosang!”, you exclaim, realising the subtle change in him—the roses that sit around his pale hair like flower crown are now as dark as the roses on the rose bush. 

You absentmindedly reach out to touch the roses on his hair, amazed by the deep crimson hue. “No, Cupid and I were just mesmerised at how pretty the dark roses are, actually.”

His smile fills your stomach with butterflies. 

“Were you? I’m glad you and Cupid seem to like them.”

Yeosang lets his hands linger on your cheek for a moment longer, his warm spreading through your skin. 

“I’ll see you tonight as usual, y/n?” 

You nod, but for some reason, the expression Yeosang casts you sets a whole cage of butterflies into your stomach. 

He’s satisfied with your answer and he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to your temple, the smell of roses floating around you, before he strolls back to his quarters, humming to himself. 

For some reason, something feels a little different that night. 

You walk into Yeosang’s chambers as usual, as you always do. He has his novel in his hands, but his eyes glance at you at his doorway the moment he feels your presence. 

You slide into his bed, like you always have done, noticing the comforting warmth that the deity radiated seemed slightly a little hotter than usual. But you attribute it to the fact that it had been pouring quite a bit lately, including tonight. 

The moment you crawled into Yeosang's space, he has his palm spread over your exposed thigh, his warmth spreading across your skin. 

“Isn't someone eager today”, you tease, absentmindedly returning his touch, much to Yeosang's surprise. 

“It's been cold lately, and your warmth is the only thing I've grown used to”, Yeosang replies with a gentle smile, and it makes your stomach burst with butterflies. 

“As with you”, you giggle, inching closer to the male. 

Yeosang reflects your bloom with a soft smile, before his attention returns to his book. You rest yourself against his arm, as you always do.

This night, Yeosang realises he can't concentrate on reading, not when he's hyper aware of the floral shampoo that's emitting off you. You've always been using the same floral shampoo, so why does the smell seem to come off stronger this time?

His thoughts are then interrupted when he hears you soft sigh as you shift your weight against his arm, his eyes locked at the way the strap of your nightgown slips past your shoulder once more, the gown dropping slightly lower, barely revealing your soft and perky nipples.

Yeosang doesn't realise his fingers are clamping onto the pages, hard. 

He averts his gaze back to the book that he knows it's pointless to get back to, so he shuts it.

Your eyes rake over his bothered expression, and your mind swims with worry.

“Are you okay, Yeosang?”

Yeosang turns his attention to you, forcing a smile. His words come out uncertain, “of course. I just need a breather. Give me a second, y/n.” He drops the book onto his nightstand before he leaves the bed to the balcony. You decide it's best to leave him be, while you keep yourself busy with the pile of books Yeosang bought for you on his nightstand.

Yeosang is barely confident that he's finally composed himself, but he decides to enter his room once he feels his heart gradually slow. He brushes off the crimson rose petals that had landed on his shoulder.

Since when have his petals gotten this red? 

He returns back to his room, and all of that self preservation immediately falls apart when the view before him on his bed is you–relaxed, with the sheets off you, your bare legs in full view for him to take in, your sheer nightgown bunched up to your thighs as your nose is deep into your novel. 

Yeosang remains silent as he inches towards to your side of the bed, and his movements definitely catch your attention. You look up and your eyes meet his, trailing him as he slowly settles down right in front of you. 

“Can I help you?” You tease, shutting the book. Yeosang doesn't answer, but rather, he lets his fingers dance along your leg, and up until he pauses at your knee.

You watch the way his eyes glimmer against the moonlight, then how it highlights his features like a marble statue. 

He's leaning closer.

His eyes are downcast for a second before they find the resolve to meet yours.

“Could I…?” he mutters, shyness reflected in his gaze. 

His palm is flat against your knee now, and he's warm to the touch.

You're suddenly feeling curious yet shy. You lower your gaze when you feel his palm press against your cheek, then lean in. His hands feel like comfort. Your eyes flutter open and you meet Yeosang’s stare.

His mind is going haywire when you look at him like that.

There is tension in the air, silence so loud you could hear two hearts fluttering if you listened hard enough. 

“Please”, you reply softly, loud enough for him to hear.

Before you could process it, Yeosang leans in for a deep kiss, determined to steal your breath and heart away as his lips collide against yours. He traps you against the bed, and your hands are around his neck, slowly lingering on his soft locks of hair. 

Red petals are slowly filling up the white spaces on the white sheets as Yeosang grows greedy–he’s pulled away from your lips, now he's messing with your cheek, then your jawline, then down your neck. His hands are going down. You gasp when you feel him cup your breasts. There's no way he doesn't feel your nipples grow harder through the thin fabric, and he makes full use of it to pinch and roll in between his fingertips, the sparks going right to your soaked pussy.

Yeosang lets you off momentarily, and the strange glint in his eyes don't go unnoticed by you. Too caught up in the moment though, you let him continue with whatever he wants to do. He continues kissing down south, teasing you with the fact that he's not letting his lips touch your skin directly. Every soft gasp and sigh he hears from you is his reward.

Then, he stops right at the wet patch of fabric in between your legs.

You swear his eyes form hearts. 

“You're already so wet for me?” He asks, which doesn't come off much as a question. His finger grazes along the damp fabric, and the wetness spreads even more. It’s driving Yeosang off the edge. You're driving Yeosang off the edge.

All Yeosang is thinking is that you're such a perfect gift. He wouldn't have asked for more.

The perfect offering. 

Perfect for him to ruin.

A thought crosses Yeosang’s mind–how far can he get your thin and useless panties soaked? He nuzzles against the warm and sticky fabric, trying his best to ignore the way his cock is just painfully throbbing to be let out. 

“Yeosang–!” You cry out, accidentally flattening some of the roses in his hair when the sensitivity bursts dully in your pussy. 

You're suddenly feeling self-conscious even though your mind is slowly sinking into the sins Yeosang is gravitating you into. 

Your cunt is getting soaked by the second, to the point your panties have pretty much grown transparent, so sticky and wet from your cream.

It doesn't change the fact that worries still flicker in and out of your mind. 

You're not a virgin. Would Yeosang approve of that? Would he be disgusted that you aren't?

You feel his fingers slither up your thighs, his thump hooking onto the waistband of your panties before he completely pulls your panties off, your pulsing wet pussy blooming like the most gorgeous flower Yeosang's ever seen.

Before Yeosang’s ready to reward himself, you squeeze your thighs, stopping him. 

He looks up at you, his eyes slowly glazed over, waiting for you to let him.

How is he so patient?

“I’m not a virgin—“

“It doesn't matter, darling”, Yeosang cuts you off while he presses his nose against your supple thighs, taking in a sharp inhale, letting your scent turn him dizzy. “I’ve always dreamed of hearing you scream my name when I’m fucking you.”

You struggle to keep your breathing in check, dazed and taking in this newfound side of Yeosang that seemingly bloomed from nowhere. 

“I'll make you feel so good, darling”, he promises, a teasing lick just to the side of your pussy, and your rationale completely dissolves. 

Yeosang pulls your legs apart, smiling against your skin when you don't offer resistance, then he presses his tongue against your wet cunt. 

You taste like heaven, is what is repeating in Yeosang’s head, over and over. He wants to make sure he sucks you dry. You squirm against him, the pleasure building recklessly whenever Yeosang drives his tongue against your clit, your moans turning into a mix of cries. Your wetness isn't drying up anytime soon, that's for sure. 

“So fucking good. Y-Yeosang…”, your lashes are wet, and with every flick of his tongue on your clit, it builds so fucking good that your legs have completely spread open for Yeosang, your cunt shamelessly leaking more creamy nectar for Yeosang to indulge in. He brings his tongue up to your clit once more, dragging the soft muscle against it. 

“You're so close, aren't you? Your sweetness is just getting better”, Yeosang hums. 

Your fingers clutch against the soft pillows under you, your mind slowly starts to blank and break. It feels so fucking good that Yeosang has to hold your hips down so he can tongue fuck you better.

“Be a good girl for me–cum as hard as you want.”

A choked sob echoes in his chambers while you go completely undone–shaking and pulsing against his tongue, your vision washed out by white as the pleasure seeps into each nerve and crevice of your brain. 

Yeosang is still lapping your cream up, dizzy from how you cummed all over his face. He really wants to make you do that over and over again until you break.  

The remnants of your orgasm and the overstimulation has you twitching in the best ways possible. You halt Yeosang–stealing his attention with your fingers under his chin. Yeosang looks up at you, burying his cheek against your palm while his tongue peeks out past his lips to lick the off the remainder of your cream on his face. Your thumb caresses his soft cheek and Yeosang appeases you for a moment before he climbs over you, his palm covering your wrist, guiding you down to the knot of his robe. Your fingers grab onto the loose end and you tug–his robe completely loosens. He leans in closer, letting your hands wander his body, flicking the robe away until Yeosang is fully naked before you.

He's nothing short of a marble statue–everything about him is completely ethereal. As much as you’re admiring his bare body,  your eyes can't help but wander to his thick cock. Even his cock is so pretty especially when it's glistening and hard, in a sheen of precum.

His voice is deeper now and it tickles your ears.

“I don't think I can go slow on you, my love”, Yeosang mutters, before he presses his lips onto the back of your hand. His crimson eyes meet yours, and your heart skips a beat. 

“I don't wanna.”

He fits a pillow under your hips, and his cock is easily resting right at your pulsing, wet hole. 

“Wanna feel you all the way, Yeosang. You can go as deep as you want”, you whisper, just craving to be fucked now. 

Yeosang smiles in reply, before he lines himself to your cunt and pushes himself in an inch or two.

A curt “fuck” slips past your lips, and your abdomen tenses once Yeosang starts fitting more of himself into your tight hole. 

“Gods, you feel so fucking amazing. So fucking warm for me”, Yeosang curses, his fingertips pressing onto your hips to keep any remainder of his sanity intact. 

When he finally has his dick fully fit in you, you look like you're about to cry. 

His fingers brush your cheek.

“Are you okay there?”

You nod. “You just feel so full in me.” Yeosang laughs, then groans when you squeeze him again.

“I'm gonna start moving.”

The lewd sounds of skin slapping start filling up the room once more, one wetter than the other. 

His thrusts have you clawing the sheets once more, eyes rolled back and pussy clamping him down for more.

He grunts at the way you're squeezing him.

“I'll fill you up so good, my love. Make you so swollen–full of my pretty little offspring just for you to bear”, he mutters in your ear. 

Your head is spinning as the pleasure builds up in your abdomen once more every time his cock hits your g-spot. The thought of Yeosang making sure you're leaking full of his seed, that he wants to breed you so badly throws out any rational thought out of your head. You want it so fucking bad too. 

“You feel so better than heaven, you know?” He manages, the thread of his rationale thinning the more he's fucking into you. “I really want you all to myself.”

His thrusts are getting heavier and every time his cockhead presses onto your g-spot, it sends you into an orbit. You're seeing fucking stars or flowers–they’re starting to look the fucking same at this rate.

“Yeosang!”, you cry out, your toes curling from the pleasure hitting you over and over again. You leave light marks down his pale skin. Your cunt has him tight in you, and it makes him dazed. His moans are filling up your ears while his cum fills up your pussy. 

The high slowly descends, leaving both of you catching your breaths, his face in your hands, eyes locked onto each other. You watch the dark red in his eyes slowly lighten but still remain red. 

Had he always donned such deep red eyes? 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, letting his fingers travel down the curves of your body.

You giggle tiredly, “a little sleepy.”

He covers your eyes with his slender fingers. “Then rest

Yeosang stares at the way you slowly sink into your slumber, huddled close to him. 

He brushes away the blood red rose petals that fall on your shoulders. 

I can’t help it if I adore you this much. I’m keeping you for a little longer. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, right? 

💘bonus epilogue💘

Yeosang knew he was about to be chided for always escaping his duties by hiding in the mortal world. Not that Eros would care anyway. 

No human comes around here, and that’s another reason why Yeosang loves this specific spot. If he’s feeling slightly more daring, he might hide himself amongst the mortals while he window shops at the marketplace, but for today, relaxing is on itinerary instead. 

He walks over to his usual tree, humming to himself.

Then he stops himself in his tracks, his eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. Someone is already occupying his tree. He watches the maiden hum to herself, her hands busy with picking flowers and she sits the stalks on her lap. 

Unfortunately, Yeosang is the last deity to be confrontational, and he’s ready to just turn and leave—

“Oh gods! You’re breathtaking.”

He stops in his tracks, and turns back slowly. 

His finger points to himself accompanied with a confused expression he wears. 

“Me?”

He’s only met with laughter that sounded like sun rays when dawn first breaks. 

“I’m sorry. I probably scared you. It’s just, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I’ve always wanted ask—has anyone told you that you’re beautiful?”

Plenty. 

You laugh again. It tickles Yeosang’s ears. 

“You’ve probably heard it many times. But I still want to say it—you’re beautiful.”

That day Yeosang hums a wonderful tune that even Cupid has never heard before. His attention goes back to tending his rose garden, his slender fingers getting busy, brushing against the bud of the roses, blooming them full. 

He notices Cupid's surprised gaze, before he plucks a rose bud out to hand it to him.

“What's wrong, Cupid? Never seen a red rose before?”

Cupid furrows his eyebrows, his gaze reflecting confusion on top of curiosity before he shakes his head in reply.

“Yeosang…this is the first time I'm seeing you bloom red roses.”

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[aninipanin1]

Miss Manager's Miscellaneous Shenanigans

Being the manager of Blue Lock had its pros and cons, but one thing's for sure: doing your chores is easier when you have the whole facility simping at your feet.

Notes: Manager Reader is female, but I rarely use pronouns, so any gender may work for this. Manager Reader IS age 16-17, so her love interests would only be those near her age. Anyone else who is older than 20 will be platonic.

ISAGI YOICHI

It was yet another day in the Blue Lock Facility. But, compared to other days before, the air was a little hotter than usual. Even if the facility was rather closed off and most of the inside was air-conditioned, the vents still bring in the air from the outside. Unfortunately for most of you, the temperature outside was hot, and everyone who entered the training fields could immediately feel the sweat start to form even if they have not played yet.

As the manager, you immediately responded to this. Cleaning off the tumblers and filling each of them up while also preparing fresh and clean towels to bring to the many training fields scattered around the facility.

"30 down, another 30 to go."

You could not help but sigh, feeling your arms go numb as you held up another empty tumbler on the water fountain provided in one of the kitchen areas. You found yourself looking at anything around the area to distract yourself, but it's like there was anything interesting about kitchen tools, drawers, or table islands.

"Y/n-chan, do you need any help?"

You hear a familiar voice as you turn around to find Isagi, who offers a polite smile, with his Blue Lock bodysuit on, probably just finishing his training.

"Oh no, no, it's fine. I don't wanna intrude. You should probably just get some rest before taking a shower."

You reciprocated his smile, putting the dozens of towels and tumblers on a pushcart for easy travels. But the boy insisted, grabbing a few bottles and towels himself and putting it on another cart.

"It's fine, Y/n-chan! I can use the small workout pushing these things. And besides, how are you gonna push more than 3 carts by yourself?"

You stopped at that, looking at the 5 carts you prepared, one for each stratum as you mentally sighed.

"I was planning to do many back and forth travels, but you know what? One travel with a little help would be much more better, wouldn't it?"

Isagi laughed at that and agreed, carrying more tumblers to another cart. You just smiled at that, a little happy for the help.

Meanwhile, all that Isagi can think about is the fact that he had another advantage to win you. After all, who would not love a gentleman? Besides, seeing the happy smile on your face was enough to make his day a little brighter.

Today was really not Isagi's day. His pinky toe was hurting when he woke up for some reason, which lessened his performance that day, adding to that was the hot day as well. But hey, at least he got to help you and see you smile.

BACHIRA MEGURU

"What's wrong, Y/n-chan?"

You turned your head to Bachira, who was pouting, his golden eyes wide and curious with a hint of worry.

"Nothing's wrong, Bachira-kun."

"Don't lie..! Your is turned upside down! My monster told me that you're probably sad."

You blinked at that. You thought you hid the fact that you were a little down that day. You just received a text message from your mother that, unfortunately, your cat (C/n) just passed away due to food poisoning, and you were heartbroken.

But, of course, your job must go on, and you wanted to remain professional. Well, until Bachira seemed to take notice of the fact that you have been preventing yourself from looking sad.

"Don't worry, Y/n-chan! You can talk to me, remember? I don't like it when you're sad."

"Thanks, Bachira. It's just that my mom texted me yesterday, and um, well, she said my cat died. And, I just didn't want my feelings to get in the way of work, so I tried to keep it."

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

"No, no its fine. In fact, I'm quite happy that you were willing to listen."

You gave a small yet much more genuine smile, noticing that he looked quite guilty that when he found out the real reason behind your sadness.

He let out a grin before opening his arms and wrapping it around you. You tend to always forget he was quite the muscular guy, probably from all the practice. His childish and bright personality always made you feel comforted, yes, but you also underestimated him. But nonetheless, his hug was warm. Soothingly so, and it made you tear up.

Until you were now full-on sobbing on his shoulder. Perhaps it was because of the loss, but maybe the homesickness and pressure of everything weighed down on you at the same time along with the grief. You did not know.

