#......it's been a long week......i apologize | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fireinmoonshot · 1 day ago

Text

love that lasts | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When Thanos snapped his fingers and erased half of all life from the universe, he also took you from Joaquín. Five years later, he is still trying to learn how to live without you – until the Avengers can save the world. Warnings: Google Translate is my best friend – apologies if the Spanish is used incorrectly in this fic, I do not speak it but I tried my best to make sure I used words properly. Mentions of bad mental health, nightmares. It's very angsty at the start, has a bit of fluff, but mostly full of angst. Word Count: 4.2k A/N: I rewatched Infinity War and Endgame last week and came up with this idea. Since we know that Joaquín survived the snap, I decided I wanted to write something angsty about where you didn't survive and this was born. This was the most challenging fic for Joaquín I've written so far but also the most rewarding, I think. I know everyone's really moved on from the whole Infinity War/Endgame thing regarding fics, but I really wanted to write this so I hope people will enjoy it. The title of the fic comes from 'Still' by Noah Kahan – I had his album on repeat almost the entire time I was writing this.

Joaquin Torres always knew that the Avengers were going to save the world. From the moment that half of all life on Earth had disappeared, he knew that whatever had happened, the Avengers would somehow find a way to fix things.

He just didn’t count on it being five years later.

There had been one good thing that had come out of him not being blipped, though – the fact that his mom hadn’t been either. If he’d had to live without her, he’s sure he would have gone insane. Because it was hard enough to live without you.

He’d spent days wishing that he’d been taken too. The first few days had been the worst. He’d been unable to leave the house, having to learn to grieve you when he wasn’t even sure if you were dead or just gone.

He remembered every moment of that first day like it was yesterday. How he’d just arrived home from going to pick up some takeout for the two of you and he’d seen his neighbour turn to dust in his front yard while he’d been outside gardening, making the most of the evening light. He thought he must have just been seeing things.

He’d walked through the front door of your home and called out your name, heading into the kitchen to put the take out down before he went to find you, feeling more than confused. Then you’d appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and Joaquin had been flooded with relief.

“I’m home, angel, I have the takeout in the kitchen, come get yours” Joaquin called, starting to get the take out from the bags. “Hey, have you seen anything weird on TV today?”

“Joaquin…”

He’d looked up at you, then, just soon enough to see you say his name as you slowly started to turn to dust in front of his eyes. The blanket that had been wrapped around your shoulders fell to a pile on the floor as Joaquin stared at where you had been standing only seconds earlier.

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice was small, hesitant. He put the container down that he’d been holding and walked towards the doorway, half expecting you to be hiding behind the wall, ready to jump out and scare him. It’d been a trick of the light, something like that. But all that was left of you was the blanket on the floor and your phone which had fallen on top of it.

He’d fallen to the floor, grabbing the blanket in his hands and holding it to his chest for what felt like hours as the feeling of numbness overtook him. The blanket still smelled like you and he never wanted to let it go.

Whatever was happening, whatever had happened to your neighbour and to you… there was nothing Joaquin could do about it. He wasn’t an Avenger, he wasn’t anyone special. He knew in that moment that he was going to have to live with it. That fact alone could have killed him.

His knees went numb after kneeling on the floor for so long but he couldn’t find it in himself to pull himself up from the floor. Not even when the sun finally set and the house was blanketed in darkness. The food on the counter had long gone cold. It was only when your phone, sitting in his lap, buzzed, that he’d been pulled out of his stupor. His mother was trying to ring you. She’d thought Joaquin had been taken when she couldn’t get a hold of him, but the second he answered your phone, she knew that you were gone.

Joaquin had stayed with his mother for a while after that, not being able to bring himself to be in the house without you there. There were memories of you in that house everywhere he looked. The sheets still smelled of you, all of your things were still in the cupboards, every time he opened up Netflix, your profile was there. Everything was there except for you.

“You could always sell the house and move back home with me properly, mijo,” his mother had said. “It’s not smart to be paying your mortgage on that house when no one is living in it.”

He shook his head. “I know it’s not smart, mamá, but I just can’t. We bought that house together. We were making a life there. I can’t even bring myself to move her things, how could I sell the place and clear everything out?”

His mother reached across the table and placed her hand over Joaquin’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’ll stay here until you’re ready to go home.”

“I don’t know if it will ever really be home without her, mamá,” Joaquin said honestly, meeting her eyes. His were full of tears, as they were most days since you’d gone.

There was no hesitation as his mother stood up from the table and walked around to him, wrapping her arms around him to pull him into a hug. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “She was the love of your life. Just like your father was the love of mine. You don’t have to move on like she never existed, mijo. Time will continue to pass and she will continue to be with you, even when you cannot see her.”

Joaquin sniffed, holding his mother close as he cried. “I really love her, mamá,” he murmured, not really expecting her to hear him since his voice was so muffled.

She did, though. Gently rubbing his back, she closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh. “I know you do. I loved her too, mijo. Just like she was my own,” she hummed. “Don’t lose hope. She will return to you one day, I believe that. Your soulmate will find you wherever you are, in any life.”

As the years went on, Joaquin started to believe that this was the way it was always going to be. The Avengers had not saved the world like he thought they would. And he was going to have to learn to live the rest of his life with only memories of you. Like his mother had said, time continued to pass, no matter how much he wished it wouldn’t.

The world changed. He changed. Things became darker and he became darker with them, though he desperately tried to keep the spark alive in his chest – if only because he knew that was what you’d want him to do. You would want him to still be the same Joaquin that you’d loved, but how could he be that person without you?

He threw himself into his job, working day and night to try and keep himself afloat. It seemed strange to be doing such mundane things in a world that was so different. To have to keep earning money to pay the mortgage of your house. To have to get out of bed every morning and shave. To have to make food for himself to eat during the day. To have to go to the grocery store to get milk for breakfasts and coffees.

Five years had passed slowly. Joaquin had made it through them relatively unscathed, with a few mental scars here and there. Every day he was grateful that he still had his mom. That she was there to comfort him when the days were hard and that he was still alive to be there for her as well. If she’d been alone through all of this, it would have broken Joaquin’s heart even more.

When he eventually moved back into your home, every time he cooked dinner it was like you were in the room with him. He could feel your hand on his back as he cooked, your arms around his waist as he washed the dishes. It was like you were still there with him, but then he’d blink and the memories were gone, washed down the sink with the water he drained.

He still cooked enough food for two people before realising it was only him. For a while, he could never bring himself to eat the second serving, until times got harder and he couldn’t afford to waste anything.

He would be laying in bed at night and he could swear he could feel your arm draped across his side. He could feel the ghost of your kisses on his lips. Your side of the bed was empty every night and yet, he could never bring himself to wash the pillowcase you’d once slept on for fear of the way you smelt disappearing entirely, forcing him to lose another part of you. He couldn’t lose anymore of you.

His friends who had survived the blip had suggested that he put himself back out there. Go on a date, find someone new. There were plenty of stories of people who had gone to support groups after losing loved ones and had found new love there. The likelihood of everyone who had been blipped coming back was slim to none, so why not? But Joaquin could never bring himself to let you go. Even just thinking about going on a date with someone else filled him with guilt. People had tried to set him up on dates but he had never gone through with actually going on any of them.

His mom was the only one who understood. Even if it meant that her baby would never be able to give her the grandchildren she’d wanted for so long, it didn’t matter to her. She had loved you like you were her own child. All she wanted was for Joaquin to be happy and for some miracle to bring you back to him so that he could be. But even she had lost hope after the past five years that anything could bring you back to him.

And then… the Avengers saved the world.

~~~

That morning, Joaquin is sitting in a coffee shop – one that had been your favourite before you were gone. He’s missing you a little more than normal this morning and had decided that a good way to feel like he was with you would be to come out and spend time at a place you loved. He’s taking a sip of his coffee when someone suddenly appears in the chair opposite him.

Joaquin almost chokes on his drink, coughing a little as he looks at the man in front of him. He hadn’t walked in from anywhere, he hadn’t been in the coffee shop before. He’d just… appeared. What the hell was going on?

“What the…” the man says, looking around the coffee shop with a confused and haunted look in his eyes. “You’re not my wife… I was just sitting here with her… Where is Sylvia?”

Joaquin’s eyes widen. For a moment he wonders if the man is just confused, maybe there’s something wrong with him mentally and this is his way of asking Joaquin for help… but then, on the table in front of him, his phone lights up and starts to ring.

The contact photo is of you and the name on the screen is yours.

He drops his coffee, spilling a little on the table as he reaches for his phone. His hands are already starting to shake. A part of him thinks this must all be a cruel joke. Someone has broken into your house and stolen your phone, or there’s some kind of technological glitch. But another part of him, the part that is still hoping after all these years, truly believes that when he answers the phone, your voice will be the one he hears on the other end of the line.

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice is hopeful as he holds his phone up to his ear and presses the answer button. “Is that you?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Joaquin’s stomach drops. But then he hears it. “Joaquin… where are you? What’s going on?” Your voice – your voice on the other end of the line. It’s real. By some miracle, you’re home. “You were just unpacking the takeout and then…”

“Angel, just stay there, okay? I’m coming home,” Joaquin says to you, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair as he stands up. “I’m so sorry, sir. You should call your wife,” he mutters to the man still sitting on the chair opposite him, looking confused.

He takes off at a run, almost running straight into a few people walking through the door of the cafe. He doesn’t hang up the phone the entire time he’s running home, just grateful that your favourite coffee shop is within walking distance of your house. He’s grateful that he wasn’t driving – he doubts he’d be able to focus on the road properly, knowing that you’re home and waiting for him.

Joaquin runs faster than he’s ever run in his entire life. His throat hurts from his heavy breathing and the air rushing in and there’s a stitch forming on his side. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, owing to the sweater he’d put on this morning and the pace at which he’s running. But he’s not going to stop or slow down for even a second until he gets to you.

Once he reaches your street, he pushes himself to run even faster. He can see your house in the distance and he hopes he’s not dreaming as he runs towards it. He doesn’t think he can deal with the pain of walking inside the house and not seeing you inside again.

He’s breathing heavily as he reaches the front door, fumbling in his pocket for the key. He doesn’t even notice his neighbour in the front yard, the one he’d seen disappear five years ago, standing right where he’d disappeared, holding his wife close.

Joaquin doesn’t manage to get the key in the front door before it’s pulled open, his hands shaking too much with adrenaline. His head snaps up and his eyes fall on you, your hand on the door handle and your cheeks tear-streaked as you look at him.

“Oh, dios mío,” Joaquin mutters, instantly stepping inside the door and wrapping his arms around you. He holds you tightly to his chest, worried that you’re going to disappear from his arms for good this time. “Are you real? Are you actually here? I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming. This can’t be real.”

Your hands fist the fabric of his sweater as he holds you close. Whatever happened, you don’t really know yet, but what you do know is that Joaquin is acting like he hasn’t seen you for years. The house looks the same, you’d noticed, as you’d walked around before Joaquin came home and you heard the sound of his keys at the door. But something is off.

“I’m real, Joaquin,” you murmur into his ear. “You’re not dreaming. But I don’t know what’s going on… where did you go? You were unpacking takeout and then you were gone.”

Joaquin pulls away from the hug but still keeps his arms firmly wrapped around your waist. He can’t bring himself to let go and he fears it’s going to be that way forever now. “Angel, it’s… it’s been five years since I last saw you. Thanos… he wiped out half of all life in the universe… you were– you were gone.” Tears start to fall down Joaquin’s cheeks and he doesn’t realise until your hand moves to gently swipe them away. He leans into your palm, finding comfort in the feeling of your warm hand on his cheek. “But the Avengers… whatever they did brought you back to me. It was them, I know it must’ve been.”

He internally curses himself for ever doubting them.

“Five years?” You frown, eyebrows knotting together as you try and piece things together in your mind. For you, it had just been like you’d blinked and things had changed but for Joaquin… it had been five years. Five years without you, and yet when you’d called… he had literally come running. “I was gone for five years?”

Joaquin nods, reaching one hand up to wipe the tears from your own face. He can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been for you to come back and not find him anywhere, for you to be alone in the house. He’s more grateful than ever now that he never tried to sell the house. If you’d come back and an entire new family had been living in your house…

“They were the hardest five years of my life, angel,” he says softly. “I thought that you were gone forever.”

You look at him for a moment, a little confused. “But you still live here… you still kept my number in your phone… you– Joaquin, you came running to me when I called… what have you been doing for the last five years?”

Joaquin’s heart cracks a little in his chest. “Angel, I’ve been waiting for you.”

With that, he can’t bring himself to maintain his self control any longer. The hand that had wiped the tears off your cheeks gently holds the back of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. You reciprocate immediately. Five years of wanting, five years of waiting for something he was sure was never going to come… a kiss five years in the making. Joaquin is surprised he was able to hold off for so long. He’s never going to take advantage of kissing you ever again.

~~~

A little later, you and Joaquin sit on the couch in the living room. Your hands are entwined, legs tangled under a blanket in front of you. It had taken a while to pull yourselves from the doorway. You were both in a little bit of shock – Joaquin in shock that you were finally back here after five years, you in shock that you had been gone that long.

“You really never dated anyone at all in the last five years?” You ask, resting your head on his shoulder as one of his fingers draws patterns on your palm that slightly tickles.

Joaquin looks down at you and sighs. “Believe me, my friends tried to make me. They even set up a couple of dates for me to go on, but I never went on any of them. I just couldn’t bring myself to get out the front door.”

Frowning, you look up at him. “Why not?”

“Because none of them were you, angel.”

He gives your hand a squeeze and you snuggle closer into his side. You’d been insecure in your relationship at times – five years ago – but you knew you could never be insecure about it anymore. How many other people could say their partner had waited five years for them on a sliver of hope that they’d come back after disappearing from the universe?

In his pocket, Joaquin’s phone starts to buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket and smiles as he sees his mothers contact on the screen. “I’ve got a phone call for you, mi amor.” He hands the phone to you and his heart warms as he sees your smile upon seeing who’s calling. “I think she almost missed you more than I missed you.”

You take the phone off of Joaquin and instantly hit answer, holding the phone up to your ear. “Suegrita,” is all you say and even though Joaquin isn’t holding the phone, he can already hear his mothers cries on the other side of the line.

He motions for you to put the call on speaker.

“Mamá, you told me not to lose hope,” he says, taking advantage of a moment of silence from the other end of the line while his mother isn’t sobbing. He’s already planning to go and see her as soon as possible – especially when she’s like this.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of his mothers sobs on the other end of the line, and then she speaks. “You bring her home to see me soon, mijo!” She exclaims to Joaquin. “Mi querida niña, you do not understand how happy I am that you are home with your love.” Her words are directed at you now.

There are already tears streaming down your cheeks at her words. “You must have taken really good care of him these past five years for me, suegrita,” you sniff. “Thank you for looking after him when I couldn’t.”

Joaquins arm wraps around your shoulders and squeezes tightly.

“I knew you would come home to him one day, querida,” his mom says. “Soulmates will find each other in life no matter what comes between them. I told him that years ago.”

His mother only hangs up after Joaquin promises that he’ll bring you around to see her tomorrow. You know you’re going to need to prepare yourself for plenty of hugs and kisses from her, and even though for you it’s only been a matter of weeks since you’ve seen her, it’s been five years since she saw you. It’s going to take a while to get used to that fact.

“Mamá took good care of me, angel,” Joaquin says, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “I don’t know what I would have done without her here. I cried in her arms more than I can count over the past five years.”

You frown, moving until you’re straddling Joaquin’s lap and you can hug him properly. You bury your head in his neck and one of your hands moves to rest in his hair. His arms wrap around your back. “You don’t have to cry anymore, baby.”

Joaquin chuckles a little. “I think I’m probably still going to do a lot of that. I can’t make any promises, angel,” he rubs your back. “A part of me still thinks I’m dreaming. That I’m going to wake up any second and you’re going to be gone.”

You pull away just enough so you can look him in the eyes. “I’m real, Joaquin. I’m not going anywhere. Not unless there’s some other alien out there that’s going to get rid of half all life in the universe again.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Don’t joke about that. Too soon.”