But what you did know was that Bachira comforted your weary and grieving soul.

He swayed his upper body along with yours, hoping the movement may help calm you a bit. And it did as you slowly picked yourself up, sniffing and wiping your tears away.

"T-thank you, Bachira-kun. I really needed that."

He grinned again before patting your hair.

"No problemo! My mom always said hugs can always heal any sadness away!"

You smiled at that.

"Your mom is correct. It really did."

His smile widened at the now lighter smile on your face, his pointer fingers now pulling the sides of your mouth higher as he cheered.

"Now you're happy for realsies!! You're prettier like this, Y/n-chan, especially when your eyes are also smiling."

CHIGIRI HYOMA

"Are these all the laundries?"

You turned to the occupants of the room, Reo was currently out of the room, probably training, leaving only Nagi who was laying on his bed, sleeping away and Chigiri, who was drying his hair from a shower.

The redhead smiled and nodded his head before turning his head at Nagi, who was passed out. And around his messy bed were his dirty socks, sweaters, and other dirty laundry. The lazy genius did not find the energy to put all of it in one basket, causing it all to be scattered in his side of the room.

"Oi, Nagi! Pick up your damn clothes and put them in one basket. Be thankful Y/n-chan is already doing your laundry for you!"

"Don't want to. 'Ts a hassle."

And he fell asleep again, making a vein pop in Chigiri's forehead. Meanwhile, you just laughed and shook it off.

"It's fine, Chigiri-kun. I'll just pick it up."

Chigiri rolled his eyes at this, not agreeing with how forgiving and patient you were to the white-haired striker. He put the blowdryer down before heading over to your figure that was already picking up the dirty laundry of Nagi's.

"I'll help you. I feel kind of bad."

You blinked before giving a smile that made him smile as well. He felt quite bashful while also impressed. How can someone be so calm and understanding towards everyone? He would never understand that. Maybe it was because he was quite intense, and at times, demanding?

But, he was quite happy and satisfied that someone like you was the manager of this whole Blue Lock thing. You were so approachable and easy to the heart and even eyes that even he, someone quite guarded, found it easy to rely and talk to you.

"Thanks, Chigiri-kun!"

As you two picked it up, you could not help hut laugh whenever Chigiri would flick a sweater in Nagi's face or "accidentally" dropping a dirty sock on the genius' nose, out of spite.

Nagi just shrugged this off, thinking that caring is also a hassle.

"Thanks for picking it up for me, Chigiri."

Nagi muttered in his sleep which just pissed the redhead off.

"I did it for Y/n-chan, not for you, you idiot!"

MIKAGE REO

"I have to what?!"

"I'm so sorry, Y/n-chan, I know you're already so busy but, the JFA insisted for this to be submitted tomorrow."

You blinked at the pile of papers you needed to read and edit and somehow submit to the JFA Union tomorrow, and it was already noon, too. How will you even finish this?

Nevertheless, work is work, so you accepted, asking Anri to put the papers in your desk. For the rest of the day, you just focused on the paperwork, zoning out of reality and time to just hopefully meet the harsh deadline that loomed upon you.

"Y/n-chan! Have you seen - oh, sorry, did I interrupt you on something?"

Looking up from your desk, you found Reo peeking his head from your office door. You gave him a polite smile, tilting your head.

"No, its fine, Mikage-kun. How may I help you?"

"Eh, I already told you, Y/n-chan. You can just call me Reo. Oh, and I just wanted to ask if you know where Chris Prince is? I have a few questions for the training regime we have."

"Oh, right, sorry. And, I heard he and the rest of the masters have a meeting with Anri-san and Ego-san. They would probably be over in a bit."

He nodded at that before he looked at your face that screamed, stressed. Your hair was in a messy hairstyle, with your baby hairs and other strands falling on your face. Your eyes looked weary, with bags under them.

"What are you doing? You don't look too good."

"Ahh, these? These are reports made by Anri-san and Ego-san. I'm the one who's gonna edit all of these for the JFA. It was supposed to be passed next month, so we weren't in a rush, but then they moved it to tomorrow, so here I am."

Reo winced at the thick pile of paperwork. He just stood there for a bit until a smile broke out of his face. He did not need to contemplate. After all, he was always willing to help you.

"Come on, I'll help you with that, Y/n-chan."

"Eh? But, I don't want to intrude-"

"You aren't! I don't like how you're stressing over this. Besides, I do have experience with professional reports because of my father's company, I'll be fine!"

You were ready to say 'no' again, but he was ahead of you, picking up half of the papers and finding a chair to sit on beside you.

"Reo-kun-"

Then you felt a pinch on your cheeks as Reo pinched both of your cheeks lightly, chuckling at the cute expression on your face.

"Shhh, I already told you, it's fine. Just focus on your work, okay?"

"Ehkway.."

You bashfully said as he continued pinching your cheeks. Reo could not help himself. You were too adorable when you acted all mature and responsible.

NAGI SEISHIRO

"Finally. This week was so busy."

You found yourself walking like a zombie towards your room. As you passed by the dining halls, your ears picked up the sounds of hushed gunshots and shouts like someone was playing. Peeking your head at the door, you found a familiar mop of white hair sitting on one of the chairs, head and arms on the table, said arms stretched out and tapping on his phone.

"Nagi-kun? Why are you still here? Lights off is in an hour."

The boy perked up, as he lifted his head when he heard your voice.

"Y/n-chan...It's just a hassle to stand up and walk to bed."

He pouted at the notion of even standing up from his position. You sighed at this, knowing the tendencies of Nagi. He was not called "Lazy Genius" for nothing, after all. Sitting down beside him, you were prepared to pull whatever words you can from your brain to hopefully convince him to head to the rooms or else, Ego would probably scold him.

But, you couldn't help but watch how effortlessly aim and shoot in the games he played. For someone who found moving or even thinking of the notion of moving was a hassle, he moved his fingers across his phone screen quite flawlessly. He was skilled and agile on his hands and you cannot help but be impressed.

"You're really good at this, Nagi-kun."

"Meh, I missed a guy earlier."

You chuckled at that and patted his hair, which made him scratch his head against your hands, resembling a cat. That only urged you to pat his head more. His hair was quite soft even with all the tangles, seeing as he was probably too lazy to brush his hair.

"Your hands are warm and soft. Y/n-chan. I like them."

"Eh, um thank you..?"

You did not know if you were supposed to take that as a compliment, but you just did. Then he turned his head to you, offering his phone.

"D'you wanna play?"

"Huh? Oh no, I'm not really good on games like that."

He tilted his head at that.

"It's fine. You said you like rhythm games, right? You have the instincts and skills to move your fingers accurately already, so you'll learn fast on this. I'll help you."

"Oh, okay, if its okay with you."

You accepted his phone, albeit unsurely. He moved his head to rest on your shoulder to watch and spectate on your gameplay, teaching you what to use and what not to use. Even giving tips on how to better your aim or how to find opponents fast.

It was a calming experience. Nagi was a really good teacher when it came to games, very straight to the point and simple with his words. His voice was quite calming, too, not low but definitely a bit on the huskier and whispery side, as his voice and hums vibrated on your shoulder.

Like with you, Nagi found himself enjoying the moment. No noise except the sounds of the game along with your and his voice adding small quips. Your shoulder was also quite comfortable, your body warm, contrasting the cold air the air conditioning in the dining area provided.

He liked your presence, so serene and gentle, yet sharp enough to excite him. That's was his first impression of you, rather. And that has yet to change.

He was too immersed and comfortable beside you that you two did not notice the time passing. It took Ego coming inside the dining area to scold you and Nagi for both you to notice the time and head to your respective rooms.

But, deep down, Nagi did have to admit, he felt quite annoyed and disappointed that you two had to part so early.

I got too carried away with Nagi's meanwhile Chigiri's felt too short oop- anyways I hope you all loved this one. I might make many parts for this one. I really wanna make Miss Manager a series but idrk...

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[wonderlandwalker]

The masks we wear | Finnick Odair x reader

thg masterlist / inbox

summary: Johanna doesn't know what do anymore, but she knows someone who does. (set in the same universe as 'The promises we cling to')

word count: 1.3k

tags / content warnings: some angst but major fluff later, depictions of violence, descriptions of a panic attack

a/n: @meikoo oops my hand slipped

You had been struggling to keep it together all night.

Smiling when they praised you for your "spectacular" victory. Nodding when they asked if you missed the adrenaline of the arena. Laughing when some Capitol socialite with gemstone-encrusted eyelids asked, "So, what have you been doing with yourself since you won?" as though you hadn’t spent the last three months staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks like they were the tributes you’d buried.

But the worst part was the way they touched you. A hand on your shoulder, fingers trailing down your arm—every brush of skin like a brand, every whisper of "You were my favourite" slithering into your ears like poison. You could feel the cracks in your composure spreading, your breaths coming shorter, your ribs tightening around your lungs like a vice.

You barely made it out of the ballroom.

The garden is cold, the air sharp with the scent of roses and something bitter. Your knees hit the gravel path hard enough to bruise, but the pain barely registers over the roar of the pulse in your ears. The fountain beside you is a grotesque Capitol extravagance—some weeping nymph with hollow eyes, water spilling from her cupped hands like tears. You focus on it, desperate for an anchor, but all you see is her—the girl from District Nine, the one who’d begged you for mercy with those same hollow eyes. A shudder wracks through you. You dig your fingers into the dirt, nails grinding against the stones, but the memories don’t stop.

"Breathe, you idiot."

The voice is sharp, familiar. You don’t look up, but you don’t have to.

"I’m fine," you lie, voice ragged.

Johanna makes a noncommittal noise in her throat, halfway between a scoff and a sigh, and then there’s a flask being shoved under your nose, the smell of cheap liquor overwhelming you. "Drink. Before I dump it on your head."

You take it. The alcohol is terrible, warm and biting — District 7’s finest. It’s the same rotgut she’d smuggled into the hospital after the Games, when the morphling drips ran dry and the only thing louder than the screams in your head were the Capitol doctors sighing about "adjustment periods". It burns the same now, but it gives you something else to focus on as its nostalgia hits you, and it’s honest in a way nothing in the Capitol is, with no candied flavours to mask the aftertaste. Johanna studies you with narrowed eyes and crossed arms as your breathing remains laboured, your hands still shaking, but she doesn't leave; she just stands there.

“They’ve been asking where you went.” She says after another moment. ‘That new Gamemaker’s convinced you're playing hard to get.” A broken laugh escapes you at her words. “I told them you were puking your guts out in the bathroom.” She shrugs, but her jaw is tight. “Figured that’d buy you time.”

You should thank her. This—the lurking, the lies, the way she’s still here—is practically a love language in her terms. But your tongue feels like lead, your pulse rabbiting in your throat like it’s trying to escape. She studies you again, and for a moment you wonder how much longer she will put up with you before she loses her patience. Then, without a single word, she spins on her heel and stalks back toward the ballroom.

Alone, the night air presses in like a suffocating hand. The fountain’s water mocks you with its rhythmic drip-drip-drip, a countdown to the moment you finally shatter—

Then Johanna returns, and she’s not alone. Finnick Odair stumbles behind her, his wrist locked in her grip, his usually flawless hair mussed like she’d dragged him from the other side of the mansion.

“Johanna, just tell me already—” He freezes when he sees you, and Johanna shoves him forward. “Fix it.” The puzzled look in both your eyes makes her sigh before she continues. “You’re good at this, at pretending you’re fine, at making them believe it.” Her voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it, something almost like concern. “So fix it.” Then she's gone, her boots crushing rose petals into the dirt as she walks back inside.

Finnick stands there, and for a terrible moment, he just stares, his face unreadable in the moonlight, the usual easy charm stripped away as the silence stretches thin between you. "You can leave," you mutter, digging your nails into your palms. “I don’t need a babysitter.” He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Just studies you with those sea-green eyes of his.

"Yeah," he says finally, so quietly the word nearly drowns in the fountain's murmur. "You do."

And then—

He sits.

No hesitation. Finnick Odair—Capitol darling, District 4's golden boy — drops onto the damp grass beside you like it's a throne. Dirt smears his tailored pants. He doesn't seem to care.

"What are you doing?" you rasp.

Finnick leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out with deliberate ease. "Sitting." As if it's that simple. As if he hasn't just thrown away every carefully constructed mask for this—for you.

“Why?”

He meets your gaze, and for the first time, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the same exhaustion that's been haunting you. “Because sometimes,” he says, “you just need someone to sit with you.” Your breath stutters, and his shoulder presses against yours. And for the first time in months, your heartbeat doesn't sound like a countdown to destruction.

After a while — when the adrenaline fades — his breathing is steady beneath your cheek, his pulse a quiet metronome where your head presses against his shoulder. A prickle at the base of your skull guides you out of your trance. He’s staring. You lift your head. Finnick looks at you like you’re something rare, like a piece of sea glass worn smooth by oceans of tides. His gaze traces the curve of your cheekbone and the part of your lips, as if memorising a piece of art he’s not sure he’ll see again.

Your throat tightens, but it’s a different kind of ache.

Hesitation flickers in your fingers as you reach up. The moment your fingertips graze his jaw, his breath hitches. His skin is warm under your touch, his jaw smooth from a fresh shave. He doesn’t pull away. He’s waiting. You see it in the way his lashes flutter, in the barely-there press of his teeth into his lower lip. He’s searching your face for permission, for a sign that this is real, that he’s allowed to want— You lean in. He smells like Juneberries and saltwater, the ghost of liquor still clinging to his lips. Your nose brushes his, and—

“I said fix it, not make it worse.”

You jerk apart like live wires. Johanna leans against the stone railing, arms crossed and one eyebrow arched up. The moonlight reflects the smirk that sharpens on her face.

Finnick groans—a sound caught between a laugh and a prayer for patience—and thunks his forehead against your shoulder. “Mason, I swear to the fucking—”

“Save it, Odair,” she interrupts, but you don’t miss the slightest upward twitch of her lips. “If I had to watch you two eye-fuck each other for one more second, I would volunteer for the next Games just to end my suffering.”

A beat passes. Then, quieter, as she turns away, she speaks, “And clean yourselves up. The Sponsors are lurking by the roses.”

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter two

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: backyard barbecues, the local market, and an unexpected discovery that has you wondering what exactly you may have just gotten yourself into. (5k)

warnings: angst (this early on, i know i'm sorry but it's for the plot i promise <3), lando and max f bickering like an old married couple

a/n: she's here!!!! sorry it took a little longer than expected but i hope you all enjoy this chapter :) pls feel free to come chat in my asks if you want to, i'd love to hear what everyone think about it so far!

previous chapter | masterlist

“Are these guys rich or something?”

Camille voices exactly the thought running through your mind as you roll to a stop to the address Lando had texted you yesterday, gawking out at the sprawling acreage in front of you. 

You peer at the impressive villa through the windshield, taking in everything with baited breath. She’s absolutely right. 

This house has to be two, if not three times the size of the one you’re all staying at, and that’s just what you can see so far. Vines bursting with colorful flowers crawl up white stone walls, curling around trellises of even more foliage, shutters on huge windows. There’s even a massive fountain in the middle of the courtyard, pristine marble, spewing crystal clear water in streams. 

It’s a classic old money countryside villa—worth millions, you assume, not even taking in the gathering of vintage and expensive sports cars parked along the cobblestone driveway. You suddenly feel so, so small compared to the extravagance of just the exterior of the place. 

Who are these people? 

A guy with brown curls similar to Lando’s pulls open the door when you ring the bell, in the middle of yelling something at someone further inside the house, before turning his gaze on you all. His face lights up in recognition at the sight of you. “Oh, hey, you’re the girl Lando won’t shut up about! I’m Max, but I’m sure he’s told you all about me, hasn’t he?” 

So this is Max. Lando’s told you a little about him, but mainly just funny stories. You wonder if Max knows his best friend is going around telling girls he’s just met about the time Max walked into a glass sliding door. 

“A little bit, not much. It’s nice to put a face to the name though!” You say politely. 

Max sighs dramatically, shaking his head in faux disappointment. He and Lando must be close. “I’m the best part of his life, and he doesn’t think to share it! What a knob. Anyways, welcome, come on in, make yourselves at home!” 

He ushers you all inside, leading you through the house and out huge double French doors leading to the backyard. The rest of their group sits on couches gathered around a stone fire pit, drinks in hand, chatting amongst themselves until they see you all coming. Max does the introductions between your two groups, but there’s one person missing. The one person you were looking forward to seeing again is nowhere to be found. 

Max must notice how your eyes search for Lando, because he grins knowingly. “He’ll be out in a bit. Work called.” 

“Oh, what does he do?” Samira chimes in. You fight the urge to throw a stone at her, because you know what she’s doing. She’s getting information on Lando because you haven’t got the guts to do it yourself yet. 

“Has he not told you yet?” Max raises a brow, taking a sip of his drink. When you shake your head, he presses his lips together, like he’s debating whether or not to tell you himself. “Yeah, sorry, I think I’m gonna stay out of this one. He gets pissy when I meddle with his budding relationships.” 

Budding relationship. Your face flames hot at the insinuation, but Samira takes it in stride, raising a skeptical brow. 