Smiling, you lean in and touch the tip of your nose against his gently. Joaquin takes advantage of the closeness of your face to lean up and capture your lips with his. He can feel you smiling into the kiss. Maybe if he does this enough, he can make his brain realise that this is real. That you’re here in his arms, your lips on his. That against all odds, you’re home.

~~~

He knows the nightmares aren’t going to go away any time soon. They’ve been plaguing him for years at this point. He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s woken up from a dream that you were alive, or a nightmare where he had you back only to lose you again. It’s why, when he wakes up later that night, his heart racing and sweat drenching his body, that it’s not a surprise to him.

What does surprise him is that he forgets you’re here now. It’s not until he hears your soft, sleep filled voice speak his name and feels the mattress move underneath him that he spins around from where he’d moved to sit on the edge of the bed to see you.

“Baby, are you okay?” You ask quietly.

Joaquin takes you by surprise by pretty much launching himself at you. He places a hand on your cheek, another one on your thigh. You’re sitting up, legs crossed, staring at him full of worry.

“Baby?” You try again.

“You’re real,” Joaquin mutters. “I’m not dreaming. It’s not a nightmare.”

You reach up a hand to rest on the one on your cheek. “It’s not a nightmare. I’m real.”

Tears fill Joaquin’s eyes again. He’s still haunted by the nightmare, one where he’d lost you again, and his brain is just sleepy enough to make him think that this is all a dream, even after trying to convince himself that it isn’t. Even after hearing your words confirm that it isn’t.

“Please don’t leave me,” he murmurs.

You shuffle closer to him until you’re face to face, until you can feel his unsteady breaths on your face and your noses are almost touching. “I’m not going anywhere, Joaquin.”

He brushes his lips against yours softly, barely even a kiss. “Don’t leave me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and kiss him properly in an attempt to wake him up a little. It’s almost like he’s still in the midst of the nightmare, that he can’t manage to pull himself out of it completely. The fact that he’s had to deal with all of this alone for the past five years makes your heart hurt.

“I’m home now, baby,” you mutter against his lips after you pull away. “I’m not leaving you. I’m home.”

Joaquin’s arms move to pull you closer to him until you’re almost sitting in his lap. “You’re home,” he says softly.

“I’m home,” you repeat.

He takes a moment to just breathe, then. Focusing on the feeling of your hands on him, the feeling of his hands on you, trying to ground himself. You’re home. You are really home. And for the first time in five years… Joaquin finally feels like he is home too.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america brave new world #mcu #mcu x reader #i'm lowkey terrified to post this cause this fic feels so special to me #but i really hope people will enjoy it!!

342 notes · View notes

foreingersgod · 1 day ago

Text

Earned It . PB

pairing: paige bueckers x reader

synopsis: sexy body shots with UCONNs finest

spicy little oneshot for you as my apology for being so slow with “softcore”

“paige, please” you had been begging all night, your lips finding their way to the shell of her ear, sending shivers down her spine “just loosen up a little bit…”

and she’d groan, oh how she hated the effect you had on her. so annoying, yet so irresistible that she couldn’t stand it. she lolled her head to the side, letting you gain even more access to her soft skin. you were quick to lean in even closer to place a quick peck underneath her jaw. the drink in her hand sloshed around slightly as she slowly came undone under your touch.

absolutely relentless, she thought. and you knew it, too.

“just once,” you whispered again. words laced with so much persuasion that she was able to hear you clearly, even over the brawl of the club “i’m begging you”

clubbing was one thing, getting absolutely wasted was another. but body shots? that was a whole other territory she didn’t touch. she had felt they were unnecessary, no point in swapping around germs in an already filthy atmosphere nor was it anything short of tacky. but she’d be damned if you weren’t tempting her to give in.

the night had gone by like any other weekend. you, paige, and her team had all decided to go out for the night and have a little fun. paige had no intention of drinking more than she normally had, wanting to make sure she had a sober mind to ensure the two of you got back to your shared apartment safely. you had gotten so excited to wind down after a long week and she wanted to let you have your fun.

but a few drinks turned into…a lot more, and you were getting touchier by the second. hands roamed her body, toying with the buckle of her belt as you danced against her throughout the night, knowing it would drive her crazy. palms squeezing her biceps after every drink like a silent plea as you always did when you wanted something. you wouldn't be letting up anytime soon.

"i'll never ask again i promise," you implored once more. you had never asked much of her, never made her do anything that made her uncomfortable, but the idea of taking a shot off of paige's toned body turned you on like nothing had before. you probably seemed desperate, a pathetic mess as you tugged on your girlfriend's sleeve, but you knew she was bound to give in eventually.

and just like you had hoped, before you knew it, she was giving into your every word.

"fine," she grumbled, gaze washing over your glossy eyes "just this once, i mean it"

those few words were all you needed to drag her away from the rest of your group, a bottle of tequila along with salt and a lime wedge in one hand, paige's hand in the other. it all passed by her in a blur; sweaty bodies on the dance floor entering and leaving her vison swiftly as you pulled her through the probing lights and towards a private room. she couldn't help but feel her heart pounding at the excitement of it all, sneaking away with you into a back room at a club was all so exhilarating.

you shot her a sneaky grin as you shut the door behind you, seeing the skeptical look on her face. such a tough girl, always putting on that intimidating facade, broken down to a trembling state before you.

the room was small but perfect for your request. dim lights and a plush sectional sat against a wall, a lengthy table to pair with it. it smelt of cigarettes and booze, and most importantly, it was private. you bit your lip as you sauntered towards paige with a faint swing of your hips. she looked so good tonight, adorned in a form fitting shirt that exposed just enough of her abs to make your drool. enough to let your imagination run wild.

"you look nervous" you pointed sarcastically, bottle still within your grip.

"yeah" she gulped "you always make me nervous"

"you don't need to be nervous around me paigey," you smiled in an attempt to reassure her "it's just a drink, babe"

"it's a drink-" her head tilted down at you, watching you as you backed her up towards the couch. the backs of her knees hit the soft material when you came chest to chest, forcing her to sit down with a huff. you laughed softly as you set the bottle on the table momentarily to place yourself in her lap "that you're drinking off my stomach"

"and that's stressing you out how exactly?"

"it's not stressing me out" she scoffed, though you could see a smirk toying at the ends of her lips. the weight of your body on hers was making her impatient, making her needy "i'm just waiting for your ass to do it already"

"damn, all you have to do is say please" you shrugged at her innocently. you knew riling her up like this would only make it better.

she rolled her eyes as you slid off of lap swiftly, noticing how she adjusted her position skittishly. it was your favorite thing about paige, how completely agreeable she was when she was with you. she was so high strung naturally, basketball and her future career keeping her tense, but she was swept under your charm the second you got her alone.

"okay you ready?" you asked, picking up the bottle of tequila excitedly. you gestured to the table, patting the cool glass with the flat of your hand.

her tongue ran smoothly along the back of her bottom teeth as she let out a resilient sigh. her hands gripped her thighs roughly as she hoisted herself up off the couch, feet dragging dramatically over to the table.

"come lay down you big baby" you laughed "you need to ease up!"

so she did, but not without making a show out of it first-in typical paige fashion. she jutted out her bottom lip ever so slightly, just to let you know she was only doing this because you wanted her to. her limbs stretched out as she groaned to get herself comfortable on the cool glass, causing that stupid shirt to ride up again, her fingertips reaching the hem to pull it up even higher to let you have access.

"you're ridiculous" you snorted, knowing damn well that her plan of seduction was working incredibly well "relax!"

"when you're about to put your mouth on my abs?" she eyed you "that's funny baby"

your fingers found their way to her shirt, hiking it up towards her rib cage, the fabric scrunching up far more than paige had originally allowed. she gasped slightly as the cool air hit her warm skin, feeling how your fingertips were still wet from the condensation of the bottle.

"yeah, but you'll like it" you said, and she knew you were right. no matter how you touched her, she'd be putty in your hands "just let me help you wind down paige, you've earned it"

she fell silent in mere seconds, suddenly a lot more obliging to your request. you tried to hide the satisfied smile that tugged at your lips, but paige was quick to urge you to 'hurry up and just do it already'. so, you listened without hesitation as you uncapped the bottle.

you made it your mission to make a charade out of it all, get her worked up and squirming below you. so far so good. slowly but deliberately, you shook the salt just around the curve of her belly button and poured the tequila carefully into the crevice. she winced at the sensation but softened when you put the lime to her lips.

hold this for me, will you? you joked before turning your attention back to the task at hand. the corner of her mouth lifted slightly at your humor, though not lasting long, once you lowered yourself towards her abdomen.

your breath was hot against her already warm skin, making her abs tighten in excitement. your lips teased her midriff as you placed a taunting kiss against her. time seemed to slow in that moment as she imagined each touch so delicately, quickly dissipating when you finally began the shot.

the sensation of your tongue sweeping across her skin felt familiar as you licked up the salt. a feeling she knew all too well, never wanting it to end. then she felt your tongue maneuver to her navel to lap up the alcohol as painstakingly slow as possible. she let out an audible groan, one that you would most definitely tease her for later, as you drank every last drop off her body.

fuck, she repeatedly muttered the longer you over her.

her rambles were cut short once you switched from her torso to the upper half of her body, your lips making contact with hers to take the lime from her mouth. it was messy and honestly, if you asked paige, unexpectedly arousing the way your lips enveloped hers. you pulled away with a shake of your head as the bitterness of the fruit set in, chuckling with exuberance. but your girlfriend remained in her reclined position, still in awe of what you had just done to her. her lashes batted low at you, brushing against the tops of her cheeks are she attempted to find the right words to explain this moment.

"see?" you scrunched your nose, licking the remaining tequila off your lips "not so bad huh?"

she felt stupid in a way, how she was gawking at you. all flustered over a fucking shot. but the shyness left her body once you lent your hand out to her, helping her off the table and pulling her in close to you. you sneaked in a quick kiss to her cheek, soaking in the scent of the distilled spirit.

"way better than i expected" she panted as her hands wandered down to your waist. her fingertips dug into your skin gently, urging you to take notice of her eagerness to finally leave. you raised an eyebrow at her when she used her grip to tug you flush against her chest.

"but i definitely think i'm ready to take you home now"

#Spotify #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x you #paige x reader #paige buckets #paige bueckers one chance please #uconn wbb #womens basketball #wnba #wnba x reader #dallas wings #golden state valkyries #caitlin clark x reader #kate martin x reader #wlw #lesbian #lesbian imagine #sapphic

393 notes · View notes

narrycherries · 2 days ago

Text

I am very aware that I’m late with the ivy update! I have seen your messages but only replied to a few because I can only apologize so many times 😭 life has been chaotic and stressful these past few weeks and I am trying my best to tackle my day to day tasks and chores, so I’ve had to put editing on the back burner. The update will be out soon, within the next few days. It’s super long & I haven’t had a big enough chunk of free time to read, edit & prepare it. I promise I’m not abandoning the series I just have to sleep like a normal human after handling all my business every day 😭 love u all see u soon! xxx🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

(1) how’s one to know..

harry is just an ass and she is just a stranger — series introduction, bit of angst (8.6k)

(2) an incandescent glow

She just wanted to have a fun night out, but Harry has a tendency to ruin things.. — angst and sadness filled (10.9k)

(3) putting roots in my dreamland

Despite wishing he didn’t exist, she had no choice but to be around him.. — short but necessary angst for the story (8.4k)

(4) and now I’m covered in you..

She can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble and it irritates him more than it should. — a scary situation creates a lot of conflicting thoughts for both characters.. angst (14.3k)

(5) magnificently cursed

She can’t seem to ignore him and he’s rather observant of her.. - angst, little dramatic incident (11.4k)

(6) clover blooms in the fields

She needs help and he just so happens to be the only one available.. - little angst, more fluff (tw: does mention surgical procedures) (12.3k)

(7) crescent moon, coast is clear

She was struggling to let go of her worrying thoughts, but he was determined to help her through it. — there’s some angst & fluff (15.2k)

(8) he’s gonna burn this house to the ground

He has added insult to injury and she gives him one chance to make it right. — bit of angst lots of fluff and dialogue (17.5k)

this series is loosely inspired by the song ivy by taylor swift

more pics // more pics (2) // more pics (3)

part 8 teaser post(with photos)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ playlist *ੈ✩‧₊˚

(just a few songs that inspired this series & what I listen to while writing it :: these are my music preferences so if you don’t like them.. don’t listen) •••slight spoilers so be aware/you can skip over this•••

ivy - taylor swift

lie to girls - sabrina carpenter

my boy only breaks his favorite toys - taylor swift

norman fucking rockwell- lana del rey

right now - one direction

souvenir - selena gomez

something in the way - nirvana

fine line - harry styles

guilty as sin - taylor swift

cinnamon girl - lana del rey

brain stew- greenday

the next best american record - lana del rey

dancing with our hands tied - taylor swift

lips of an angel - hinder

tonight - zayn

small talk - niall horan

iris - goo goo dolls

so it goes - taylor swift

stay over - tove lo

love is a wild thing - kacey musgraves

false god - taylor swift

little freak - harry styles

crimson and clover - joan jett (& the blackhearts)

I can fix him (no really I can) - taylor swift

get stoned - hinder

angel - kacey musgraves

there you are - zayn

nobody gets me - sza

alone - heart

cardigan - taylor swift

lover of mine - 5sos

mateo- tove lo

strong - one direction

638 notes · View notes

rafeysdeer · 3 days ago

Text

so american (aka civil!reader x vigilante bf jason)

prompt: where the reader is not used to be loved in the right way, or, where jason finds the reader sleeping wrapped in his t-shirt and does everything to show how much he loves her.

a/n: omg hi! i know, i really disappeared this time, but i'm back and with a new imagine! i promise i will post every request that it's on wait list, and become more active in here, anyway, english is not my first language, and i hope u guys like this one 💗

"he says i'm pretty wearing his clothes" so american, olivia rodrigo

It was already late at night when the window of your tiny apartment opened, showing that your boyfriend had arrived from his usual patrol, unfortunately, you had been asleep for a long time, on the couch, curled up in a shirt at least twice your size, an open book sprawled on the coffee table, in a probably very uncomfortable position.

Jason's eyes lit up when he found your peacefully sleeping figure on the couch, his satisfaction growing even more when he recognized the oversized t-shirt you were wearing, his shirt, the one that had been missing for weeks, but he seen it hidden on your side of the closet, a smile started to take over his face.

He carefully approached you, pulling the blanket from the edge of the couch to cover your soft body, but no matter how gentle his touch was, he saw your eyes slowly opening, blinking slowly as you tried to shake off the desire to return to your deep sleep.

"Jay? What time is it? I'm sorry, I tried to stay awake, but the couch was so comfy" the girl said, trying to defend herself, of nothing, because he was not accusing her at all, and it's obvious when he looks at her face with an expression of pure confusion.

"Why are you apologizing, sweetheart? It's really late, you didn't have to wait for me, come on, let's get you on bed" he says as the girl blinks her big eyes, shaking off the sleep, her arms wrapping almost instinctively around his neck, as he picks you up bridal style, wrapped in the fluffy blanket and takes you towards the bedroom.

It didn't matter how many nights had passed, how many patrols there were, how many times he told her it was okay for her to go to sleep, and that she didn't need to wait for him.

The routine in the end was always the same, him finding her passed out on the couch, curled up in some uncomfortable position, and then carrying her back to the bedroom while she grumbled about how he didn't need to carry her, even though she made no sign of moving, and just curled up tighter into him.

And yet, night after night, she kept apologizing for doing something as silly as falling asleep while waiting for him to come, and as cute as he thought it was, it was starting to get tiring.

"Honey, you know you don't have to apologize every time you fall asleep, right? It's okay to sleep, besides, I love the routine of having to carry you to bed" He teases with a smile on his face that said everything that was hidden behind his gaze.

She curls up on the bed as she waits for him to finish taking off his gear, watching him take off his combat boots and heavy jacket.

"I don't know, I just feel bad, you already do so much for me, the least I could do was wait for you." She says with a look on her face that expressed how much she wished she could do more, how much she felt she needed to do more.

His head tilts slightly to the side as he lets out a tired sigh.

"The only thing I want from you is for you to rest, so you can be beautiful and happy the next day, and not look like a tired zombie, you know that's more like my thing." He teases, smiling mischievously, drawing a little laugh from her pretty lips, as the bed moves with the new added weight.

His arms go straight to her waist, as if there was a supernatural force pushing them towards her. They curl up comfortably around each other, his head tucked into the space between her neck and shoulder, leaving kisses that were anything, but innocent.

"Maybe I have to tire you up, so you finally stop being so stubborn and go to sleep," he jokes, smiling as he bites lightly her earlobe, making her let out a cute sound between a nervous laugh and the beginning of a moan.

"Jay, stop it, you're tired, let's go to sleep." She protests, moving in his arms as he warmly holds her in place.

"Nah, never too tired for you, love."

His voice sounds huskier as his open-mouthed kisses start to trail down her neck, causing nervous giggles. "You know, I think you should-" He begins as she let out little nervous laughs and giggles, he murmurs against her skin, causing goosebumps, an effect only he could cause on her. "...Wear that shirt more often, you look pretty in my clothes." He says with a naughty smile as he places kisses on the lap of her chest, the part that's not covered by her (his) shirt.

This was going to be a really long night, at least you got a good rest.

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #jason todd thoughts #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd titans #jason todd dc #batfamily #batfam #dc robin #dc batfam #batfam imagine

269 notes · View notes

hugs4jongseong · 3 days ago

Text

❥ His prettiest work - 황현진

¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·

Synopsis • In which you help your best friend with his artist's block by modelling for him.

Pairing • Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

Warnings • friends to lovers, fluff, hyunjin paints y/n naked, no actual smut but like... You're naked.. kissing him.., hyunjin can't keep his hands to himself, making out, idk if I missed any 😖

W.C. • 1,636 (give or take)

A/N • Hi lovelies >.< Everyone say happy birthday hyunjin!! I hope you all enjoy, this is not edited so keep that in mind if it's not perfect & i apologize for any bad grammar. Thank you for reading! <3

¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·

Of course you know why you're here, but you're not sure of how 'hey, hyune, why don't I just model for you?' turned into stripping your clothing off piece by piece until you're completely bare in front of your own best friend.