“What, is he in the mafia or something?” 

“‘Course not, that’s ridiculous. Pretty boy like him, he’d never make it in the mafia,” Max snorts. “No, he’s…look, it’s not really my place to say. I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready.” 

Lando materializes from inside at that very moment, brows furrowed. There’s a tic going off in his jaw and he looks a little pissed off about something, but as soon as he looks up and sees that there’s company, he composes himself in a split second. 

“Hey, guys!” He chirps, hand raising in a wave. He makes his way over to where you all are, plopping down in the empty spot beside you without hesitation. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Thanks for the invite,” Maren replies, ever the polite one. “And the coffee yesterday.” 

Max makes an offended noise from the back of his throat at his friend. “You bought them coffee yesterday? Where was mine? You never buy me coffee.” 

“Mate, you don’t even drink coffee!” 

“Maybe I would if you bought it for me!” 

The two boys continue to bicker with each other in the same way all evening, which leads you to believe this is just how they are with one another. It gives Lando another dimension in your mind, and you like it.

There are a handful of common interests amongst your friends and Lando’s, ones that spark conversation immediately. As the night goes on, it feels like you’ve all been friends for a while, and you’re glad. Part of you was worried things would be awkward between everyone, but thankfully that isn’t the case.

It passes the time quicker than you expect. Soon enough it’s nearing midnight and you’re close to nodding off onto Lando’s shoulder, fighting to stay awake and looped into the ongoing conversation despite the sleep threatening to overtake you.

It certainly doesn’t help that he exudes warmth from where you’ve wound up pressed against each other on the small couch. You turn your head to look at him, to take in the little details of him. The angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose. The smattering of moles across his face and neck.

One wayward curl hangs over his forehead, and you want to reach out, brush it away. You don’t think you’re quite at that stage of comfort with each other yet, but then he tears his attention away from the rest of the group and meets your gaze with what you can only describe as pure fondness dripping from his lazy grin. 

“You alright?” He says softly, shifting his body to face you a little more. 

You nod, because you’re more than alright. For the first time in a while, everything feels just the way it should be. “Are you?” 

“Hm?” Lando replies noncommittally, sipping his drink. “Fine, why?” 

“Earlier, after your phone call, you seemed…upset. I don’t mean to pry, I just wanted to see if everything was alright.” 

“Oh, that? Nah, that was nothing, just my boss. Wanted to talk work stuff, but I wasn’t feeling it, y’know?” He shrugs. It feels like there’s more to what he’s saying, but you don’t want to push too hard. You’re still familiarizing yourself with him. “You’re sweet to check on me, though.” 

“Okay. But if you, um, if you need to talk or anything, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Lando traces a finger briefly over the thin strap of your dress, just over your shoulder, before dropping his chin into his palm. You already know he’s about to change the subject. Involuntarily, you shiver at his touch, and he definitely notices, because he suddenly looks a little smug.

“Pretty dress,” He hums, tilting his head. 

You weren't trying to make a good impression on Lando, but you weren't exactly not trying, if that makes sense. It doesn't really make sense to you, but you’d gone for cute but comfy with a dress you’d borrowed, hoping it says you’d made an effort, but not too much of one. 

Suddenly you can’t remember what you were just thinking about not being at a certain stage of comfort with one another. Is it weird that you're secretly pleased he liked it enough to mention it?

“It’s not mine,” You say softly. Lando lets out a noise of question. “I borrowed it from Maren.” 

“Ah. Well, you should definitely get one for yourself then. It’s a nice color on you.” 

You want to say thank you, or really just say anything at all, but the moment your gaze flicks back up to his, you’re lost in his eyes again. Everything around you blurs into the background until it feels like it’s just the two of you. You’re teetering on the edge of something, and fuck, it would be so easy to just go over. To let yourself fall and fall and fall into his waiting arms at the bottom. 

Suddenly you hear your own voice in your head.

Don’t get attached. 

Clearing your throat, you pull back from Lando as smooth as you can manage with him muddling up your brain like this. “It’s late. We should get going,” You say, a tad louder than necessary. 

“She’s right,” Camille chimes in, taking note of the slight urgency in your tone. “We’ve got a guided hike in the morning—sunrise, can you believe it?” 

Lando’s mouth dips into a tiny frown for a moment, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. He nods understandingly. “Sure. I’ll walk you out.” 

You all say your goodbyes and thank you’s, to which the boys wholeheartedly agree you should all do this again sometime before you part ways. 

Lando trails behind a bit like he’s unsure, but catches up to you quickly on the way out, shoulder bumping against yours lightly as you fall into step with each other. His hand brushes yours and lingers a little, pinkies almost intertwining. 

“Tonight was nice,” He says casually. 

“Yeah, it was,” You agree, bobbing your head. 

“Would you—I dunno, maybe want to hang out again?”

“With you guys? ‘Course we would, I’m sure the girls would love to.” You smile, casting a glance at your friends. They’ve all coincidentally already gotten into the car, but if you squint hard enough you can see them gawking at Lando and yourself through the windshield.

How very not subtle of them. 

Lando rocks on the balls of his feet almost nervously, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “No, I meant, like…just the two of us.” 

“You mean, like, alone?” 

“A date. I’m trying to ask you out on a date,” He blurts, nose scrunching. “And failing miserably apparently.” 

“Oh!” You feel your face burn hot, yet you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried. You’re about to take him up on the offer, but before you can say a word, another voice pops into the conversation. 

“Yes! She says yes! Whatever you’re asking, her answer is yes!” Samira yells through the window enthusiastically, muffled through the glass but still very audible.

Neither you nor Lando can stop the laughs that escape your mouths, especially when you turn around and all three girls are shooting you excited thumbs ups. 

“Guess that’s settled then,” You giggle, turning back to face him. 

“It’s a date.” He pushes forward, catching you by surprise when he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. As cliche as it sounds, the touch of his lips against your skin, although fleeting, sends a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “I’ll text you later to plan, yeah? Get home safe.” 

He waits for you to pull around the circular driveway, and as his waving form gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, a glimmer of hope worms its way through you. 

In the back of your mind, you know you should keep it in check. This could be totally casual. A short summer fling that won’t hurt anyone no matter how it ends. But maybe, just maybe, it could turn into something more. 

-------

Your schedules don't end up giving you a free afternoon together until a few days later, though you come to realize it only makes you look forward to seeing Lando again even more. 

You're supposed to be meeting him at the local market in the center of town at half past one, but you find yourself there early, wanting to get a lay of the land before he gets there.

Evidently Lando had the same idea, because you spot him within the first few steps into the open air marketplace, squatting next to a stand with crates and buckets of bright flowers. He’s already got a bouquet clutched in his hands, but still he browses through the different bunches. 

“Flowers for Max?” You joke. 

Lando shoots to his feet so fast he nearly hits his head on the lightbulb hanging above, only managing to miss it by mere inches as he startles at the sudden voice. When he realizes it’s just you, he snorts with laughter. “He wishes! They’re for you, actually.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah, you,” He says teasingly. You don’t even know what to say. Flowers on the first date might be normal, yet nobody’s ever done it for you before. You’re touched, but he must take your silence as something else, because his smile drops the tiniest bit. “Unless you see something you like better? I can still put these back.” 

You study the flowers he’s picked out already. A little on the smaller side, it boasts a beautiful mix of both soft and brighter colors while still being simple—it’s exactly the sort of thing you would’ve chosen if you were buying flowers for yourself. “They’re perfect.” 

He pays for the flowers and passes them over to you with the biggest smile on his face, one that grows even bigger when you tuck them carefully into the crook of your arm after giving the delicate blossoms a sniff. 

You notice the camera hanging around his neck at that moment, despite knowing close to nothing about golf, you do know a thing or two about photography. “Golfer and photographer? Impressive.” 

“Amateur at best.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you're just being modest.” 

“Not even a little bit. I just enjoy taking pictures of things I like.” 

He swings around to face you fully, bringing the camera up to his eye and pausing only a second to make sure you're in focus before snapping a photo of you. The shutter clicks twice before you have the sense to hold up a hand out in front of you, a surprised laugh spilling from your mouth. Even then he grins, takes another one before lowering the camera. "What, you don't like having your photo taken?" 

“I’m just not very photogenic!” 

Lando scoffs immediately, shooting you a pointed look. “That is such a lie.” 

“I probably just broke your fancy expensive camera,” You joke. 

“We’ll just have to wait til I get it developed and see. I think it’ll turn out wonderful.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” 

“I’ll buy you dinner. If I’m right, then…you let me buy you dinner.” 

You let out a noise of surprise. “Well, that doesn’t seem very fair, does it? You’d have to buy me dinner either way.” 

“I can think of worse things than taking a pretty girl out for a nice meal.” His words take you by surprise, but judging by the smug grin on his face, Lando takes pride in eliciting a reaction from you. “Shall we?” And just like that, he’s sauntering off down the path like he didn’t just leave you at a loss for words, pep in his step even as he turns around to shoot you a roguish smile. “You coming or what?” 

You push aside the fluttering in your chest, giving your head an amused shake before catching up with him. It’s cute that he thinks he’s funny. Even cuter that he seems rather eager to take you out on a second date before the first one has even started. 

The two of you wander through the market aimlessly, stopping here and there at various stalls to have a look around. If you had the means, you’d buy everything you see. You wind up picking up some gorgeous looking fruit and a bottle of locally pressed wine, a few small souvenirs for your family back home, but the most important thing you buy isn’t even for you. 

Lando had lingered at a stall selling handmade jewelry early on, seemingly interested in a woven bracelet of blues and whites, but didn't pick it up. Part of you wonders why, but it sparks an idea in your head. 

You tug at Lando’s arm lightly, smiling guiltily when he turns to look at you. “I think I left my phone at that fruit stand a few stalls back.” 

“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your body, you muppet,” He chides, shaking his head fondly. “C’mon, let’s find it.” 

“No, I can get it. Why don’t you find us something good for lunch? I’m starving.” 

“Are you sure?” Lando cocks his head, shoulder bumping against yours. “I don’t mind.” 

“I’ll be right back,” You promise. To sweeten the deal, you make the bold move of pressing a kiss to his cheek. He freezes under your touch, but you pass it off as him not expecting it and being taken by surprise. “Two minutes, okay? Maybe less.” 

As soon as you confirm he isn’t paying any attention to you, you slip back through the crowd, finding the same stall and buying the bracelet he’d been looking at. You tuck it safely into your pocket, quickly making your way back to Lando before he realizes you’ve been gone long and comes looking for you. 

“All good?” He asks upon noticing you reappear by his side. 

You wiggle your phone in the air. “Never better. What's for lunch?” 

Lando grins happily, reciting the spiel that the very friendly older man at the food stand gave to him when he’d decided on the delicious looking food. Sure, maybe he stumbles over his pronunciation a little bit, but you find his giggled embarrassment sweet. 

You find a semi-secluded bench a little jaunt away to enjoy your food, and you do enjoy it. You think it might be one of the best things you’ve ever had, and when you tell Lando, he looks pleasantly surprised. As you continue to savor every bite, Lando’s eyes light up with amusement, so much so that you wonder what’s suddenly got him all smiling big like this. 

“What?” You say incredulously. 

He gestures to the lower part of his face. “You’ve got a little…” 

Mortified, you mirror his actions on your own face, searching for the food you’ve somehow gotten smudged on your chin. After a few tries that have him shaking his head, you whine, “Help me, please?”, to which he obliges with a soft chuckle. He reaches out, thumb rubbing at the corner of your mouth briefly. 

This moment almost seems too intimate, but then again, so have a lot of moments between the two of you. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’ve still got something on your face, but then his gaze flicks down to your lips again almost imperceptibly, and you have an inkling of what’s about to happen. 

“Did you get it?” You ask softly. You’re not sure why you break the silence, but it's definitely not because you don’t want him to kiss you. If you think about it, you’ve wanted Lando to kiss you this whole time. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I got it," He replies. His hand lingers, long fingers splaying flat under the curve of your jaw now. You surprise yourself by shifting forward slightly, as if encouraging Lando to close the gap. He leans in closer and closer still, and your eyes fall shut on their own accord, heartbeat hammering against your rib cage. 

You nearly melt the moment his lips touch yours, held up only by the firm grasp of his hand cupping your face. It’s a little awkward with the food in between the two of you blocking you from pushing closer to him, but you make it work, reaching over it to wrap your fingers around Lando’s forearm. You feel like you need it to ground yourself, because holy shit, you’re kissing him. 

Well, more like he’s kissing you, because you’re definitely not the one leading the way. Lando kisses like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and judging by how you feel weak in the knees when you’re not even standing, he does know exactly what he’s doing. 

You’re falling, falling, falling, getting lost in him, until— 

“Wait, hang on,” He breathes, pulling away. Your eyes flutter open in an almost dazed sort of way, focusing on him in hopes of finding him in the same state, but all you’re met with is…guilt? Sadness? Shame? Maybe a mixture of everything, you’re not sure. All you know is that it has your heart plummeting in your chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Everything hits you at once, and suddenly you’re crashing back down to reality. Lando thinks kissing you was a mistake. You were so sure he liked you back, sure enough to go on a date with him, and now here you are with egg on your face, feeling unbelievably stupid. Hurt. 

“I’m gonna—I have to go,” You mumble, scrambling to your feet. You don’t even have an excuse prepared, you just need to get out of here, get away from Lando before you spontaneously combust from the sheer embarrassment. 

His hand encircles your wrist before you can make it even a step away. 

“No, no, don’t! Please, just let me…let me explain. I promise things will all make sense in a second, if you’ll just hear me out,” He says pleadingly. Despite your better judgment, you sit back down, expression guarded. Lando blows out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly. “Look, I like you. I really like you, and I wish things were as simple as that, but there’s things I’ve not told you. Things that, if you knew, you might not want to be with me.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, burying your burning face into your hands with a muffled groan. “Oh my god, you are in the mafia, aren’t you?” 

“The—what?” Lando blurts, sounding wildly confused. “No, I’m not, I’m not in the mafia. Are you mad? I’m a Formula 1 driver!” 

You crack one eye open, then the other. “Formula 1.” You repeat, disbelieving. “Like, the racing thing?”  

He nods enthusiastically, tells you everything—how his childhood dream turned into a career, how he gets to travel all around the world doing what he loves. The fame, the lifestyle, the opportunities he’s worked so hard for, all while sounding entirely humble and grateful for everything and everyone who’ve gotten him to where he is today. 

It’s impressive, to say the least. The fact that he’s still fairly young and has already accomplished more than what some people have in a whole lifetime. Then he gets to how the chaos that doing what he does at the level he does it at wreaks havoc on other parts of his life, and you feel a wave of sympathy roll over you. 

The tradeoff for all that success is not getting to have a normal life in almost every aspect, and given the downward set of his brow as he tells you about it, this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation with someone. 

“It makes being in a relationship…difficult, is the best way I can describe it. I’m never in one place more than a week most times, and the whole time zones thing makes it harder too. And after these two weeks are up, I’m already off to somewhere else, jumping right back into the second half of the season and hitting the ground running.” 

Realization hits you like a truck at this point, and you have to fight the urge to laugh out loud. Of course Lando is who he is. Of course you had to form a connection with someone with a life as complicated and as far away from your own as possible, someone who couldn’t be in a normal relationship even if he wanted to. 

“I wish it were different, but I just—I wanted you to know what you might be getting into if we…” He trails off, but you know what he means. If we want to get involved with each other. If we want to be together. 

“So like, long distance, but infinitely harder.” You’re doing your best to put a light spin on the massive amount of new information you’ve just acquired, but you’re barely managing to process it all, let alone even think about what it would be like to date someone as well known as Lando. 

“Yeah, something like that,” He says softly, shoulders creeping up towards his ears. “It’s—well, it’s a lot of baggage for anyone to have to deal with. Lots of eyes and ears, pretty public. Not really your cup of tea, I’ve noticed.” 

He’s right. You’ve never been one to enjoy being the center of attention, preferring to fly under the radar. Blend into the background. And you hate to say it, but knowing all of what he’s just told you changes things. You don’t think you can handle being thrust into the public eye, and it makes you feel like the most selfish person in the world to walk away from him just because of who he happens to be. 

Your life would be forever altered, your sense of privacy and security gone, and that isn’t something you want to compromise. You’re comfortable being nobody significant. With Lando, that would change, no matter how many measures you take to make sure it doesn’t. 

As much as you’ve come to like him—and you really like him—it’s just not something you can see yourself being fully okay with. 

“I’m so sorry, Lando,” You say quietly. He just smiles sadly, like he already knew it was coming, and you can't help but think about how many relationships—platonic or romantic—that he's lost out on because of his status. The thought alone makes you feel even worse. “I like you too, but I can’t—I don’t think I can be what you want me to be. It’s not me, it’s not the way I can live my life.” 

“Don’t be sorry. You haven’t got a reason to be,” He murmurs, thumb rubbing across your knuckles comfortingly. “Knew it was too good to be true, didn’t I?” 

“I’m sorry,” You say again, hoping that Lando knows you truly mean it. “I wish it were different, but—”

Lando shakes his head, interrupting before you can grasp for any other ways to apologize. He squeezes your hand reassuringly again. “Hey. It’s alright, I promise. I’d never ask anyone to do something they aren’t comfortable with. Especially not you.” 