Lately you'd noticed that hyunjin just wasn't acting like hyunjin. The poor boy hadn't painted in weeks, and it was clearly affecting him, so, being the kind best friend you are, you offered to model for him. Hyune jumped at the opportunity, taking the idea and running with it.

You were so happy to see hyunjin excited to paint. It was the most passionate he'd been in a while. He had so many ideas, and you let him talk your ear off about everything he had in mind until the two of you finally arranged a few days where he could just sit and paint the one thing he finds the most beautiful: you.

God, he was so in love with you.

So here you are, deliberately posed on a large sofa chair with your legs over one arm of it and your back against the other, head leaning gently against the cushion and hands resting on your tummy. Every now and then he'd get up and walk over to you, delicately running his long, slender fingers over your bare skin to adjust your pose, muttering gentle words of praise as shivers run up your spine.

"You're doing so good, angel. so perfect," Hyunjin hums softly, eliciting a sheepish giggle as a faint blush of pink colors your cheeks.

Sure, at first you felt slightly uncomfortable about being literally naked in front of your best friend, but you quickly got used to it. You trusted him more than anyone in the world, and he treated you with nothing but care and intent, handling you as if you were a porcelain doll.

"This might be my prettiest work, y/n. You're so beautiful," hyunjin says, glancing up from the canvas, a small content smile on his lips. Your heart stutters at his words, he had always been affectionate, he'd always called you sweet names, but right now just feels so intimate. It's as if he's looking past just your body or your face and complimenting your soul.

"Is it almost done?" You frown, looking over at him, almost not wanting your time together to end. He simply gives a small nod, that small smile still evident on his lips.

"Do you wanna come see?" He asks softly, and you quickly nod, eagerly getting up off of the sofa and wrapping a thin silk robe around your body before scampering over to his art station.

When you finally see the painting, your eyes widen and your soft, rose petal-like lips part slightly. It genuinely is a beautiful piece of art, one so pretty that it renders you completely speechless. Hyunjin had perfectly captured your essence, perfectly captured your femininity, perfectly captured everything. He looks up at you and laughs softly "do you like it?"

His words snap you back into reality, letting out a small hum and nodding, still staring at the painting until you feel like you have to physically tear your eyes away from the canvas. "It's gorgeous, hyune. It's so, so pretty," you smile softly, flinging your arms around his neck and embracing him tightly. "You're amazing."

Hyunjin lets out a soft, affectionate huff and hugs you back, slender hands snaking around your waist and bunching the fabric of your robe up in his fists at your back as he breathes in your sweet scent. When you pull back, he keeps his hands on your body, moving to rest gently on your beautiful hips that he'd spent so many hours perfecting on a canvas. No matter how accurate or how pretty the painting was, nothing could ever beat the real thing.

"I'm so proud of you, hyunjin," you smile softly and bring your hands up to gently cup his face, running your thumbs over the soft flesh. He smiles up at you before one of his hands leaves your hips to grab one of yours, bringing it to his lips and kissing your palm.

Your heart swells at the sight and you let out a nervous giggle "hyune..."

His smile grows at your reaction, he'd always loved your adorable shy side. "Y/n..." He echos your tone with a grin, interlocking his fingers with yours as his other hand rubs gentle circles into the flesh of your hips with his thumb.

"y/n, do you know how beautiful you are to me?" He asks, his voice just above a whisper. Usually you'd giggle and brush off the compliment, but there was something so different about it. His eyes were wide and almost vulnerable as he looked up at you, gently pulling you closer by your hip. Once again, he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

That same gentle blush from earlier returns to your cheeks, sheepishly glancing away from him. He drops your hand and his returns to your hip. "C'mere," he mutters gently pulling you down onto his lap.

Your eyes widen slightly, but you don't try to fight it, letting him guide you down onto his lap. You knew that the line of friendship might've been blurry for the two of you, but you also knew that this wasn't normal behavior. "Hyunjin what are you-"

The man cuts you off with a gentle hum, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to your neck. If you weren't sure before, now you definitely know that this was crossing the line.

His thumbs massage into the meat of your hips and he keeps you firmly still in his lap as his lips begin to travel about your neck, leaving your skin burning in their wake. "Sat so well for me.." the boy beneath you mutters, moving away from your neck to look at you, his eyes, usually so sharp, now soft and sweet as he looks into yours.

"I love you, y/n," hyunjin says softly, and for the moment, you swear your heart stopped. Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn a bright shade of pink, the sight bringing a small smile to hyunjin's lips.

"Hyune.. I-" you feel yourself start to stammer "you mean- Like, actually?"

He laughs softly at how flustered you get, his hand coming up to brush hair away from your face as he waits to hear your feelings before going any further.

After a moment of staring at him, stunned, you finally snap out of it, smiling nervously before speaking up ever so softly "I love you too."

His smile grows and, with his hand resting gently on your neck, he comes forward to kiss you. His lips press against yours firmly, the emotion behind the kiss telling you that he'd been waiting a while for this.

His hand stays resting gently at the base of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. You melt into the kiss, your lips moving slowly and intently against his, arching your back slightly into him.

His lips start to wander down away from yours, kissing the corner of your mouth, then the small space between your bottom lip and chin, then he peppers a few along your jawline before moving down to your neck. You let out a soft sigh as his lips move passionately against your neck, nipping gently at the flesh.

"hyunjin.." you moan softly, and your hands come up to the back of his neck, keeping his lips on you. He chuckles lowly against your skin, both of his hands now holding your hips, stroking your skin through the thin silk robe.

"loved painting you, darling," he mutters between kisses "your hips... They're so pretty." Then his hands move down to your thighs, rubbing the smooth flesh where the robe had started to fall open. "Mmh, and these legs.."

Hyunjin moves back to look at you, his eyes almost pleading. "Can I see you again? Please?" He speaks softly as his hands run up and down over the slopes of your waist. You giggle at his words, but your heart flutters at how respectful he is.

"you have a perfect painting of me right there, though," you giggle, and you reach teasingly for the strings of your robe.

He's practically pouting at your words. "But it's not the real thing.." he frowns, and the way he's looking at you has you weak.

You giggle as you come down to kiss his jaw, slowly untying your robe until it falls open. You try to make sure that he can't see your face in order to hide any hint of self-consciousness in your eyes, but being the attentive sweetheart he is, he gently hums your name and cups your cheek to get you to look back up at him.

Reluctantly, you lift your head, your cheeks turning a soft shade of red as you watch his eyes roam over your bare body then back up to your face. "Gorgeous girl.." he coos with a gentle smile and leans down to kiss your collarbones, wasting no time to run his hands along your bare skin. "You're stunning... 'm so obsessed with you.."

You feel your entire body heat up, the words making your heart rate accelerate. "Hyunjin.." you say through a breath.

He looks up at you from where he's trailing kisses down to your sternum with a quirked brow. You giggle softly, cupping his face in your hands "you're obsessed with me?"

He nods "terribly obsessed."

You giggle "I love you so much.."

A dumb smile grows on his lips, and you can't help the one that pulls at yours as you come down to kiss him again.

199 notes · View notes

shaiyasstuff · 2 days ago

Text

won’t go home without you | zayne

synopsis : “You and Zayne were never perfect, but you were always right.”

content : zayne x reader, established relationship, heartbreak, some fluff, pretty basic stuff, your classic couple quarrel.

writer’s note : zayne being zayne, that’s it, that’s the plot. (Kinda a blurb because I was listening to Maroon 5)

quote : “It’s not over tonight, just give me one more chance to make it right.” - Maroon 5

Inspired (loosely) by :

You and Zayne were never perfect, but you were always right.

The fights, the teasing, the way you always found your way back to each other.

It was a rhythm, a dance that only the two of you knew.

Zayne was never good with words, but he loved you in all the quiet ways that mattered.

The way he would pull you close in bed at night even after an argument, whispering an apology as he embraced you.

In the way he would stay awake, just to hear you fall asleep.

The way he would slide over a glass of dessert when he notices you eyeing it for too long, even if it’s his favourite.

The way his hands subtly covers the edge of the table when you bend down to pick up something that fell, knowing how clumsy you were.

The way he would memorise your coffee orders.

You would walk home after work and find your coffee sitting on top of the counter, from your favourite cafe.

“I love you,” you would say as you hugged him.

He would give you a small kiss on your forehead. No words needed, just warmth.

Or, even the way he would leave gifts around the house for you to find. Things that you mentioned casually when you both were driving home.

The way he was always there. No matter how busy he was at the hospital, even when he just finished an 8 hour shift, he was always there.

And you loved him for that.

All the little things were enough for you.

Until they weren’t.

Because throughout your entire 2 year relationship, he never said it.

The three words, ‘I love you,’ had never left his lips.

Not even once.

At first you didn’t complain, even when it bothered you.

Because you understood him, you loved him, and you knew he wasn’t good with words. So you never pushed the matter.

But, slowly, it started gnawing at you.

Like an annoying, nagging fly thats chipping away at your insecurities.

You were always patient with him. That’s why arguments were actually quite rare.

You would wait for him to finish work if you finished early, and he would drive you both home.

You would fill the silence at home with your corny jokes and though he acts frustrated, you could catch the corner of his lips curling ever so slightly.