Even when he’s sad, he’s still so thoughtful. It would take a different kind of awful monster not to want to be with him. Apparently that monster is you. 

You wish you were someone else, someone who could take huge changes in stride and never miss a step, but you’re not. Someone who knows what they want and goes for it—who knows who they want and doesn’t let anything get in their way. 

Unfortunately, you’re not that kind of person. 

“What do we do now?” 

Lando drops your hand to run his fingers through his curls, down to the back of his neck sheepishly. “Dunno about you, but I’ve—d’you think there’s any chance we can still be friends? I really do enjoy spending time with you lot, we all do.” 

“Friends would be nice,” You say softly. It feels strange to agree with him so wholeheartedly. 

Maybe it’ll be awkward between the two of you, maybe you won’t even be able to sit next to each other with what’s happened today, but you can’t bring yourself to care all that much. The only thought running through your mind is that you don’t want to lose Lando, even as just a friend. 

You’ve gotten attached. 

The bracelet you’d bought Lando burns a hole through your pocket. It would be weird to give it to him now, after you’d just turned him down, but you can’t exactly just return it either. You don’t really want to. 

Maybe it won’t go to him, but you’re sure you’ll find something to do with it someday.

The girls are waiting in the living room when you finally make your way home, gathered on the sofa with identical innocent smiles like you hadn’t seen them with their heads poked through the curtains. Samira bounces off the cushions with what you can only describe as a gleeful cackle to grab your flowers, showing them off to the other two like a game show host before grabbing your hand and dragging you into the center of their blanket pile. 

You know they're expecting good news and you wish you could give it to them, but you can’t. 

“So??? How’d it go?” 

“He got her flowers, obviously it went well!” 

“Okay, spill, now,” Camille presses, easing the bouquet out of Samira’s hands and setting it on the coffee table. “What’s he like, what’d you do—” 

“When’s your second date?” chimes in Maren excitedly. The other two nod their vigorous agreement. 

“Lando’s amazing,” You sigh, letting yourself fall back against the plush pillows. “He’s super sweet and really funny, we walked around and looked at all the vendors, and then we had lunch and talked for ages, and…there won’t be a second date.”

“What? That’s impossible, you guys were like, made for each other!” 

You sigh, rub at a flower petal that’s fallen away from the bouquet. “It’s complicated. I don’t—I’m not ready to get into all of it again this soon, but long story short, our lives are just too different. Being with him would mean compromising things I’m just not ready to lose right now.” 

If any of them wants to push for a better explanation, and you know they do, they refrain from doing so. They know you’ll tell them when you’re ready. 

But even Samira can tell you’re not quite as okay as you insist you are, and she’s been rooting for you extra hard. She leans her head onto your shoulder, squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You did what was best for you, and that’s all that matters.” 

“We agreed to still be friends, so we can still hang out with the guys and stuff like that, but—I mean, yeah, it just didn’t work out.” You don’t think you sound very convincing at all, but it’s the bed you've made, you’ve got to lay in it. “I just don’t really want to talk about it right now, but it's fine. I'm fine.” 

It has to be. You have to be. You’ve made sure of it.

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[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Where'd You Come From?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: An adorable customer wanders into your bakery and introduces you to someone you'd never met, who piques your curiosity. Takes place after Season 3 when Din and Grogu have been living in their cabin on Nevarro. This is the first fic in my Sugar, Spice, and Starlight Series!

Tropes: Fluff, Meet Cute, Bakery AU, Grumpy vs. Sunshine

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: I don't think there's really any? The reader is really soft and likes to bake? The reader simping over a man's voice (as we all should)? Din might be a little bit OOC. It's mostly just fluff.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! This is my first time writing for Din, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: Honestly, I've been kinda afraid to post this for a while, but @jollyhunter thank you so much for encouraging me! You're a wonderful friend 💗

The smell of fresh bread, cinnamon, and brown sugar wrapped you in a blanket of warmth as you pulled a tray from one of the large ovens at the back of your bakery. It was not the first tray to be born of flame and love today, nor would it be the last.

You smiled down at the perfect pan of browning pastry with pride swelling in your chest, admiring your handiwork. It had been two days since you opened your small bakery tucked into the corner of a colorful street on Nevarro and you were already convinced that it was the best decision you had ever made, despite your older brother's insistences that you were crazy for doing so.

Sure, Nevarro was in the middle of nowhere, was populated by angry bounty hunters, and probably wasn't the safest place to live, but you loved it. Every day there was a market that opened in the early hours of the morning, close enough that you could wander through the colorful stalls meeting new people, trying food and sweets from all over the galaxy, and browsing through the handcrafted wares the others sold. On weekends the new fountain in the center of town was surrounded by parents while children squealed and ran through the cooling sprays of water. It was a lovely place to sit and soak up the warm sun, while your mind slipped into the soothing prose of a book perched on your knee.

The longer you stayed on Nevarro, the more you felt apart of its growing community and the more you felt like you belonged there. You hadn't felt like you belonged anywhere in years, not after you lost your grandmother, and you were left with an cold empty house filled with echoes of someone long gone, shades of a life you lived that could only exist in your memory.

Your brother had left you years before, angry, fueled with a fire to make the people who destroyed your home and orphaned the two of you pay, choosing rather to leave you with your grandmother than watch from the sidelines.

But you never blamed him for leaving when he was only fifteen and you barely ten. You weren't angry anymore about losing your parents to the war the way so many others had. Maybe it was because you'd lost them when you were too young to remember their faces while your brother was still haunted by the voice of your mother singing him to sleep.

But you supposed that without your grandmother you never would have fallen in love with baking and found the thing that made you feel whole and brought you comfort when everything else seemed to fall apart around you. It was her that fueled your own love of baking, tempered it and helped it grow from a small spark to a burning flame.

Her constant praise and encouragements in the time the two of you spent tucked into her kitchen filled with light and love made you the person you were today. She taught you everything you knew, spoke about opening a bakery of her own for years, but never did. You knew that she would have wanted you to sell the house to do what she couldn't, so you did, and you didn't look back.

The constant flow of customers in and out of the shop, the chatter that rose from patrons sitting on the carved wooden tables made of strong smooth wood, and the people who continued to say how wonderful it was to have you there only supported your decision to move here.

She would have loved this.

You think to yourself with a smile, gaze falling to your grandmother's overstuffed book of recipes that sat with pages fanning on the counter, before you drop your free hand to smooth a wrinkle from the floral apron wrapped around your waist. One of hers that you'd tied there for good luck over your dark blue skirt.

You supposed that it was working given the fact that you'd completely sold out of treats yesterday and now already halfway through the third day, you were out of some of your favorites.

At this rate I'm going to have to hire someone else to work the counter for me.

You never imagined to have this kind of response, but now you lived for it.

The fresh tray you pulled from the oven is heavy, but it's a pleasant weight. You maneuver through the cozy kitchen to place it on the counter where the sweet buns could cool before you iced them with the thick periwinkle colored frosting chilling in the refrigerator in the corner, but as you do, you hear the front door chime.

It was later in the day, and you were taking advantage of the lull before you expected another rush of customers to come in. The last patron had left fifteen minutes ago, placing her ceramic mug in the big plastic bin on top of the trashcan by the front doors, before walking out with a cheerful "goodbye."

The smile you have when you hear the jingle is genuine, the prospect of sharing your gift of baking with someone else warming your heart.

"One minute." You call, arranging the tray on the crowded countertop before you wipe your flour covered hands on the apron at your waist and make your way through the green curtain that hangs in the doorway of the kitchen, dividing the front and back of the shop. Your eyes flick upwards, expecting to see someone standing there behind the counter waiting for service, but the shop is empty.

"Hello?" You ask tentatively, looking over the counter at the empty wooden chairs and tables arranged beyond before the doorway and wide windows at the front of your shop. Sunlight filters through the glass in happy patches of light, illuminating the furniture just inside the door.

But no one answers you.

That's weird.

You hear something make a cooing noise, but you still can't see anyone, and there's a small part of you that's disappointed someone left without asking for help.

The odd noise sounds again, almost like the small multicolored bird-like creatures in the cages hanging above the shop next door.

Maybe one got out and is trapped in here somewhere.

The thought makes your fingers itch for the broom leaning in the corner, expecting something to come swooping down at you from the rafters above. Nothing was worse that finding out at the last minute that something you were trying to shoo could fly.

You walk around the counter looking for the source of the sound while bracing yourself for attack, but stop when you see a little green creature swaddled in brown cloth standing in front of the one of the glass cases loaded with sweets. He turns his gaze in your direction, presses his little three fingered hand against the glass, and coos softly as if asking you for one of the treats that sit in organized rows within.

"Um-" You look around the room hoping to see an adult, someone who he belongs to, but there's no one. "Hey there little guy." You stoop down next to him so you can see him better.

The creature smiles and gurgles happily, tapping his hand against the front of the case filled with pastry again to make a point.

"Where's your mommy?" You pick him up gently, cradling him in your arms. "Did you get lost?"

He coos again and touches your chin with a smile so cute that it's impossible not to return it. The sharp nails catch against your smooth skin, but you don't mind.

He's so cute.

You think to yourself with a soft smile.

I wonder who he belongs to?

You bite the inside of your cheek and contemplate what you should do. You were still relatively new on Nevarro and hadn't introduced yourself to the sheriff yet, but you'd heard of her. The problem was you had no idea where Cara Dune would be at this time of the day and you'd never seen a creature like him walking around when you went to the market or... really seen a creature like him ever.

I can't just keep him! Someone could be looking for him and it wasn't on my agenda today to become a kidnapper. I mean, that's never on my agenda, but today isn't any different!

You raise your eyes to look out the front door and large windows of your bakery, watching a few people pass by, but you don't see anyone resembling the child in your arms.

A sigh builds in your chest, contrasting the thrumming anxiety building in your body.

Maybe I should feed him, he looks hungry. And if his family doesn't come in by the end of the day I'll go find Cara Dune. She's got to know who he belongs to.

It seemed like a good plan, plus you figured the way that the creature was looking at the pastries it wouldn't hurt to give him a little something before you tried to find his family.

"Well, I don't really know how you ended up in here, but somebody's gotta be looking for you." You sigh, softly stroking his green ears. He wriggles in your arms, sighing under his breath and leans into your comforting touch. "Are you hungry?"

He turns and waves his hand at one of the glass cases loaded with multi-colored pastries again.

"Guess that's a yes." You laugh as you walk back around the case to place him on the counter right next to the register resting in between the two glass displays. "Sit here cutie. I'll get you something."

He waits patiently on the counter kicking his little feet where they hang over the edge, while you turn to the case on your left and grab a Uj'alayi square, a traditional Mandalorian sweet, from the display. The brown sticky pastry crumbles in his little hand as you give it to him. "This one's my favorite. It's my mother's recipe."

Your mother had been born on Mandalore years before the Clone Wars, but she'd left when she met your father, taking the traditions from her family with her to start anew. You'd never met any of her family members before and supposed that they died in the purge of Mandalore. The recipe for Uj'alayi was one of the only things you had left of her, something you'd found in the box of belongings pulled from the remnants of your home following it's destruction.

It had taken you years to perfect the recipe, thought that making it would awaken some memory deep inside of your mother, but it never did. Your brother, Ezekiel, remembered the moments that slipped between your fingers like running water, seeping through the cracks in your memory of the fleeting moments you'd spent with your parents before they were killed.

When the creature bites into the square, he gurgles, his dark eyes blinking at you and crinkling slightly from the lights that line the ceiling of your shop.

"I know. Good huh?" You smile and break off a piece of the cake before popping it into your mouth. The crunch of nuts and the tang of the sweet syrup brings a melancholic feeling of nostalgia rising on the crest of a wave, but slowly ebbs out to sea with your exhale.

It wasn't an unusual feeling, you'd been feeling more nostalgic since you'd opened the bakery.

The child munches on the square with a happy giggle and it makes you smile. Sharing your gift of baking always brought joy to your heart, and this was no different.

I wonder where his family is. He's so small, he couldn't have gotten too far, and he shouldn't be out by himself. Something could happen to him.

The thought makes your smile falter. The population of bounty hunters on Navarro had lessened in the months before your arrival, but you weren’t sure that someone as little as him should be walking around by himself.

The front door of the shop opens with a pleasant jingle.

"There you are." Someone sighs in a buzzing monotone.

You glance up from the little one your counter with curiosity, blinking in surprise at who stands in the doorway. Honestly, you weren't expecting it to be a Mandalorian, you were expecting someone else who was maybe a little bit bigger, but also green.

Maybe the little one is a foundling? That or he’s green under that thing.

The thought of the broad shouldered man standing in your shop squeezing pointy ears underneath his helm makes a laugh tickle in the back of your throat.

You'd heard your patrons talk about the Mandalorian who lived just outside of town, in hushed whispers around the crunch of pastry within your shop. The one that everyone steered clear of for fear that he would hurt them and take their children in the night, as if he was a creature that dwelled in a cave crouched over piles of gold. The people in town were all afraid of him, said that he was a blood thirsty bounty hunter who should be avoided at all costs, but seeing him stand here in your shop, arms crossed over his chest, hip cocked to the side, while looking down at the small child on the counter, you don't feel afraid.

The child coos happily and reaches up with two sticky hands opening and closing, asking to be picked up by the intimidating figure.

They never said he was a dad.

Despite their reputation, Mandalorians didn't scare you. When your brother left trying to find an outlet for his anger, he had found solace with a small clan of Mandalorians inhabiting a planet in the Outer Rim. They'd taken him in when he needed a home and given him a place where he could learn to control the rage he kept close to his heart. You were grateful for that, but it didn't make you miss him any less.

Whenever he would visit, he'd bring members of his clan with him all of which who were nothing but kind to you. But you still worried about him.

You worried he wasn't eating enough and when he came you would spend most of your time cooking for him and his new family. It was never a bother, you liked doing that for other people, cooking for them and taking care of them when no one else could. It was a form of comfort and warmth you believed that no one should be deficient of. In your heart everyone deserved to feel at home and have someone who wanted to take care of them.

"He belong to you?" You smile at the man standing just inside the doorway. He's so tall that he'd had to duck when he came in through the front door.

"Yes." He lets out another sigh that pops and crackles in the modulator.

"Well, I'm glad you found him, at the rate he's going, he's probably going to eat everything I have."

The man tilts his head to the side as if confused. You wonder if maybe you came on too strong or if it's just a habit of his, to size up everyone he comes in contact with.

He is a bounty hunter. Probably picked it up along the road somewhere.

His armor is a startling silver, sending flickers of the sunshine behind him over the walls of your bakery. You'd never met a Mandalorian who didn't paint their Beskar. Your own brother's was painted in shades of red and orange, and embossed with his clan sigil in a startling white.

But there was something about this Mandalorian's armor that was almost… pretty, but you supposed it was the same glinting beauty of a knife sitting on a kitchen counter, beautiful but deadly.

You look back down at the creature, who touches your hand and points back at the Uj'alayi in the case as if asking for another. The three fingers are sticky with the remnants of the desert. "Fine. One more. But I don’t want you to spoil your dinner."

You reach back into the case for another crumbling brown square to give to him with a laugh on your lips and watch as the skin around his little black eyes crinkles in gratitude before he bites into the treat.

The Mandalorian approaches cautiously and despite the helmet, you can feel his eyes on you, contemplative and curious.

"Is that Uj cake?" His voice comes out through the harsh buzz of the modulator.

"Yeah it's Uj'alayi. He really seems to like it. Is he your foundling?" When you look up and smile at the helm, you can only see your reflection in the brilliant metal of the armor.

Surprise flickers across your mind. You weren't expecting him to still be wearing the helmet and you're not used to talking to someone who didn't reveal their face to you. It was a little odd.

Whenever your brother or his friend Josh were talking to you, they always took off their helmets, but this felt different.

Honestly, even though he had the visor, you still weren't quite sure where to look to make eye to (through the helmet) eye contact.

Is it rude to tell him to take it off?

You'd never been put in this kind of position before, so you decide to ignore it.

"Yes." The helm turns from you to the other Uj cakes in the case. "Did you make it?"

You nod, blushing with pride.

"Are you Mandalorian? Do you speak Mando'a?" The Mandalorian asks, you can't but help notice that he sounds a little bit hopeful.

"No, I'm sorry. My mother was from Mandalore, it's her recipe." You admit sheepishly.

He nods in understanding.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few moments watching the child eat on your counter, the sticky brown cake smeared against his cheeks.

It gives you a moment to size up the Mandalorian out of the corner of your eye. Again, you're struck by how beautiful the armor is. A brilliant silver and polished to a shine, proud, but not haughty. There's a charcoal cowl that wraps around the base of his throat and extends into a cape behind him and he's wearing a set of tan and brown gloves to ensure that no part of his skin is showing.

I wonder if it gets hot under there. Nevarro isn't exactly temperate.

And when the Mandalorian turns to the left to look at the other mulit-colored pastries in the display case and you catch a glimpse of the sigil of a Mudhorn on his shoulder.

Makes sense that someone so formidable would have that as their clan sigil.