You never forced him to talk when he’s not ready, you just stay close, letting him know you were there when he was.

On your day offs, you would even cook his favourite meals and leave it on his desk, pretending it was for you just so he would eat without arguing.

His quiet, calm demeanour gave you a sense of stability, he made you feel secure.

That’s what you loved about him.

But sometimes, you just needed to hear him say it. Just once.

Because sometimes love, can’t live on unspoken things.

—•

It was late.

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing by outside.

Zayne sat on the couch, his head tilted back, fingers rubbing against his temple.

It had been a long day.

Too many meetings, too little sleep, and a gnawing exhaustion that even your presence couldn’t fix apparently.

You stood by the kitchen, washing the last of the dishes, glancing at him every few moments.

He looked tired, but more than that, he looked distant.

That distance had been growing for weeks now.

You weren’t sure when it started, when the warmth between you had started to cool, when the silence between conversations had started stretching too long.

You tried not to let it bother you.

Tried to tell yourself it was just a phase, just stress, just a bad month.

But the weight of it had been pressing on your chest all night, a silent ache that refused to go away.

You wiped your hands dry on a towel, hesitating for just a moment before speaking.

“Zayne?”

He didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

You chewed on your lip, shifting your weight.

“Do you still want this?”

His fingers stilled against his temple.

He exhaled, slow, before finally looking at you. His eyes were unreadable.

“What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard. “Us. This. Do you still—”

Zayne sighed, “Darling, can we not do this tonight?”

You flinched.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? It was never the right time.

You weren’t picking a fight.

You weren’t trying to be difficult.

You just needed to know.

“I just—” You hesitated, but the words were already pushing their way out.

“You haven’t really been here lately. You don’t talk to me like you used to. And I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking, maybe I just need you to—”

Zayne let out a frustrated exhale, standing abruptly.

“Maybe you should just stop expecting things from me.”

The words hit like a slap.

The room tilted.

A sharp breath left you as your hands curled into fists at your sides.

He didn’t even realize what he had just done.

Didn’t realize what he had just broken.

You felt something shift inside you, something quiet but irreversible.

Zayne ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“Y/N you know I don’t mea—”

You didn’t wait for him to finish.

You turned, walking to the bedroom.

“Wait, Y/N,” His voice followed you, but you didn’t stop.

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t cry.

You just packed.

—•

The suitcase wasn’t even fully zipped when he appeared in the doorway.

His brows were furrowed, his expression somewhere between frustration and panic.

“Darling, what are you doing?”

You didn’t answer.

His voice hardened.

“Are you really leaving just because of one thing I said?”

Your fingers tightened around the zipper, your chest aching.

“It wasn’t just one thing, Zayne,” you said quietly, without looking at him.

A silence stretched between you.

He was breathing hard, hands at his sides, fists clenched like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know what.

Finally, your eyes met his.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even try to stop you.

Maybe if he had reached for you, maybe if he had just, said something real. Then maybe things would have ended differently.

But all he did was stare at you, his expression unreadable.

And so, you walked past him, suitcase in hand.

Zayne didn’t move.

Didn’t follow.

Didn’t say a word.

The door clicked shut behind you, and that was it.

—•

The silence was the worst part.

At first, Zayne told himself it was just temporary.

That you needed space.

That you’d cool off, come back, and you’d talk.

He had plenty of time, didn’t he?

But then, the days stretched into weeks.

The bed started feeling too big.

The couch felt too empty.

The apartment felt too quiet.

The first time he reached for his phone to text you, he stopped himself.

Not because he didn’t want to.

“What would I say?”

He’d set the phone down and try to distract himself.

He went to work, came home, slept, repeat.

It was fine. He was fine.

Until of course, he wasn’t.

It was a small thing.

He was making coffee one morning when he reached for your mug.

It was muscle memory, because he always made yours first.

But then his hand stilled.

Because your mug wasn’t there.

His felt his stomach drop.

He would open all the cabinets, “Maybe she misplaced it.” Only to find it empty, your mug was no where to be found.

Like you had never been there at all.

That was when he checked the closet.

He rushed into your shared bedroom, swinging then closet door open.

And his chest tightened painfully when he saw that your side was empty.

Your clothes. Your shoes.

The little things you left in random places.

All gone.

That was when he realised that this wasn’t a break.

You weren’t coming back.

At first, he tried to pretend he was fine.

Tried to go out. See his co-workers. Work late.

But nothing felt right.

He would find the coffee too bland, his colleagues too loud, or the conversations just bored the hell out of him.

No matter where he went, he still ended up here.

Alone.

At home, in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling like he was suffocating under the weight of everything he didn’t say.

He tried telling himself that maybe it was for the best.

That maybe you were better off without him.

But then he thought about how you looked before you left.

The way your hands had trembled just slightly when you zipped up your suitcase.

The way your voice had cracked, just for a second, when you said it wasn’t just one thing.

The way you had looked at him, like you were waiting.

Like you were hoping, just for a second, that he would stop you.

And he hadn’t.

That was the moment the regret settled in his chest like a knife he couldn’t pull out.

Because you wanted him to fight for you.

And he just stood there, watching you walk away.

—•

Zayne saw you everywhere.

Not you, but the things you would do.

It was in the things you touched, the spaces you once filled, the air that still carried the faintest trace of your perfume.

He saw you in his blankets, snuggled up on the couch reading a book.

He saw you in his clothes, that one oversized sweater you would always steal from his closet.

Saw you in the kitchen where he had moved the snacks to the lower cabinet because he knew you couldn’t reach high.

It was like you had been erased from the apartment but not from his world.

But that wasn’t the worst.

The worst was that, he had let you walk away.

—•

He made it two months before he caved.

It happened on a random afternoon.

He had been walking home, taking the long way just because he didn’t want to go back to the empty apartment, when he passed a small bookstore.

And there, he saw it, sitting in the window.

The book you had been searching for.

The one you had spent weeks trying to find, but every store had been sold out.

His feet moved before his brain caught up.

The next thing he knew, he was inside, buying the book without thinking.

It wasn’t until he stepped outside, book in hand, heart pounding, that reality hit him.

You weren’t here.

He had no one to give it to.

And that’s when it hit him, like a punch to the chest.

He needed to see you.

Needed to tell you everything he didn’t say that night.

Because if he didn’t?

He would regret it for the rest of his life.

He stood there out side the bookstore, the book still in his hands, his fingers gripping the cover like it was the only thing grounding him.

His heart was pounding.

He hadn’t realized how much time had passed, how long he had gone without hearing your voice.

The thought made his throat tighten.

He reached for his phone.

Two months.

That’s how long it had been since he last saw your name on his screen.

Two months of silence he had convinced himself was necessary.

But now, with the weight of everything crashing down on him, he wondered, “Did I wait too long?”

His thumb hovered over your contact.

His chest felt too tight.

But he hit dial.

And then, it rang.

Once.

Twice.

His pulse quickened.

Finally, a click.

A breath caught in his throat.

But it wasn’t your voice.

“The number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.”

The line went dead.

Zayne stared at his phone.

His stomach dropped.

He tried again.

Ring. Ring.

Nothing.

He exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowed.

This wasn’t normal.

You always picked up.

Even if you were mad.

Even if you didn’t want to talk.

And if you didn’t, you always called back.

But now?

Nothing.

A pit formed in his chest.

His hands shook slightly as he checked your social media.

No updates.

No posts.

Like you had disappeared.

His mind raced.

Had you blocked him?

Had you moved on?

Had you… left for good?

The thought was suffocating.

His grip tightened on the phone.

He had spent the last two months thinking he had time.

That you would still be there, just… waiting.

But what if you weren’t?

What if this time, you weren’t coming back?

Panic shot through his veins like ice.

And for the first time since you walked away, real fear settled deep into his bones.

He couldn’t lose you.

He wouldn’t.

Not like this.

Not because of his own damn pride.

Zayne stood abruptly, grabbing his car keys.

He didn’t know where you were.

Didn’t know if you even wanted to see him.

But he was going to find you.

Because if there was even the slightest chance that he could fix this then, he wasn’t going to waste another second.

—•

Zayne never drove faster in his life, the rain blurring the road as he gripped the steering wheel, heart pounding.

He had waited too long, let too much time slip through his fingers, convincing himself that you’d still be there, waiting.

But when his calls went unanswered, when the silence stretched too far, fear settled deep in his bones.

He didn’t know what he would say when he saw you, only that he had to.

Because if he didn’t, if he let this be the ending, he would regret it forever.

Standing on your porch, staring at the door he never thought he’d have to knock on, his hands trembled.

But then, you were there, your eyes guarded, arms crossed, exhaustion weighing heavy on your face.

“Zayne,” you whispered, his name feeling like both a wound and a prayer.

His throat tightened.

“I was wrong,” he admitted, voice rough, raw.

“I should have stopped you. I love you. And I won’t go home without you.”

Silence hung between you, thick with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Then, finally, your fingers trembled as they reached for his, and as he exhaled, pressing his forehead against yours, he whispered,

“Don’t go.”

This time, he wouldn’t let you.

—•

You could have told him he was too late.

That love wasn’t enough. That some things, some wounds, don’t just heal because someone finally decides to show up.

But as you stood there, staring at the man who once let you walk away without a fight, you realized something.

You had been waiting for this.

Not for an apology. Not for grand words or promises.

For him.

For the way his voice cracked when he whispered, “I was wrong.”

For the way his fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach for you but too afraid.

For the way he looked at you like he had finally woken up, like he had finally understood what he had lost.

Your breath felt shallow, chest rising and falling too fast as you stared at him.

Neither of you moved.

And then, he did.

Just the smallest step closer, just enough that you could feel his warmth again, just enough that the cold space between you started to disappear.

His hand hovered near yours, like he was waiting, waiting for permission, waiting for you to let him in.

Your fingers trembled as they reached for his, hesitating, just for a second, just long enough for him to feel the weight of it.

Then, finally, you closed the distance.

Zayne let out a breath, something deep and unsteady, like he had been holding it in for months.

His forehead pressed against yours, his body leaning into you as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

His hands, once hesitant, found their way to your waist, slow and unsure, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you anymore.

You let him.

And when his fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater, when his arms pulled you just a little closer, you felt the way he was shaking.

He had always been quiet in his grief.

But now?

Now, you could feel every unspoken word in the way his hands refused to let go.

His breath was warm against your cheek, voice breaking as he whispered.

“I love you.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You could have said a million things.

Could have reminded him of all the ways he hurt you, could have made him earn this moment.

Instead, you just sighed, tilting your head until your lips brushed against his.

Soft, hesitant, the kind of kiss that felt like both an ending and a beginning.

Zayne froze, his breath catching, before he kissed you back, slow and aching.

Like he was memorizing the feeling.

Like he didn’t believe this was real.

And when he pulled away, his forehead still resting against yours, his hands still holding you like you were the only thing keeping him upright, you whispered.

“Then don’t go home without me.”

His grip tightened. His breath hitched.

Zayne knew that this wasn’t forgiveness.

But it was a start.

#Spotify #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #zayne x you #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #doctor zayne #dr zayne #zayne x non mc #zayne x mc

156 notes · View notes

skygemspeaks · 3 days ago

Text

spideytorch angst fic where peter has to stop being spider-man for one reason or another (possibly after aunt may passes and he falls into a depressive episode that causes him to lose his job so he can't afford to do the crime-fighting thing because he can barely afford to feed himself, let alone buy the ingredients for his web fluid and suit repairs and stuff)

He doesn't really expect people to care that much - there are already so many heroes in new york and he mostly dealt with street-level criminals anyways, and the bugle is always going on about what a menace he is so they'll probably be happy for him to take a break for a while.

So fast forward a year later, peter's starting to get back on his feet, and he manages to get a job working for reed. He's a little wary at first, worried that they'll figure out who he is, but this isn't an opportunity he's willing to give up

He gets along really well with reed, and every once in a while he crosses paths with the other members of the fantastic four as well

Sue and Ben are friendly enough with him, but Johnny seems to hate him for some reason. Like, this goes way beyond whatever petty grudges johnny may have had with peter parker when they were both teenagers, and peter can't figure it out

It goes on for weeks before it all comes to a head when peter stays behind late at work one day, after everyone else has already left.

Johnny comes round to find peter, and awkwardly apologises to him for the way that he's been treating him

Peter is obviously pissed, but this is his best friend after all, so he gives him a chance to explain himself.

Johnny looks ashamed of himself as he haltingly explains that none of it was ever peter's fault. It's just that...peter reminds him so much of spider-man (which makes sense after all, johnny knows that peter and spidey were friends, so of course they'd share some mannerisms), and it hurt johnny to see the way reed and the others were just kind of accepting peter into the fold because it felt like peter was replacing his best friend. Peter doesn't know what to say as johnny keeps rambling about how the last time he ever saw spider-man, the two of them had had a fight and had left each other on bad terms. Johnny is crying now because he doesn't know where his best friend is, doesn't even know if he's still alive, and it hurts him to think that maybe spider-man is still out there, has stopped the hero lifestyle and is just living a life that doesn't have room for johnny in it, but that's still so much better than the alternative that he's not out there at all. That maybe he had been done in by some villain who got in a lucky shot and no one ever found out because no one knew who it was beneath the mask.

Peter is hugging johnny now, trying to comfort him and figure out how to come clean, because there's no way he can keep hiding his identity now, right?

Then johnny sniffs, and says that the worst part is that he never even got to tell spider-man that he loved him. He kept putting it off, because they were still young and they had all the time in the world and johnny had to make sure he got it right, and now he might never get to say it at all.

Peter starts crying then, because oh, he had always thought his feelings were unrequited, and it's so bittersweet in this moment to know that johnny feels the same way, but also to know just how much pain he had put his best friend through this past year.

"I'm sorry," says peter, whispering apologies over and over and over again into johnny's hair. "I'm sorry for staying away for so long, firefly. I didn't mean to hurt you so much"

Johnny pulls away sharply to stare at peter in disbelief when he processes what he had said. He freezes for ten long seconds, convinced that he must be dreaming or something. Then, he pulls peter into a desperate kiss. There will be time for explanations later (he knows that peter will be getting an earful from sue when she finds out). For now, he just needs to hold his best friend in his arms a little longer

#long post #raw fic #fic prompts #spideytorch prompts #spideytorch #spider man #peter parker #johnny storm #human torch

145 notes · View notes

shanklin · 3 days ago

Text

Stan and Ford never actually lose contact after the summer. Sure they don’t talk as much as they used to and it’s a bit lonely but some time apart did them good!

Ford tries not to be hurt by the fact that Stan was doing so well without him and found friends of his own the moment Ford’s presence stopped holding him back.

Ford also tried not to be hurt by the fact that Stanley refuses to come visit them. Even when their father called and ordered them to take Stan off his back for a summer, Stan wouldn’t budge. He made other plans with his new friends, who were normal and fun and nothing like Stanford.

Ford still only had one single friend to call his own. Don’t get him wrong, Ford loves Fiddleford but he made one big miscalculation when he told Stan to go back to New Jersey alone. Fiddleford wasn’t Stanley. There is no possible way for him to fill the void that Stan left behind.

Ford ignores Stan’s calls for three weeks straight after Stan refuses their father’s order to visit them the first time.

Three weeks and one day later he picks up the phone and lets Stan apologize and make up excuses. He’s too tired of missing Stan to argue. If their calls are all Stan could spare for him, Ford will take them, those little scabs that, just for a couple of minutes, make him feel whole again.

Just like always they end their calls by slapping their palms against the phone in a makeshift high six and hang up.

Stanford cries for a long time after.

Another year passes and Ford is pissed. Fine. If Stan won’t visit him, he’ll go to New Jersey himself and knock some sense into the knucklehead.

Grunkle Dipper and Grauntie Mabel ask him if he’s sure. They know how hard it was for Ford in New Jersey with all the bullies but Ford waves them off. He’s 14 now, almost 15, not a little kid and he managed just fine living in Jersey for the first 11 years of his life.

He doesn’t tell them that the only reason he survived those years was because of Stanley’s fierce protection.

Ford is pissed at Stan but he’s also excited to finally see his brother again. He’s gonna surprise him and then yell at him and then hug and go to the beach and see how the Stan o’ War is doing. Stan told him he made some improvements and he is excited about what ridiculous upgrade Stan came up with.

When they finally arrive at the pawnshop they’re met with police cars and an ambulance. The paramedics carry out a body bag and Stan is let out by the police in handcuffs.

Stan's eyes widen in surprise but his expression closes off not a moment later.

Everything happens in a blurr.

His father is dead. His brother in custody and they’re being questioned by the police.

Grunkle Dipper and Grauntie Mabel do most of the talking while Ford is not listening, hiding his hands in his pockets and looking at the ground.

“I want to see my brother.” is the only thing he manages to say. He ignores the concerned looks the adults give each other. He’s here to see Stanley and nothing else.

***

Then, finally, he gets his wish after days of waiting.

The social worker leads him to Stanley and tells him that she managed to get them some time to talk in private.

It’s the first time in three years that Ford gets a good look at his twin. He’s not sure he likes what he sees.

Stan is bigger than him, has more muscles. But not the kind you get from boxing. The kind you get from doing hard labor for a long period of time. Stan mentioned a part time job at the docks but now Ford fears there was more to this than Stan let on. Much much more, looking at the new scars Stan never mentioned. There was one on his forehead. One on his arms, a hidden one on his shoulder. Ford dreads to know what else Stan is hiding.

The worst part, however, is how despite all the muscles and scars Stan looks small. Pitiful even. It’s unsettling the way he won’t meet the social worker's eyes, the way he shies away from her kind touch. It’s nothing like the Stan he remembers. Nothing like the Stan he's been talking to for at least once a week for the past three years.