Your brother's clan had the sigil of one of the large birds that inhabited the cliffs of their home planet. Each child had to scale the cliffs and bring back the skull when they came of age to prove their strength and prove that they were worthy of the mark.

I wonder what he did to get that as his sigil.

Your eyes fall back on the creature munching happily on the pastry.

"Look at you, you're a mess." You laugh, pulling a napkin from your pocket and wetting it with your tongue before wiping it over the little one's face to clean him.

He squeals indignantly, but you avoid the impetuous swipes of his hand as he tries to push you away.

"He doesn't like it when you do that." The Mandalorian says, but you can hear some humor come through the crackle of the modulator.

"I can see that." You snort, before disposing of the napkin. "Here, you take some. He really likes it and you should try it. It's my favorite thing to make for the shop." You turn back to the case and wrap up several squares for the Mandalorian to take with him. “I’m-” you say your name, busying yourself with folding the tissue paper around the pastry.

He whispers your name back to you as if he's trying it out and you're not prepared for the warmth that travels through your body when he does.

That's weird.

When you give him the bag, he holds out a handful of credits, but you push his fingers into a fist, feeling the rough scrape of his gloves against your fingertips. "It's okay. Free for first time customers. Plus it was payment enough to see this little one."

You give the kid an affectionate pat on the head, who coos and reaches for your face. It makes you laugh at how friendly he is and you pick him up so he can lay his hand on your cheek. He squeezes it between his fingers, crinkling his eyes with a wide smile. "Aww. You gotta go with your dad now okay? But you can come back and visit me any time you want."

The Mandalorian is watching you, and you again wonder why he hasn't removed his helmet to say hello.

I'll ask Ezekiel about it.

You were sure your brother would be showing up soon. When you sent him the transmission that you finally opened the shop, he said he was excited at the prospect of eating sweets for free, as if he already didn't do that.

I miss him.

It had been at a few months since you'd last seen him, right after you sold your grandmother's home and before you moved to Nevarro. He'd tried to talk you out of opening the shop, asked you to stay with him for a little while, but you thought it was about time you went out on your own.

You hand the child to the man standing on the other side of the counter, trying not to notice how his muscles flex beneath his Beskar when he does or how broad and wonderfully tall he is. So broad and strong that you know he could probably lift you just as easily and the thought makes a flush burn against your cheeks.

Get a grip, he's not a piece of meat.

"Thank you." He says in the buzzing monotone, but it makes you long to hear his real voice.

"You're welcome. Come back anytime."

"We will."

"Good. I'll look forward to it. It was nice to meet you-" You hesitate.  "Um- Actually, I didn't catch your name."

The Mandalorian doesn't answer immediately as if he's mulling it over in his head, while the child coos and giggles in his hand touching the bottom of the helmet on his father's head. It was a startling contrast the the formidable form of the Mandalorian to have a wriggling bundle of joy in his arms, one that made you smile just a little wider.

"Din." He says in a whisper.

"Din." You repeat slowly, rolling the name around in your mouth and enjoying how it sounds on the tip of your tongue. "It was nice to meet you Din." You smile widely up into the helmet, watching the reflection of yourself glinting in the metal.

Din doesn't move for a minute, he's hesitating, and it makes your smile falter on the end of your mouth for a moment in confusion.

Did I do something wrong?

But then he nods once and leaves, the only clue that he'd been there is the almost empty batch of Uj Cake and the brown crumbles covering your counter.

The next few days pass in a blur of you baking, cleaning, and selling as many sweets as you can while trying not to think about Din and the kid, but it's proving to be impossible.

You didn't understand why you were so focused on them. You'd had many customers that day and on the days that followed, but for some reason you couldn't get him out of your head.

When you'd lie awake at night you'd remember how he sounded when he said your name, how you wished that he would remove his helmet to look at you and let you see what he looked like, because with a voice like that the man underneath had to be just as beautiful-

Stop.

You cheeks warm as you clean the counters with a wet rag, your back to the door while you try to forget Din and his voice. This had never happened to you before, being unable to stop thinking about someone.  But each time everything went quiet, your mind would flash to the image of Din ducking to get though the front door of your shop and the sound of his voice through the helm.

The clock on the wall behind the register stated that it was exactly two minutes past closing time, which meant that you were about an hour away from crashing in your bed. You still had to clean the ovens, and pack away any leftover supplies. Not to mention the tossing and turning that came when you would lie awake and think about Din, hoping he would come back.

I need to get over this. He's just a man you met one time. Don't romanticize him.

You blamed the stack of books on your bedside table, the ones you read over and over about adventures all over the galaxy and true love. It also didn't help that you'd never once had a relationship, but why would you when it was more exciting to live vicariously through your favorite heroines? Not to mention you didn't have to make a fool of yourself falling for someone who probably thought you were just a weird person who smiled too much and baked for fun.

You wondered if that was why Din hesitated before leaving the other day when you smiled at him, that he couldn't figure out why you were so happy.

The bell on the door rings behind you, pulling you out of your head.

"I'm sorry we're closed." You respond without turning around, fingers scrubbing with the cloth at a particularly stubborn smudge.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was." Din's familiar voice floats through the air and makes a shiver travel down your spine.

"Din. Hey." You smile as you turn around, waving a hand, cloth still clasped between your fingers. "It's okay, you're always welcome."

He's still wearing his armor and helmet, the silver catching in the dim lights of the room, contrasting with the yellowed light that streams from the streetlights outside and emphasizes his figure.

Your eyes drop to the bag hanging on his hip expecting to see the child, but it lies empty.

"You're alone today." You say a little disappointed, but still happy that Din is here.

"Grogu's asleep. I didn't want to wake him." Din clears his throat.

"Grogu." You say the name back to him slowly. It didn't seem to fit the small child who swung his little feet on the end of your counter and shoved as much pastry into his mouth as he could. "That's an interesting name."

"Came with the kid." Din's voice shifts a little bit and you wonder if it means he's smiling at a memory. Your mind predictably begins to imagine what Din's smile must look like. "I was wondering if you had any Uj cake left." He continues, oblivious to your train of thought.

"You're in luck, I just pulled a tray out of the oven for tomorrow. Come on back." You motion with your hand for him to follow you through the curtain that divides the front of the shop from the kitchen. "Sorry it's a little bit messy, haven't had time to clean up back here yet."

The kitchen looked exactly as it should, two large ovens on the right wall with fire still burning underneath, a sink filled with dirty mixing bowls, spoons, and utensils, a large table in the center of the room that served as a counter top, and in the corner there was a plush armchair that you had fallen asleep in more than once with a book open on your chest.

Your apartment was a few doors down, but you found yourself spending more time here. So much in fact that you were contemplating moving in to the back of the shop. You didn't have many possessions, mostly books, and seriously started thinking about it last night because the people who lived on top of your basement apartment were so loud that you could see the floor vibrating with the sound of their yelling.

You walk over to the tray of reddish-brown pastry cooling a rack in the center of the kitchen.

"It's alright. You should see where I live." He freezes on the edge of the room, realizing what he said, but you only laugh.

"I'm sure its no worse than my apartment. I’ve lived here a few weeks and I’m still not completely unpacked. Each time I go home I have to avoid stubbing my toe on the boxes”  You pick up a knife to cut the pastry into generous sized pieces. "But I guess you liked the Uj cake to come back here so late." You tease him, glancing up with a smile. "Midnight craving?"

He laughs and it makes your heart stutter to a halt. Even through the helmet it's hypnotic and you want to hear it again. "It was good, it reminded me of-" Din stops mid-sentence.

"Of?" You look up into his helm, wanting to hear more.

Truthfully, you were curious about him. You wanted to know more about the Mandalorian who lived on the outskirts of town, the one that everyone else seemed avoid.

"When I was a kid." He says it quieter, almost embarrassed.

"Me too. Whenever I make it I feel like I'm in my grandmother's kitchen again." You smile to yourself as the memory of her washes over you again. "She's been gone for a few years now, but I like to think that I honor her memory by baking, she taught me everything I know. Raised my brother and me by herself." You wrap the squares in tissue paper before placing them in a white paper bag.

"What about your parents?"

His question surprises you, you didn't think that he actually cared enough to listen.

"They-um- they died when I was little. My brother and I were visiting my grandmother when it happened."

"I'm sorry." Din sounds sincere.

You shrug. "I can’t remember them. My brother remembers more..." You trail off a little bit. "It was harder on him, but somehow it all turned out okay." You hand him the bag, but when he tries to reach for the credits at his belt, you push his hand away. "I don't make friends pay."

“But-“

“Din, I refuse to let you pay.” You smile wider, saying it a little more forcefully, but it holds no bite. “Don’t make me ban you for life.” I don't want to do that to Grogu."

He huffs out a laugh. "Thank you." His helmet tilts down towards you and you again try to imagine what he looks like underneath.

Would he have a strong jaw covered in a thick beard? Curly blonde hair that falls past his shoulders? Green eyes with flecks of light that resemble the stars?

No matter how many times you thought about it over the past few days, nothing seemed to fit Din.

There's an audible silence between the both of you as you stand there in the kitchen, and you don't want him to leave yet.

“You’re welcome.” You could feel yourself beginning to blush a little under his gaze. It was odd to feel someone’s eyes on you and not know what they looked like. "Now, don't forget to share with the kid. He deserves some of that too." You say raising an eyebrow and pointing to the white bag in the Mandalorian's hand.

Din chuckles. "Thank you-" He says your name and it makes the warm feeling come rushing back.

Even through the helmet, it was inviting, and made you want to curl up in the feeling it brought over you. You try not to imagine what it might sound like if he wasn't wearing the helmet.

"You're welcome Din. Don't be a stranger."

"I won't." He hesitates again, the same way he did when you'd first met in your shop. Standing in front of you for another few fleeting moments, his head tilted curiously in your direction. And for just a second you think that Din doesn't want to go either.

But he turns and shoulders his way through the curtain hanging in the doorway, boots thudding against the floor, and you hear the jingle of the door as he closes it behind him.

Something inside pricks when he leaves and maybe that scares you the most, the fact that you were already so attached to him and you didn't know anything about him except the rumors everyone in town said. The ones whispered on tremulous breath that condemned the man you were so curious about to be a blood thirsty bounty hunter who couldn't be trusted.

But in your heart those warnings held no power, because the man who'd sincerely cared about you losing your parents, couldn't be the same one.

Could he?

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! If you'd liked to be added to my taglist for fics in this universe please let me know!

Taglist:

@jollyhunter

[ysrjune]

TWINS MONROE - SCOTT AND SAM FIGHTING EACH OTHER IN SCHOOL BECAUSE THEY BOTH LIKE US AND NONE WANTS TO STEP DOWN..also we could later tend sam's face because pookie has dried blood he cleaned with SOAP and thinks it's enough

- your faithful, 🐇

find a reason to change 🧊

a/n: the monroe twin au will forever haunt me but i love them

“you really think she likes you?” scott shoves his brother into a locker. "yeah, I do. you dont know how she is with me, man. shes nice and she understands me." sam shoves scott back. "oh my God, sam. you're so fuckin' delusional," scotty shakes his head, smiling. "just cause a girl is nice to you doesnt mean she wants 'ta be with you." he laughs in his brothers face. people were already crowding around them in the halls. scott was known to be a dick to his brother in school. teasing him with the other popular kids and playing pranks on him.

sam was embarrassed for the millionth time. usually he would never stand up to his brother because he'd end up getting beat up by him at home, but today was different. he liked you and he wasnt gonna give you up to scott. ".. shut up." sam crosses his arms. "see?? you're such a bitch. she doesnt like you, dude. lay off, alright? shes my girl." his friends stupidly hype him up from behind. "uh-huh, didnt you see them kissing earlier before class?" a friend of scott yells at sam. so many of his brothers friends started giving him shit on how hes such a loser and that girls wouldn't ever give him a chance. that girls only act nice to him because they feel bad.

sam wanted to cry, but he knew that if he did, he'd be the biggest loser ever. without any other thought, sam punched scott right in the nose. "what the hell is wrong with you, sam?!" scott whines with his hand covering his nose for a second. "such a fuckin' drama queen," scott says and punches sam back. you could guess what happened next. it got really bad. sam cut his brothers face with his rings since he was only aiming there. scott left bruises on sams arms and stomach.. but it was even worse when he smashed sams face against a water fountain. it gave the black haired boy an ugly, swollen black eye and a busted up lip.

"sam—I didnt.. I didnt mean to-" "shut the fuck up." sam hid his swelling eye and lip from the crowd. "you meant it with everything in you." he says and calls his dad to pick them up. "Jesus Christ, you two." their dad taps his foot on the ground, taking a good look at his boys. "all this over a girl?" he scoffs with a smile, seeming amused. "she must be a good one." he signs them out and takes them home.

the boys shared a room, but their dad let scott stay in his room so that the boys would be separated for a while to cool off. who was visiting them after school? you. the one who practically caused all of this. "sam?" you call softly at the door. sam looks up at you from his desk and then looks back. "dont come in, I dont want you to see me like this." he shakes his head, clicking around on some websites on his computer. "sam," you sigh and close the door behind you and walk over to him. "dont be embarrassed, sweetie." you tell him and gently take his chin in your hand, making him face up to you. "this is all my fault.. im so sorry." you apologize.

sam didnt say anything, he just kept his eyes on you. "arent you gonna say anything?" you ask. "no.." he looks down. "i dont know what to say.. my face hurts." "scott got you pretty bad, sam. did you wash your face?" "yeah, I wet a paper towel 'n patted it over my face." he sighs, touching his still bleeding lip. "excuse me?" you furrow your eyebrows. "no no no. lets go to your bathroom and wash your face. patting it with a wet napkin wont do you any good."

you rummage through his drawer of unused face prodcuts and use every necessary product. face wash, moisturizer, cream to take swelling down, etc. "there, all better." she smiles. "thought I told you to start using all this, its barley even touched." "like me." sam smiles down at you. "you're a dog." you roll your eyes at him and smile. "and.. just so you know.. I like you way better than your brother. hes a jerk." you kiss his cheek. "really?.. you dont care that im like.. a loser or whatever?" "sam," you shake your head at him. "I dont think you're a loser. you just like to keep to yourself. nothing is wrong with that." sam smiles at your kind words and leans in for a kiss but winces. ".. nevermind. lip still hurts." it looked so nasty, especially with his piercing.. but it didnt look as bad as it did when it wasnt cleaned.

"we can try that again when you're all better." you ruffle his hair to which he groans. "thats gonna take such a long time!" "two weeks at most, sam. dont be a baby." you cup his face and kiss his nose. "ill be back. I wanna check on scott." sam rolls his eyes but lets you go.

"i seriously didnt mean to, babe! he just.. pissed me off." scott says while you put bandaids on his sliced up cheeks. "you're always mean to him, scott. its not fair. sometimes he just wants to talk to you at school and you make fun of him." you frown. ".. he embarrasses me. you dont know what its like to have a weird ass brother like him." "scott, hes your family! you're such an asshole." you shake your head and finish up. "you should be ashamed of what you said to him. I do like him. He likes me." "yeah? I like you too." he stands, towering over you. ".. yeah, I know.. but I don't settle for self centered jerks who make fun of their brothers because he doesn't like to be the center of attention." you cross your arms.

scott sighs, looking around the room and back at you. "so if he asks you out, you're gonna say yes?" "yeah. why wouldn't I? your brother doesnt show me off like an object." scott bites the inside of his right cheek. "I guess.." he tosses his shoulders and sits back down. "'m sorry, pretty. you deserve better than me. 'n lemme be honest, I dont think sam is exactly what you want.. but if he treats you better than me, then go ahead or whatever."

"sounds like you're trying to give me permission or something."" "im not trying to make it sound like that.. im just saying, alright?" he rolls his eyes. "thanks for checking up on me anyway.." he looks up expectantly. you give in and wrap your arms around him. "ill come say bye before I leave." you play with the small curls in the back of his neck. "okay," he says and pulls his head back and steals a kiss. "sorry." he smiles stupidity, making you smile back before you leave.

you spend the rest of the afternoon with sam until it was time to go. you day bye to him, then scott, and then their dad.

@erosmutt @d0llfilth @anakinstwinklebunny @lovebunanon @lovethestarrs @literally-izzy

[writing-whenever-whatever]

Little song bird- I warned you pretty boy

Emperor geta x reader x emperor Caracalla 

Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part5

Summary: it’s a few days till the wedding and your starting to crack, people are ignoring your request and you’ve had enough it only ends in a mess by the end of the day, thinking you’ve messed up you apologise but little did you know this would only make the emperors want you more than ever before

Warning : mdni, violence, blood, gladiator fights, Caracallas blood lust, neck kisses, concubines pushing limits, kissing, hickeys, reader looses her shit, pregnancy talk, lust, not proof read, no details smut sorry xx

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A few weeks have passed and it’s a few days before the wedding the staff around the Palatine are rushing getting everything prepared for the big day but also the festivities that are in the lead up to such a big event. Even though todays events are taking place at a member of the senates home the help around the palace  are still trying to keep everything in order. 

I’m getting dressed early in the morning my servants doing my hair the tunic is a golden silk piece embroidered with flowers and leaves that glisten in the sun “ are the emperors awake “ I ask looking down at one of the maids “ emperor Geta is awake my lady, but emperor Caracalla is still resting” she responds not looking me in the eye as she tucks my hair into a tight braided bun “ I shall wake him once I’m dressed” I sigh quietly looking at the jewellery laying infront of me my hand running over the cold gold necklaces I stop at a gold and emerald necklace curled into a floral design  “ I shall wear this one” I smile sweetly as they place it on me with matching bangles and rings I take in my appearance taking a deep breath “ stunning work today ladies” the maids take a long exhale of relief as they step back looking over their work for a second “ thank you, you may be excused now” they quickly rush off without another word. 

I look out the window looking over the Palaces gardens watching the birds flying and singing in the morning breeze enjoying the freedom of the sky, i notice Geta sat on the edge of the fountain staring up at my window still dressed in his scarlet robe he wore to bed last night, I look down at him giving him a small wave and a smile before I leave to join him. 

As I walk out into the garden Geta has turned to watch the water ripple in the fountain and see the small fish swim amongst the lily pads that float on the surface“ morning” I smile sweetly walking towards him my dress flowing behind me “ morning my love how did you sleep” he asks his attention not moving of the water as I sit next to him “ I slept well thank you” I rest my hand on top of his making him look at me a smile comes across his face as he takes in my beauty 

“ you’re dressed beautifully” I blush resting my head on his shoulder “ you look lovely also” I giggle as he raises his eyebrows “ really?” He chuckles looking down at himself “ I think you look good in everything you wear Geta” he scoffs shaking his head “ your flattery works on me song bird you should know that” he kisses my cheek before rising from his spot “ are you ready for today’s festivities“ he asks offering me his arm which i take meeting him at his side “ I think so, but I will have to wake Caracalla to make myself completely ready to go” he nods chuckling “ let us pray that he’s in a good mood today “ he adds looking down at me as I hum in agreement “ it’ll be fun trust me” he runs his hand up my arm “ I believe you” my voice soft as we make our way up to Caracallas bed chamber and hear yelling from inside and then loud crashes. 

I quickly open the door rushing in to see a maid cowering on the floor her legs scraped and bleeding, a table had been flipped over and a vase had been thrown at the girl “ I told you to leave him” I look down at her my voice calm but cold, trying not to startle Caracalla i walk towards him slowly “ my love are you ok” I coo to him my hand brushing against his cheek as his maddened cloudy eyes turn gentle, a stuttered breath escapes his lips his head nuzzling into my warm hand “ I’m alright ” his voice is stifled by his nervous twitches 

“ let us get you ready for today “ I smile sweetly as I look down at his partially nude form only covered by a scrunched up bed sheet “ very well” he sits on the edge of the bed as I turn to the maid “ I will dress him, you clean up the mess you caused” I snap slightly causing her to scramble to her feet cleaning up the smashed pieces of pottery. 

Caracalla grabs my hand pulling me into him “ don’t leave” he whispers his voice barely audible as he holds me close “ I’m not going anywhere “ I smile at him as he rests his chin on my shoulder “ what do you want to wear today “ I look at him smiling sweetly as he looks at me a smirk cracking into his face “ surprise me” I get up walking towards his wardrobe looking through all his extravagant clothes finally pulling out a red and gold patterned tunic with two large golden broaches and a chain “ this one” I pull it out bringing it to him “ I think it’ll flatter you quite well” I smile as his eyes scan over it “ very well my love” he gets up as I help dress him and get him neatened up combing my hands through his messy hair making him hum slightly as my nails scratch against his scalp. 

I step back looking over him a grin coming to my face “ you look perfect “ he smiles hooking his arm around my waist “ not as perfect as you” I rest my head on him gently as Geta walks in, now dressed in a gold and blue tunic “ great we’re all ready” he claps his hands together smiling as he looks over both me and Caracalla I hold his arm gently walking towards Geta “ we’re expected to leave very soon “ I nod smiling more as he joins my other side “ let us go to the chariots  and get comfortable “ Caracalla suggests as he looks down at me “ perhaps we could have some wine” I smile sweetly as we walk out to the golden chariot waiting, taking a seat by the window next to Caracalla and opposite Geta. 

Both boys sit staring out the window getting settled in their seats “ so what’s gonna happen when we get there” I ask tilting my head slightly “ there will be food, drinks, people to talk to and entertainment “ geta smiles looking at me I hear Caracallas gasp his eyes going wide with excitement “ you’ll witness your first gladiator fight” he claps his hands a grin wide on his face “ obviously you’ll be sat with us, so if you get squeamish we’re here” Geta a adds quickly taking my hand in his holding it tightly “ sounds fun “ I smile turning to look at them as the chariot starts to move slowly through the streets of Rome. 

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As we pull up at the senators home we’re greeted by crowds of people who are cheering children throwing flowers petals and waving wanting to get our attention as Geta and Caracalla leave the chariot I take a guards hand as I step out, the sun blinding me as I come face to face with the public.

A young girl runs up to me holding a bunch of violets and daisies I smile bending down to the girl her eyes gleaming as she passes me the flowers “ for you empress” her voice is tiny and sweet as I take the flowers “ thank you they’re beautiful “ I smile going into my pocket pulling out a coin “ this is for you, sweet girl keep it safe “ I place it into her small hand as she squeezes it tightly her smile beams as she runs back to her mother in the crowd, I rise to my feet waving to the people as I catch up to Geta and Caracalla, they both smile at me looking at the flowers I hold in my hand “ they love you” Geta exclaims a chuckle leaving his lips “ obviously who wouldn’t “ Caracalla laughs taking my free hand as we enter the senators home.

The house is smaller than the palatine walls and floors a glistening marble with expensive decorative vases and ornaments scattered around the halls as people bustle through talking to each other, a band are singing with instruments playing and exotic foods like rhino are on the table as we walk in things fall silent as they turn to look at us 

senator thraex comes up “ ah emperors empress welcome to my home I hope you’ll enjoy yourself indulge in some food you look starved” he smiles as he kisses Caracalla and getas hands I hold onto Caracallas arm tightly as I get knocked into by others causing me to stumble slightly “ ugh watch where you’re going “ I snap slightly staring daggers at one of the women who barged I to me “ my apologies my lady” they bow their heads rushing of quickly “ do they bother you my love” Geta asks his voice low as I shake my head “ it’s quite alright” I smile through gritted teeth trying to hide my growing annoyance, following them to a large seat at the front of the hall “ this is for you the best seats in the house “ senator thraex smiles starting to blabber on as we take a seat I sit between both boys sitting comfortably as the senator leaves us to our own company.

“ there’s a lot of people here” I say looking at Geta as he pulls my back into his chest  humming in agreement I giggle slightly as Caracalla pulls my legs into his lap “ get comfortable song bird thier will he lots of sitting around and chatter” he smirks as he spots the horde of concubines coming towards our direction gathering around us I can’t help but let a grimace slip on my face watching how they beg for attention from those above them. A woman sits on the arm of the sofa next to Geta, her left tit hanging out of her revealing garments as she strokes his arm gently giggling sweet nothings into his ears making me feel sick and a rather feminine looking man sits bellow Caracalla resting against his knee slightly as he leans back against Caracallas open man spread his hand wandering closer to my thigh every so often making me flinch back slightly. The others seem to just gather around watching everyone. 

Suddenly senator thraex enters the room again clapping to get everyone’s attention “ everyone get back get back” he announces before turning to look at us again bowing “ my emperors, lords, ladies and gentlemen and senators for your entertainment, the art of combat” the crowd seems to get excited gasping and clapping as i feel the emperors shuffle forward in their seats moving me with them. Now I’m closer the the male concubine, who’s hand now seems to be caressing my thigh causing uncomfortable goose bumps to form under his touch. I swat his hand away making him chuckle just to move his hand back moving it higher, I sit up causing getas attention to fall back to me, I look at the man dead in the eye as grabbing his wrist “ touch me again and I will cut your hand off do you hear me” I snarl under my breath glaring at him he nods snatching his hand out of my grip his breath escaping him with a grumbling sigh as I lay back into getas arms I smile up at him “ all is fine my love” I reassure him as he looks back at thraex “ may I present the barbarian vs from my own stable the mighty Vichek!” He announces clapping as both men are brought out everyone claps observing both opponents. 

Geta leans to my ear “ who shall we bet on” he looks at me with cunning eyes as I look back at both men the Barbarian seemed small but looked strong willed and fast in his feet and the other seemed big and bulky with muscles but that could limit the matter of wit “ the barbarian” I look at Geta “ he may not have a lot to his name but there’s something about him” Caracalla looks at me hearing my words “ I agree with her brother” they exchange a look then geta turns to macrinus “ is this your gladiator “ he asks his voice raising over the applause “ it’s is” macrinus responds bowing his head slightly as he talks “ three rounds, hand to hand” thraex calls out just to be inerupted by Caracalla “ swords, we want swords a fight to the death” he taps the cheek of the man say infront of him receiving a fucked out look from the boy as he leans back on himself making me giggle as Caracalla rests his hand on my leg squeezing my thigh with a slight bruising force a smug look drifting over his face as his tongue brushes over his bottom lip “no quarter to be offered or given” he glances at Geta “ fight now” his voice impatient as two guards give the men their swords.

I turn to Geta “ isn’t this a bit dangerous giving two slaves swords in an open area such as this” he raises an eye brow hesitating for a second to think as the woman sat on the arm laughs looking at me “ it’s all for the fun my lady, don’t be so worried “ I look at her my lip curling slightly “ I wasn’t talking to you” i grumble slightly as getas hand meets my waist “we’ll be fine my love” his thumb rubs up and down my side as the fight begins. 

Both men circle each other “ brother let’s not kill each other for the sake of their amusement “ the barbarian states just to get lunged at by his opponent I watch my full interest being sucked in as two men dance about their blades occasionally clanging together or ripping through flesh that’s when a bust is picked up off a table and smashed into the mighty Vichek’s head causing him to fall back dazed, a laugh slips from my lips as the two rugish men punch and beat each other punch kicking biting tackling all of the above then the barbarian is slammed into a table I slip off the seat onto the floor next to the male concubine not bothered of how unladylike it appears watching wide eyed my breath heavy with some sort of pleasure, an entertained grin spread across my face as the barbarian stabs the mighty Vichek through the stomach till the blade is visible the other side then he pulls it out the man falling to the floor in a puddle of his own blood I clap my hands applauding such a fight as Geta stands “ remarkable “ he tells laughing as he turns to macrinus “ congratulations “ he smiles looking at the gladiator again “ remarkable “ he repeats himself wandering up to the man “ from where do you hail” he questions his voice filled with confidence just to receive silence back “ speak” he orders “ I said speak” he steps even closer I raise to my feet joining his side taking his hand in mine “ he is from the colonies your majesty his native tongue is all he understands “ macrinus steps in his voice lower than getas but still clear. 

Then the barbarian steps forward out of breath as he pants “ the gates of hell are open night and day smooth is the decent and easy is the way “ he laughs at getas confusion as I hold onto his arm tighter staring at the gladiator as spit comes out of his mouth landing on us with each word causing me to flinch back each time “ but, to come back from hell and to view the cheerful skies in this the task and mighty labour lies “ he stares at Geta a toothy smile on his face as he pants for his breath “ poetry” I mumble under my breath “ by Virgil my love” I look at Geta “ how do you know such a thing” I question looking at the rugged gladiator still not letting go of getas arm as Caracalla wanders towards us “ poetry, very clever macrinus” he laughs as everyone else does “ I’ve grown so bored but you surprise me “ he looks at macrinus laughing more as I turn to him “ to amuse you is my only wish” macrinus assures us with a smile “ we are amused, we are amused” Geta says eyes not leaving the gladiators his grip on my arm tightening

“ we all look forward to seeing your poet perform in the arena “ he smiles as macrinus nods “ so do I your majesties thank you” then the gladiator gets taken away soon to be followed by macrinus. 

Geta and Caracalla exchange looks as I look down at my tunic seeing blood splatters dotted across the fabric I look up and them smiling as we both go back to the sofa the excitement still buzzing in the air as we sip wine and discussing “ you seemed excited “ Caracalla chuckles his hand poking at the splatters of blood on my clothes playing a game of connect the dots “ it was incredible I felt completely compelled “ geta kisses my neck gently “ we knew you’d love it” I lean back on both feeling completely different as if coming down from some sort of high .

———————————————————————

As the day continues to go on, I’m laid back against both brothers after drinking a tad to much wine, my head is spinning slightly as Geta strokes my head gently looking down at me a smile on his face as I look so relaxed no longer bothered by the fact that the concubines have gained more confidence by moving closer to Geta and Caracalla. 

the woman has her hand on getas chest her fingers tangling with his chest hair, as the male concubine sits closer to Caracalla his hand palming the bulge under his robe as Caracalla kisses along his shoulder a dazed grin on his face. I stay laying down half asleep as thraex makes his way towards us “ emperors would your lady like a room she appears quite exhausted “ he offers looking down at me my eyelashes fluttering slightly at I look at him “ I’m quite comfortable here, thank you” I mumble my words slurred as I snuggle down Geta smiles down at me as he places a kiss on my forehead “ leave her be thraex, she’s fine” Caracalla looks down at me “ do you want anything my love” he asks smiling at me with hooded eyes “ I’m alright” I smile closing my eyes again sinking back into their touch. ��

When I wake up I’m curled up between both emperors a wool blanket had been placed over me a male concubine kneels infront of me looking at me, his hand running over my head similarly to how getas was. Geta has a girl in his lap and Caracalla has the other male concubine on his, both of the occupied by both whores who seem to be drowning in the emperors attention . 

My eyes blink getting used to the light around me “ I don’t feel to good” I mumble slightly as the male hushed me “ you’re ok sweet empress “ he coos his voice soft and masculine as I lean more into his touch, it makes both emperors chuckle “ I told you she’d be fine with him brother ” Caracalla chortles a grin on his face the concubine in his lap leans in, taking his bottom lip between his teeth biting it playfully I sit up using the man sat in front of me as support he holds me up slightly, stabling me my head spinning as I move too quickly. 

I look across to both geta and Caracalla observing the state they’re in with whores on their laps giving them everything they could want, I can’t help but roll my eyes as the one on Caracallas lap reaches out to touch my thigh similarly to before my warning still tasting strong on my tongue as i look down at his hand a softer  expression washing over me for a second as i lean to the tray placed next to Geta, I pick up a blade quickly stabbing it into his hand my eyes wild and manic as a devilish laugh escapes Caracalla he stares at the man who screams out “ I warned you pretty boy I told you not to touch me” I pull the blade out his blood spurting out onto my dress ruining it “ now look you’ve ruined my dress” I stand up looking down at the man who clutches his hand hysterical cries escaping him as Caracalla pushes him off of his lap “ you always seem to surprise me “ he breaths against my ear as he takes the blade from my hand passing it to one of the guards who quickly disposes it. 

“ I warned him” I sigh tutting under my breath as I look at the man slowly passing out on the floor I let a small laugh escape me “ but he just kept pushing” a fire seems to be lit behind my eyes as Geta joins my side his hand reaching my shoulder “ come my love, we should leave now” he insists his voice slightly hurried, as we walk back out the the chariot waiting for us when I get in I notice the blood dripping from my thigh from where the knife had gone through the man’s hand and had stabbed into my thigh not to the point where it’s to noticeable. I look at them as they sit opposite me staring “ what” I ask looking at them confused “ I think today went quite well” I smile sweetly at them as they both laugh as we start going back towards the palace 

“ it’s seems sometimes everyone has to get their anger out” Geta looks at me as he observes my face as I watch the streets through the window “ I enjoyed the gladiator fight” I smile sweetly “ and the poetry” I giggle looking down “ I’m sorry if my actions were out of order” he smiles slightly “ they were slightly unusuall, but I think those in court are aware of the madness that comes with royalty” Caracalla looks at me his eyes slightly glossy as he stares his mouth ajar “ you’re even more beautiful covered in blood, red suits you”he smirks shuffling closer to me “ thank you, but I do not want to get too used to having my clothes tainted with blood unless it’s fully necessary “ he smirks his hand moving to my thigh “ it’s always necessary “ his voice is low against my neck a gasp escapes my lips as i move into his lap kissing him passionately his hands instantly moving to my waist as he chuckles “ Caracalla, brother don’t get carried away” Geta warns his brother eyes glaring slightly “ you’re only jealous “ Caracalla scoffs I lean back tilting my head upside down to look at Geta I smile as I pull him down to kiss me a moan escaping my lips as Caracalla kisses down my chest leaving dark red marks along my collar bone 

“ it’s improper to do this before our marriage the gods will be angry “ Geta sighs looking at me “ but gods I want to” he growns “ just a few days left” I giggle kissing him gently as he smiles “ they couldn’t go any slower “ Caracalla chuckles pulling me back up onto his lap his hand landing on my lower stomach “ can’t wait till you’re full of our seed, you belly swollen with our heir” I look at him blushing violently “ it won’t take long” geta smirks looking at me “ I’m sure you’ll be a great mother, i saw how you were with that girl on the streets” he smiles looking at me as i nod “ I’ve always dreamt of having children” I smile sweetly looking at them “ a little girl to pick flowers with and a boy to grow as strong as his father” I lay me head back closing my eyes imagining it “let us hope we can make these dreams a reality” Geta smiles as I hum quietly in response as the chariot pulls to a halt and the door opens welcoming us back to our home. 

As we enter the building my maids rush to me “ my lady a bath has been run for you and a healer has been sent to your chamber” her voice is so fast that it’s barely understandable “ thank you but I’m fine” I look at her “ but you’re bleeding my lady “ she stutters her eyes meeting mine for a second “ there’s no need to worry” I reassure her turning to Geta and Caracalla “ go bathe song bird we have important things to attend to” Geta insists smiling as he places a kiss on my head “ will i see you before bed” I look at them both “ of course my lady” Caracalla smiles kissing my cheek “ be good” he whispers in my ear his hand landing on my ass with a smack making me blush violently as he pulls away walking to the opposite direction . 

————————————————————————

Tag list

@marsmallow433 @fionaapplelover2010

[pipwritesoccasionally]

in sickness and in health

in which you are sick and nanami is a perfect husband!

gender neutral reader this time!

wc: 647

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“(y/n)? hello?” your coworker said, leaning over your desk as you blinked the sound back into your life. 

“hi, yes, sorry. what’s going on?” you asked, looking at her despite the white spots in your vision. you’d been feeling a little bit off that morning, but you didn’t think it was much more than a headache. 

“i’ve been calling your name for the last five minutes. are you sure you’re alright?” she asked, and you waved her off. 

“of course! i probably just slept wrong last night and that’s why i’m so tired.” she nodded skeptically, but left you alone, where you were back to nursing your pounding headache. 

sound was fading in and out, and you felt the pressure behind your eyes building. 

‘i should probably just go get some water,’ you thought, standing up to make your way over to the water fountain, but after your first couple steps, the world started to spin. 

‘shit!’ you thought, and you tried to walk towards the wall, but your body gave out, and the world went dark. 

“someone call nanami!” one of your other coworkers shouted, before you promptly passed out. 

you woke up enveloped in a warm, comfortable scent that you could only recognize as your husband’s. the stretch of throw blankets you’d chosen together was wrapped around your cold body, and you groaned aloud. 

‘what time is it?’ you thought, beginning to get up before two strong hands pushed you back down. 

“sweetheart, you need to rest.” the low rumble of kento’s voice alerted you to his worry, and you blinked your eyes open wearily. 

“kento? why am i home?” you whisper, voice sounding scratchy from disuse and your illness. 

“you passed out at work. i knew there was something up when you were spacing out this morning,” he said, hand reaching out to cup your cheek. his body heat radiated against you, causing you to nuzzle into his palm. 

“i really thought it was just a small headache. i didn’t think it would get this bad,” you reply, but you heard him shake his head. 

“i’m not angry with you. i was just worried when one of your coworkers came yelling for me, but i’m glad it wasn’t something worse.” he smiled lightly, and you felt your chest grow warm. despite being married for years, he still made you feel like a teenager in love. you averted your eyes, trying to hide your embarrassment, but your husband could see right through you. 

“i’m just being honest, darling. i always worry about you because i love you,” your eyes widened, and you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“you can’t just say that without warning!” you exclaim, causing kento to laugh. 

“we’ve been married for years, and i tell you i love you every day.” 

“still! i’m going to start thinking you have a crush on me or something.”

“well this definitely isn’t going to help that,” he replies, holding out a painkiller and some water. 

“have i ever told you that you’re the best husband ever?” you ask, quickly swallowing down the painkiller. 

“on occasion. anyways, you need to get some more rest, so let me know if you need anything.” kento stands up, obviously intending to leave, but you reach out and grab his wrist. he turns, one eyebrow raised in question. 

“can you stay? you’re really warm and your sick spouse wants to cuddle,” you say, slightly tugging his wrist. he sighs exaggeratedly, but moves to get more comfortable clothing on. 

you scooch over as he slides in next to you, already feeling the bed get ten times warmer. you lay against his firm chest, his heartbeat lulling you back to sleep. he places a soft kiss on your head, and you mutter an “i love you too, by the way,” before the falling back into a deep rest once more.

[theblue6ook]

A Quiet Day

Summary: Bruce does not like celebrating his birthday. All of the pomp and circumstance was very “Bruce Wayne Bachelor,” but it wasn’t him. He wants quiet, he wants easy, he wants focus. So Y/N gives him that.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: I tried to add everyone who wanted to be on the tag list, but let me know if I missed you! [B (24) & Y/N (22)]

“Happy Birthday, Master Bruce,” he heard Alfred over the speaker system. 

Bruce couldn’t help but gaze at the digital clock built into his car console. Well, maybe a tank console? Lucious Fox said it was called the Tumbler, but the name just didn’t feel right to him. It was a birthday present he had told Bruce, and Bruce would call it what he liked... when he thought of a name. He was patrolling, as he does, except this time, he would take his new Waynetech Tank out for a spin. Nope, that name feels wrong too.

“Thank you, Alfred.” 

“Anything special planned this year, sir.”

“You know there’s not,” he chuckled.

“I wasn’t sure if you were getting bold with birthdays,” he could feel Alfred's grin, “considering what an extravagant time Ms. Y/N had.” 

“Just doing something nice for a friend, Alfred.”

Friend. That was nice to say. It’s easy to make friends when you’re a twenty-three - well, now a twenty-four-year-old billionaire. Bruce had never been low on friendships, but he had been low on real friendships. Of course, he had good friends. Rachel, Alfred, Lucius, and Jack Drake, to name a few, but that was all before The Bat. After he had left Gotham, he’d been through a lot. He’d been alone a lot. None of them would ever understand what he went through, who he was now. When he had trained, you’d be "assigned" friends. People you had to work with, save. He had met people who would and had died for him. How can you come back to trivial friendships after that?

And when you don’t water something, it dies. So, friendships slowly crumbled. Shriveled away. It wasn’t in a huge, dramatic way, but in a lost touch way. People didn’t want to deal with the Bruce Wayne he really was, a workaholic, stressed, easily annoyed, quick, and yet she didn’t care.

Y/N had come along, and he was used to the petty fights, people making up their minds, even leaving. They'd slowly given up on him. But she didn’t. They could fight all day long, and by the end, he’d be frustrated, grabbing his coat and announcing it was the end of the day for him. She’d look up at him and say, "See you tomorrow."

Once, he had questioned her about it, half joking and half not, “You’re not going to walk out and never come back?” 

She had looked at him strangely and scoffed, “Bruce, it’s fine if we argue and argue and move on. That’s friendship. That’s life.”

“That’s life?” he had asked sarcastically.

“Yeah. Now get over it and get out,” she had smirked at him.

So, they fight, and they move on, and they fight, and they move on, and Bruce doesn’t mind at all. At the end of the day, he knows he’ll see her the next, and then he does. It’s consistent, and god knows he could use some consistency. 

“A good friend gives back,” Alfred stated. “Maybe she’ll plan you a party.”

God, he hopes not.

-

Y/N had been conspiring. Bruce had made her birthday like nothing she had ever imagined, and even if her ex-finance had soiled the evening, she was grateful. So she wanted to do something special for him, except… he didn’t really seem like he wanted to do anything. Everyone in the office was talking about The Bruce Wayne’s birthday except for Bruce Wayne himself. 

Y/N knew she never typically saw his party side, aside from him hopping into the fountain at The Ocelot. The Bruce she knew was more reserved, quiet, and calculated. Plus, when it came to the topic of his birthday, it’s like he shut the complete conversation down. So, how do you plan something for the one person who wants nothing?

You don’t.

At least you don’t plan a party; you make the day itself special. Bruce hated meetings, so she moved them. He loved the bagel place she showed him down by Dorthie’s Flowers, so she scheduled a nice lunch. The last time she was in Dorthie’s, John had told her that violets were Bruce’s birth flower, so she put some in the office. Finally, for the last hour of their workday, she had a cake, nothing special, she had made it with Carrie last night, and a few birthday cards. 

She was nervous as hell. Giving something to the man who can afford everything is more nerve-wracking than she thought it would be. 

Bruce had arrived at his typical noon timeline. He stepped into the office with caution, just praying what had happened in the past years wouldn’t happen today. When he did occasionally come into the office years ago, past assistants and coworkers would plan some Bruce Wayne Birthday Happy Hour where everyone would get plastered, and he would sneak off annoyed. He knew Y/N knew him better than that. Or at least he hoped she did.

When he stepped into the office, there were no decorations, no music, and no surprises so far. He let out a breath. There was Y/N battling it out on the phone like she usually is. She waved at him and mouthed to him I can’t do phone calls anymore, rolling her eyes. He chuckled, stepping into his office.

Violets.

It wasn’t abnormal for Y/N to grab flowers for the office. She was dear friends with his florist, but violets made him think of his mother. Every birthday, his mother would go through the grueling tale of his birth just to tease him. 

“Thomas, you don’t get to laugh. You were no help!” she squealed. “Anyways, my dear Brucie. I was in the worst pain of my life bringing you into this world. All I wanted was my ice chips when our doctor started going on about birth flowers to distract me.”

“It annoyed her to no end-”

“Stop interrupting me, Thomas,” she had giggled, and Bruce had done the same. “Anyways, I was trying to bring you into this world, and he tells me, ‘ma’am it sounds like your son’s birth flower will be a violet. I never cared for violets.’ And I thought, what a terrible thing to say to a mother. So I kicked him out, and the nurse and I worked hard for you.” 

“She’s not joking, son.”

“But now, every birthday I just have to douse the house in violets for my sweet Brucie.”

 Bruce stepped closer, touching the edge of the petals with his fingertips. It had been a while since he’d been given any flowers... but violets, he was sure he had only gotten them from Mama.

There was a light cough behind him, and he turned to see a bashful Y/N. “So, no meetings today, but we have some paperwork to go through.”

“No meetings?” he questioned. That would be a first.

“Yeah, this donator work really should take priority,” she tried to act casually. “Oh, and I was going to run to Upper East Bagel later if you want to come.”

“We’re not getting delivery?”

“Well, it’s nice outside,” she started innocently. Bad lie, she thought. It’s February. It’s never nice. “I figured I’d walk, but if you want me to go by myself I can grab something for you.”

Bruce scoffed, “You’re not walking by yourself in Gotham.”

She grinned. Bait taken. 

For the few hours before lunch, they worked on paperwork. The donator paperwork did take up a chunk of time. There were so many details like which benefits he needed to attend, which non-profits were approved for the Wayne Charity donation program, etc. He was whipped, and even worse, he was hungry. Stepping toward the door, he leaned on the frame. Y/N was digging through one of her bags, and he cleared his throat.

“Bageles?”

She grinned, “I’m literally starving.”

Y/N was excited, not just for the bagel, but because as soon as they walked down to get their lunch, Alfred was going to come and help her set up Bruce’s office. Again, nothing crazy, a cake, cards, and maybe a balloon. It was nothing that should take long. She even had everything in a tote bag under her desk. 

The bagel line wasn’t long, and they didn’t have any issues other than a few people recognizing Bruce and wishing him a happy birthday. When they did, he’d look at her curiously. While Y/N had no reaction, Bruce was suspicious. So, she knows it’s my birthday, and she hasn’t said anything. Not that Bruce cared about things like that, but Y/N wasn’t the type to forget or be silent on the subject. She had only glanced at him innocently, batting her lashes, “Should we eat lunch in the park?

Bruce humored her, so they sat in Gotham Park and ate their lunch. While the bagel was great, it was fucking freezing outside. Y/N looked over at Bruce, pleasantly eating his bagel. It didn't look like the cold had bothered him at all. Despite not being cold, the whole ordeal had Bruce's mind moving. God, please no office parties when we get back. 

He was on edge stepping back into the office, waiting for some insane ordeal… but nothing. They took the elevator straight up to his office, and walked in by Y/N’s desk and… nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she forgot and didn’t want to say anything. Y/N walked casually over to her desk and set her purse down while Bruce put the code into his office door and stepped inside. There was a balloon attached to his desk chair, a cake that was clearly not from a bakery, and cards. 

He chuckled, looking through them. One from Rachel and Harvey Dent, one from Alfred, one from Lucious, one from Jack Drake (who he hadn’t spoken to in so long), and one from Y/N. Except it wasn’t just from Y/N; her brothers had signed it with little notes and doodles, and Carrie had signed a nice message as well. 

It was so simple, so homely, and wonderful.

“Happy Birthday,” Y/N appeared behind him with a couple of paper dessert plates.

He looked at her but said nothing. In the best way, he didn’t know what to say, and suddenly she became nervous.

“I know it’s not much, and you probably have friends planning something crazy, but,” she paused, unsure of herself, “it’s just… you didn’t really seem like you wanted a party.” 

Bruce chuckled quietly. “I don’t,” he said honestly. “I’ve had friends plan a few insane things over the years, and I’m grateful, but I never really felt like celebrating my birthday without-” He stopped, a little embarrassed. “I sound like a child.”

“You don’t,” she stepped over to him, bumping his shoulder with her own.

“Yeah, I do,” he mumbled.

“After my mother left, I tried to make birthdays special for my brothers, but my dad didn’t really celebrate, and neither did I,” she wasn’t sure why she was whispering. Maybe it was the close proximity between them, or maybe it was because she had never admitted what she was about to say aloud. “John, Carrie, even Russ, they all tried to make things special for me, but… I didn’t want to celebrate. I’d always leave early or fake a headache.”

“I didn’t know your mom left,” he replied back.

“I don’t really talk about it. It’s not like it’s a secret, but I don’t know. It feels so awkward to mention.”

“It’s awkward to mention your dead parents too,” he looked over at her, grinning. 

“At least you know they loved you,” she cringed like she regretted what she said. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

“I get it,” he said honestly.

“So, cake,” she quickly diverted the topic.

Bruce smiled. A real true smile, “Cake.”

@pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @mariadvorak @100520s @st0rmyt

[pedriache]

I saw your requests were open, and was wondering if you could write for Gavi, and a fluff fic where he takes her on a day out and takes her round Seville and shows her places from her childhood? Something like that maybe? Thank you in advance 💘 (sorry it’s long lol)

Fountain wishes — Pablo Gavi.

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’d grown up in Barcelona and had never really left the big city, so when Gavi asked if you want to take a tour of his hometown, you were more than happy to go.

Word count: 592

Disclaimer/s: ngl, i don’t know what coin currency they use in spain and google wasn’t telling me shit so let’s act like they use coins please…………😓

A/N: i hope i followed through w this req to your liking:)

A week ago, Gavi had planned a trip for the both of you. He wanted to show you Seville and you were more than happy to go. Growing up in one of the biggest cities in the country, your parents never cared to travel outside of it. So this was new for you.

Walking down the brick path, Gavi points out a small convenience store, a small laugh escaping his lips. “Aurora left me there on accident when I was ten, she thought I was behind her but I was still looking in the candy isle.”

A small memory, most would forget. He didn’t though, you noticed Gavi was like that. He remembered the little things, even with you. It was part of the reason you fell in love with him.

You continue your walk, he shows you small little things that held a memory or two. You listened intently, loving to learn about his past as he’d done for you when you showed him around your old neighborhood at the beginning of your relationship.

“And here’s where I had my first kiss.” You were outside the middle school he’d attended. His face pulls into a grimace, making laughter bubble in your throat.

“And here I was, thinking I was special.” He gives you a ‘really’ look, only making you grow more amused. “Who was it with?”

Gavi feigns a shudder, “her name was Maria. It was a dare for her, totally humbled me.”

Moving on, he brings you to the other side of the school, showing you the recess area. He points to the long grass field. “Here’s where I spent most of my time during recess.”

“Shocker.” You tease. “Who would’ve thought.”

He’d originally meant to show you more around the city, maybe a few tourist sites, but you’d insisted he showed more intimate places. You wanted to know more about his childhood than the tourist attractions.

He loved that about you. How much you really cared for everything about him. He happily agreed, sticking to the areas that had meant more to him than some might imagine.

By the time night fell, and you were walking home, you were sure the soles of your shoes were falling off. You never complained though, simply listening to what he had to say and show.

A loud gasp escapes the boys lips as he points to something in the distance. A water fountain, the cracks in the concrete hidden by the darkness, only illuminating by the shimmering blue surrounding it.

“Aurora pushed me in that once.” He chuckles, pulling you closer with your hand as he walks toward it.

You grin, “she really loved to torment you, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” he nods, “she was just evil.”

You two sit down on the dry edge of the fountain, examining the hundreds of decaying coins at the bottom. You have an idea, opening your purse and fishing around in the darkness for a moment before pulling out two coins.

Placing one in Gavi’s hand, you smile. “Do you believe in wishes?”

“I suppose so.” He shrugs, eyes flickering from your face to the coin.

“So make one, i’ll go first.” You close your eyes, saying your wish in your head before flicking the coin into the water, you only open them after you hear the plunk of Gavi’s in the water as well.

He looks at you, love in his eyes, and asks, “what’d you wish for?”

You. Forever.

“If I told you then it wouldn’t come true.” You giggle, zipping up your purse.

DTS , @halfwayhearted <3

[tired-chimera]

Albatrio headcanons because I say so (all canon btw trust me I’m grizzlyplays)

Jay:

- she braids hair when she’s nervous. Especially in the Black Sea, Gillion and Chip have been walking around with little braids in their hair and Jay has an intricately braided bun with feathers, beads and wire intertwined with her hair.

- she loves baked goods. Every island they visit a small, wrapped box of regional pastries will show up in the kitchen. Her favourite has been a warm, iced cinnamon log from Joaldo.

- She reads the newspaper.

- She speaks primordial with a similar accent to Caspian. Since the water genasi are so nomadic, it would make sense for her to have teachers breeze through on short contracts to support their tribes, so she picked it up from her various teachers.

- she had a flower garden with Ayva before she passed. The garden became Jays passion project, a way to cope with the loss of her sister. She converted it into a memorial, with a small fountain and a bed of forget-me-nots. While Jay has been out at sea, May has been using some Druidic magic to keep the garden alive.

- she used to have cat named “Sugar”. It turned out to be a Quasit belonging to the local warlock.

- Jay collects sea glass

- she has aphantasia.

Chip:

- he has frequent nightmares about his crew and co-captains dying. It is not uncommon to hear quiet footsteps around the Albatross in the wee hours of the morning, as he checks the breath of each member of his crew.

- He doesnt remember his parents. But he has given them names, in his head, just in case they didn’t give him up. He’s told Reuben about that. He called it dumb. Chip never told anyone else.

- he has a stash of non-perishables in the floorboards of the captains quarters. Just in case.

- sorry these are all so sad but hhhhh he has body dysmorphia. He’s never felt “good-looking” and no one’s ever really told him, so he has a lot of anxiety about his appearance and uses the bandana constantly. This was made worse with his undeath.

- May cooked Chip a steak when they were at her tavern c.a ep 98, to help him and Jay decompress after the stress of Gillion’s near-death. It’s the best meal he’s ever eaten.

- He loves crabs. They remind him of when Arlin used to take him crab-spotting in the southern sea beaches. When they got back to Canella, Chip took Ollie too.

- Reuben used to teach him sea shanties he’d heard in and around the taverns by the port on Skullslice. He remembers all of them.

- there were a good 3 years from when chip was 9-11 where he wasn’t hugged once.

- he’s really good at darts.

- Chip has cried in front of four people in his entire life: Arlin, Reuben, Jay and Gillion. He has only ever really lost it to Reuben though. It was on his 14th birthday when he momentarily forgot what Arlin looked like.

- he has a lip ring. That’s it.

Gillion:

- Gillion would love Spider-Man.

- he really enjoys spicy, fermented, and salty foods. They remind him of home.

- Gillion didn’t talk for 3 days after shattering his Callnch.

- the elders wanted him to learn more languages, but it was a struggle for him to pick up common, so they abandoned the idea. Gillion still tries to learn celestial though, managing some very broken phrases from Chip.

- He loves pillows, but they can’t really be a thing in the undersea, so hes been working with Jay on making a waterproof pillow for him and pretzel.

- His coral gives him headaches.

- He suffers from asthma and joint pain due to the change in his environment

- Gillion had a small collection of mini stone leviathans he had been carving his entire life. He was almost done with Pelegus before he was exiled

- he has a love of history. It was his favourite subject growing up.

- He had so many imaginary friends.

- he and Edyn made up a secret language to communicate to each other without the elders knowing. He remembers every word.

[shadowthesim237]

ᯓ water fountain

warnings: angst, crying, cheating, commitment issues, a situationship, slightly suggestive if you squint.

( english isn't my first language so sorry for any mistakes! )

⋆.˚ i should've built a home with a fountain for us, the moment that she told me that she was in love - alec benjamin .𖥔˚~

"I love chris, and he loves me back, he cares about me..right?" that's what you kept telling yourself for a year. a whole year of pain and heartbreak. you were so honest with him and quickly opened up about your feelings towards him. but he never made a move or a step further into your relationship..

you shared almost every class in high school, you'd accidentally make eye contact and feel like the rest of the classroom froze and there's only you both in it, so you took the first step and asked for his phone number with the lame excuse of helping each other with homework, but he knew it wasn't true, because he saw the way you'd get all clumsy when he walks past you in the hallway, and how you lose focus when your friend group is trying to have a conversation but he's looking at you.

chris couldn't help it, he caught himself thinking about you all the time that it drove him crazy. he didn't know what made you so special. you're just his classmate and that's all, but his brain kept fighting that information and would still drift back to your stupid smile and your horribly perfect eyes. so when you asked for his number, his mind was a complete mess. but eventually gave up and handed it to you because he was so curious about you, he wanted to get closer and to actually know you.

after only two months of being friends, you were standing by the little water fountain in the hall, you thought he looked so handsome today that you didn't even think twice before saying "i love you", those simple three words escaped your lips while his head was burried in the sink drinking, he almost choked from surprise but reacted casualy and made your feelings feel seen, but what bothered you is the fact that you never heard it being said back once. with every passing day you felt more and more humiliated. why did you ever accept to be in this situation? you let him treat you like you were his, you could hear the jealousy in his tone whenever that boy would try talking to you. but why would he be jealous when you weren't even together.

chris had serious commitment issues and refused to admit it, but it was so clear to everybody else how he kept people at a safe distance, he never passed the talking stage once in his life with a girl, so you thought you were special, he made you feel different than the other girls from the way he treated you, but again nothing changed. you remained unlabeled to him god he never even touched you once it never escalated to anything more than long make out sessions. until one day you decided that you should stop this. he keeps this going and you couldn't take it anymore.

so at that night you were invited to a party and went without telling chris, why should he know what you're doing afterall it was none of his business? you saw that boy who kept asking you out repeatedly making his way towards you through the crowd. you were half drunk and completely unfazed by the guy's tries to talk to you.

you couldn't remember what happened next that made you wake up in that stranger's bed no matter how hard you try to squeeze your brain. you can only form a blurry image of that boy grabbing your hips and pulling you in, you kissed.. you let someone else kiss your lips other than chris. he whispered sweet things in your ear, about how pretty and valuable you are, you know you shouldn't listen, but you yearned that affection, you needed someone to fix that emptiness that chris didn't bother to fill.

you couldn't face chris after what happened, there's no way you were gonna tell him. so you ignored him for a couple of weeks, leaving him on read and not answering his calls, he was dying to know what happened out of a sudden. did he do something wrong? until you couldn't keep hiding any longer, guilt was eating you alive so you just asked to meet somewhere to talk.

the air was thick around you as you tried to put together your thoughts and confront him with the ugly truth that left you feeling dirty.

"I messed up.." your eyes were glistening with tears that your were fighting back. chris just sat in front of you trying to take in what you were saying. you simply cheated on him..

"why.. how could you?" chris was completely shattered and realized how bad he made you feel that it led to this. you tried to apologize but was too choked up from crying. and now nothing could be done to fix this.

he knew you both messed up, he regretted his choices and hated himself for letting you drift away from him. he lost you way before you slept with that guy. now he would often think about how lucky that other dude was, he wished he was in his place, he wanted to hold you close and cherish your body like you were the rarest diamond, but it's too late now, all because he was scared of commitment. the idea of being someone's boyfriend terrified him and now all he do is cry at the memory of you.

he would imagine that you're back with him, his heart now was broken like that water fountain's handle. but he was willing to fix it for you. he thought that if you gave him a chance, he'll open his heart and give it to you. but it's all for no use now that he had lost you. the two of you were still young and naive to go through all that. but you can't go back in time and change it. you're not even friends anymore because you know you did each other wrong and no matter what you'll do it will only hurt you more. so you decided to walk away quietly from each other's lives for the sake of keeping your peace and your dignity. it was the right decision because you still cared about each other's happiness and comfort after all and regretting won't change a thing.

deviders by: @bernardsbendystraws <3

taglist: @anyaa2s @m0nsterhighluvr32 @ily-tothemoonandback @nateismybf @cupiidk1lls @sturniolos4life16 @breesturns @domtorettosfamily @mamamadssss @caroline12b @reader-lola @dealerchr1s @lemonhoney2460 @freakshow-420 @emely9274 @mattsturniolofuckingsexy @jessie-essie @marrykisskilled @meatballlover10 @chrissturnioloslvt @trevorsgodmother @sophand4n4 @stvrnioloslvt @sturnshood @chrisslut04 @courta13 @pair-of-pantaloons

[spiderb00]

CINDY LOU WHO

Daniela Avanzini X Reader 

“You didn't think about the consequences of your actions, and consequently, you didn't think about how Daniela's heart would be after all this” 

Genre – angst as fuck Warnings – Reader is an asshole 

fruitcake masterlist

Now playing – Cindy lou who, by Sabrina Carpenter 

Daniela was paralyzed, sitting on a bench in the park with her phone in her hand. The phone screen displayed a photo, which a news Instagram had posted, the image was clear, probably taken by a professional camera of some photographer. The first photo showed you and your ex Jenna Ortega, walking hand in hand on the streets of New York, laughing at something very funny, and for a moment, Daniela was afraid to scroll to the next photo.   

Taking a deep breath, the Latina ran her finger over the screen, her breath getting caught in her ribcage and her world slowly collapsing. You and Jenna, kissing, near the various Christmas decorations, which were now making Daniela nauseous. Tears began to well up in the blonde's eyes, and she wanted to throw her phone into the water fountain that was in front of her.   

A month ago, you and Daniela had fallen apart. No matter how hard the Latina tried, she thought she would never make you happy like your ex, but that didn't stop her from trying.   

"Where are you going?" Daniela asked, holding the sheet on her chest, leaning on her elbow and looking at you wearing your clothes. 

"I'm going home, I mean, your friends are coming and I have to work tomorrow." You said, buttoning your pants and sitting on the bed to tie the shoelaces of your sneakers.  

With a slightly worried look, Daniela sat down lightly, crawling to the corner of the bed where you were sitting, letting the sheet fall the Latina hugged your waist, putting her chin on your shoulder.   

"You don't have to go, Manon is at her girlfriend's house, and the girls don't mind having you here. I don't have work tomorrow, you can stay and I can make you breakfast." Daniela said, starting to get excited about the idea of you spending the night.   

"Dani, don't make this what it isn't." You said, letting go of the younger woman's grip and getting up to get your jacket. "You know this is not a relationship."  

 "What? Is it bad that I want to do something for you?" Daniela replies, you could tell she was about to cry with your words.  

"You already do enough." You said, still without looking at her.  

"Oh yes. I let you fuck me, sure, how did I not think of that before?" Daniela said, her cutting voice dripping with sarcasm. "You know what, it was a mistake to call you tonight." The Latina stood up, wearing the clothes you had taken off a few hours ago. 

"What's wrong with you? We both agreed that this would be just casual sex." You said, approaching Daniela, only for the shorter woman to move away from you.   

"No, you decided that on your own. You know what, you can come to me when you want to stop using me." Daniela said, throwing your car keys on your chest, walking towards the bedroom door and opening for you, a silent request to leave her alone.  

With a snort, you shook your head negatively, staring incredulously at the Latina in front of you, before passing her and heading away. 

Daniela didn't know what she had done wrong, she didn't know why you loved Jenna, why you went public with Jenna, why you had a relationship with Jenna, while you hadn't done any of that with her. The Latina felt lost, the red and green lights were now all blue, just like her.   

After the incident, you and Daniela had exchanged some messages, she had fallen again, asking you to come to her house and forget about all that fight. She didn't care if you weren't going to stay afterwards, she just wanted to feel your warmth one last time. She remembered the messages, it all seemed so vivid in her mind.   

You refused to go to her that night, you said you were discovering yourself, searching for your soul, going after your way, you told her you were getting lost in Los Angeles. Now she understands why you were so happy, you found yourself.   

Looking at the photo once again made Daniela want to throw up, the Latina's stomach churning in a bad way, and she thought it best to lock her phone screen before she had a public crisis. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, the Latina looked over her shoulder, seeing Sophia's hand and the rest of the Kats standing behind her with looks of compassion. And when the tears began to run down her eyes, Daniela thought it best to get up and go to the car.  

"'is the season, i guess." 

That's kind of small because I hate writing angst, but I found it interesting.

I think this is my first fic that doesn't have a happy ending. I'm sad for Daniela, but the requests I have for her are very cute, so they will make up for it.

xoxo, spider.

[nocasdatsgay]

Not Going Anywhere: Spring Time Affairs

Pairing: Tamlin/Elain/Lucien/Flora| Rating: G | Word Count: 934

Master List| Read on Ao3

Summary: Elain is pregnant with her first child and Ez has concerns about his place in Elain and Lucien’s life now.

Author’s note: For Day 3: Will There Be Enough Room @polysjmweek

Tagging: @ninthcircleofprythian @hieragalbatorixdottir @thisblogisaboutabook @daycourtofficial @secret-third-thing @pit-and-the-pen

“Wait, when does Lucien come back?” 

Flora had stood up fast, turning to Elain with wide eyes. Before, they were working in silence. Flora picked herbs for one of her new experiments, while Elain sat on a stool in front of a portable table, propagating some tulips from the continent. They both started early while the greenhouse was still cool.

Elain glance up thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. Should be before dinner.”

Flora sighed deeply, dumping her herbs into her basket. “I doubt that will be in time. I forgot to tell you, Ez wanted to speak with you both today. Knowing him, he’ll find you first.” 

Elain gently tilted her head.  “What for?” 

“For that,” Flora pointed at Elain’s round belly hidden by the table. “He’s worse than me with his worries. He told me last night he thought you and Lu would be leaving and not love him anymore.”

Elain’s eyes instantly watered, shock etched into her features. “Why would he ever think that?” 

“I don’t know,” she sighed and placed her herbs in her basket. “I asked if it was nerves from not being the only youngling anymore. He said no, he was still excited. I think someone in court said something in front of him. You know, because of Lucien’s real father.” 

Elain instantly angered. “They have no right to gossip in front of our boy like that. It’s none of their business who Lucien might be tied to. We talked to Helion half a century ago. He isn’t going anywhere any time soon. By the mother, if something happens the magic might even choose Elios instead of Lucien.” 

“Cauldron knows it but these old fae like gossip.” Flora sighed heavily again. “Remember when I had Ez? I just knew they were whispering behind my back.” Then she laughed. “Maybe that’s why Ez worries so much.”

“Maybe.” 

A flood of emotions hit Elain hard. It was easy to be overwhelmed with the babe growing inside her. She rubbed her stomach, the babe gently kicking back. Ez had been the most excited out of all of them when Elain’s scent changed. Once he knew what that meant anyways. He’d help her pick out the colors for her announcements and theme for the nursery. She didn’t understand why he would suddenly think they would leave. 

Sure enough, he found her later while she was sitting by the fountain in the afternoon, soaking in the sun and cool breeze in the swing. Judging by the ink on his hands, he’d finished lessons for the day. She smiled at him as he approached, trying to not giggle as she watched him brush his blond hair out of his face from the wind. 

“Lainy?” 

“Yes, my little beastie?” 

He smiled bashfully, stopping in front of her. “Mama said I should talk to you.” 

“Did she?” Elain feigned ignorance. “About what?” 

 “Well, you and Lu are having a baby.” He glanced down at her stomach. 

“We are.” 

“And you said I was your baby.” 

“I did.”

There was a long pause between them and Elain rocked the swing with her foot gently while Ez looked at the ground. 

He finally whispered, “So you, you don’t need me anymore?” 

It hurt Elain’s heart to hear him say it. More so than she thought it would. She blinked profusely before asking, “What do you mean, Ez?” 

“You have your own baby now. You don’t need me anymore. I’ll just be mama and papa's.”

“Why would you think that?” 

“I know you love me and mama and papa. But you aren’t my mama.” He frowned, with tears in his eyes. “Are you going to leave and have a new house? For your new baby?”

Mother help her. 

“Come here,” Elain stopped the swing and reached out to him. He hesitated, but stepped forward. Elain cupped his face and brushed his cheek with her fingers. “Why do you think we are going to leave?”

“Drax moved away.” He whispered. 

Right, Elain thought. Drax was one of the few younglings Ezyrn’s age. Soren was expecting again and announced it right as her husband agreed to take on governing duties in the village in the east. They’d left a week ago, which explained Ez’s sudden thoughts.

“We aren’t going to leave. Ez, look at me.” She tilted his chin up gently. “You are just as much my baby as this one. I will always need you, my little beastie.” 

“Even Lu?” 

“Lu especially. We love you very much. We aren’t going anywhere. Understand?” Ez nodded. After a moment she sat back and added. “Do you want to know a surprise?” His eyes widened and he nodded again. “It’s a boy. Which means you’ll have a brother in a sense. Your mama doesn’t know yet. Do you want to be the one to tell her?”

He grinned.“And papa?” 

“Papa knows.” She couldn’t help herself laughing. Ez didn’t know it was payback for when he was in his mothers belly. “It’s a surprise for just your mother. The court doesn’t know yet either.”

“Can I go tell her now?” His face was lit with excitement. 

“At dinner. I want Lu and your father to see the look on her face too,” Elain replied, with a cryptid smile of her own. She stood from the swing and held out her hand to Ez. “Let’s go for a walk. Tell me about what you learned today.” 

Any fears Ez had were gone. He took Elain’s hand and they walked to the gardens together while he told her about his studies of the day.