The social worker leaves them alone with a reassuring smile and Ford tries to find the right words. He thought this would be easy. That they would be able to talk with each other just like they always did.

“Stan-” Ford starts unsure of how to continue. Luckily Stan is two steps ahead and moves in for a hug. Okay that's good. Ford can do a hug. Ford opens his arms to let his brother in, only for Stan to open Ford's jacket and inspect the inside.

Ford blinks, arms still open.

“What are you doing, Stanley?” Ford asks, bewildered.

“Checking for bugs, genius.”

Stan's voice had lost the quiver that had made him so pitiful just a moment earlier and took on an irritated and condescending tone instead.

He lets go of Ford's jacket as if he touched something especially nasty and throws himself into one of the many chairs in the meeting room and leans back.

“Guess the bitch really did tell the truth, huh?”

Stan stares out of the window and frowns.

“So what the fuck are you doing here? Pretty sure I told you I was busy again this summer.”

“Stanley..what happened to you? What did you do?”

Stan leans forward, looks deep into Ford's eyes and grins.

“Nothing they can prove.”

Stan laughs and keeps on laughing as Ford tries to make sense of it all.

Stan is mocking him. Just like their former classmates, just like the bullies.

Ford storms out and refuses to talk about the meeting.

Grauntie Mabel and Grunkle Dipper keep throwing each other concerned looks and Ford knows they're not only for him, but also for Stanley.

His brother has everyone fooled. He pretends to be a victim, hurt and afraid, telling lies about their father abusing him. He makes a show of it during the hearings and has the adults wrapped around his little finger. Some, Grauntie Mabel and Grunkle Dipper included, shed tears for him.

Stanford just watches and seethes. What game is Stan playing here? Why is he doing this?

In the end they let Stan go, judging their fathers death as an accident.

Before they leave for Oregon Mabel sends them both on an errant run, which Ford knows is just supposed to function as some more bonding time between him and his brother.

The moment Stan leaves the adult's sight he drops his charade and stops looking like a kicked puppy.

“You never answered my question. What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

“We came to visit you, but clearly we shouldn’t have bothered. You were doing all so great by yourself it seems.”

“You only got that now? After I spent the last three years coming up with weak excuses not to see you?” Stan laughs. “And they call me the dumb one.”

Ford flushes in anger but holds it in. It makes no sense. If Stan really didn’t want anything to do with him, why the frequent calls? Why bother pretending missing Ford and all the apologies for not visiting. If Stan really didn’t care he would’ve just ignored him completely. It would’ve been easy.

Stan moves to leave but Ford grabs his arm and holds him back.

“Stan, enough with the lies. Tell me what’s really going on. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together. As a team.”

Stan twirls around and pushes Ford hard against a wall. For a moment he looks around at the empty street before gritting his teeth and almost growling.

“Don’t touch me, you freak!”

Ford barely registers the words as he kneels over from a punch to the gut.

Stan walks away and this time Ford lets him.

It’s the last time Ford sees his twin for a very very long time.

If only Ford had followed Stan that day, secretly stalked him through the hidden alleyways and closed off passageways.

He would’ve seen Stan enter an abandoned building guarded by armed men on each side.

And if he listened closely he would’ve heard Stan shouting for a man named Rico to show himself and demand to see the kids.

But Ford doesn’t follow Stan and so he will never find out what that was all about. 😌

“Where are the kids Rico?! If you did anything to them I swear-”

Rico throws up his hands, feigning innocence.

“Relax, Stanley, relax. I’m a man of my word. I don’t hurt kids.” Rico puts an arm around Stan's shoulder. Stan tries to wiggle out but Rico holds firmly in place. “I’m not like your dear old Pa, after all”

Rico slaps Stan on the back and ruffles his hair.

“You’re welcome by the way.”

Stan uses the moment to put some distance between them and glares at the stronger man.

“You nearly got me put in jail for murder!”

Rico grins and spreads his arms.

“I had full faith in you getting yourself out of it, my boy. And the show you put on? Simply wonderful. I almost shed a tear myself at your performance!”

“Where. Are. The. Kids. Rico?!”

Rico sighs and waves his hand. Some of his henchmen lead two kids, a couple years younger than Stan himself, into the room. The moment they see Stan they shout his name and run up to hug him. Stan holds both of them tightly in his arms.

“I missed you, dude!” The boy cries and hides his head inside Stan's shirt while the red headed girl glares at Rico standing behind Stan.

Stan looks them over and smiles.

“Soos, did you take good care of your sister?” Soos rubs his eyes and nods. Stan looks at Wendy, who gives him a thumbs up.

“Yes, very touching. Now let’s discuss business. I need all three of you on a plane to New Mexico in about 2 hours.”

All three of them?

“What's the catch?”

There is no way Rico would let them go just like that. He must know they’ll run away the moment he lets them leave.

“There’s no catch. Do your job and no one gets hurt. If you choose to betray me though and run away.” Rico pulls out a knife and tips it underneath Stan's chin. Stan pulls Soos and Wendy behind his back. “Well I might just have to let my frustrations out on your dear twin. You two look so much alike, he’ll do nicely as a replacement.”

Stan snorts but schools his features and takes on a worried look.

“Eh, boss.” One of the henchmen butts in.

“Pines just beat up his brother before coming here. I don’t think that threat is gonna work”

Rico rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

“See what morons I have to deal with on a daily basis?” He tells Stan and then turns around to the henchman.

“He was obviously acting, you idiot.”

“Oh believe me. That wasn’t an act. You did your research. My family abandoned me. Hurt me. Why the fuck should I care about what happens to them?”

Stan takes both Soos and Wendy by the hand and drags them towards the entrance.

“But who am I to tell you how to do your business? So we’ll be off catching that plane and all that.”

Rico snorts.

“Oh Stanley, you’re a gambling man just like myself. That’s why I like you, but you’re a bit too young to fool me just yet. You will do just as instructed or it’ll be your brother who suffers. Maybe we’ll cut off his hands and sell them to one of those tourist trap freak shows. That way you can visit him while I’m hunting you down for betraying me.

Stan stops walking and deflates.

“Good boy.”

Selfish Shellfish AU - Masterpost

#Selfish Shellfish AU #gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #relativity falls #me: lets do a quick post about how sad it would be if they kept talking through the years and High Sixing through the phone #also me: writes whatever this is on an off for the past few weeks #on a different path there is no rico and after Filbrick dies the kids steal an old van and go on tour with their newly dubbed Mystery Wreck #they take care of each other and their life is totally sustainable like that #child abuse mention #not me now using every oppotunity to have people call Stan a good boy after a certain fanfic scene a few weeks ago broke me

134 notes · View notes

asumofwords · 3 days ago

Text

Watercress - Chapter Four

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Smallfolk OC, mentions of death and war, descriptions of injury and blood, injury of a child, attempt at murder, choking, arguing. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x She/Her

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Word Count: 7.2k oops....I'm so sorry....

Notes: Hello my angels, apologies for such a slow release on this one, I was so incredibly sick that I was bedridden for a week! I wrote this in my delirium and also on my journeys to work, so I hope you enjoy!! <3

“What have you done?”

She startled, it had been so peaceful in the cottage that she had forgotten about the silver haired man’s existence in her bed.

The needle and thread she worked with this time was different to the one she used on injuries. Instead of pulling together a wound, she pulled together the seams of white linen and leather.

It had occurred to her earlier on that she should probably get him clothed, but he had been so acidic, so scathing in her attempts to help him that she thought that keeping him vulnerable in her bed would humble him.

It hadn’t.

From the seat by the fire she glanced her eyes over to Aemond, who sat rod straight in her bed, long fingers grasping at his silver locks.

Ah.

“What. Have. You. Done.” He spat louder this time, the silk tresses falling between his fingers as his eye locked onto hers. His pale cheeks flushed in anger, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Saved your life.” Came her deadpan response, looking back down to his leather riding jacket. She was suddenly thankful for the way in which she had cut it off of him; it made it easier for her to go through the original holes of the leather with her needle rather than having to pierce new ones.

“You were fevered,” The healer said simply, without remorse, “Your hair was tangled, matted with blood. I had to—”

Aemond moved. Staggered from the bed, a wash of grey taking over his skin where there had just been colour. It had surprised her so thoroughly that she stared at him before jumping into action, body in autopilot. She stood to come to him, to get him to sit back down.

But then he surprised her again.

This was a man she had watched lay in her bed for weeks, too weak to stand, too weak to hold himself, but here he was, standing from the bed, furs tangled beneath his feet. He swayed, yes, and she could tell that his adrenaline was taking over, but underneath all of that, it was sheer will.

Sheer spite.

She worried that he would fall as she went to his side, that he would burst more stitches, un-align his leg, puncture his lungs. She was so preoccupied with worrying over his condition and potential to worsen it that she hadn’t thought for one second the sudden danger he imposed over her. She was by his side in a second.

And then he moved again.

Too fast, too hard, ignoring the pull of his wounds, ignoring the agony screaming through his body.

His fingers found her throat and she froze.

She blinked as he gripped her, forcing her gaze to his. His hand trembled—not with weakness, but with the sheer force of his rage, and she felt the weight of him against her neck, as if he was using her to keep himself standing.

All with the grip he had on her neck.

Her eyes looked onto his lone one, not daring to flick over to the empty socket on the other side. The violet eye she had grew accustomed to narrowing at her, flashing with anger, was now almost entirely black, his pupil having swallowed up all remaining evidence of humanity, leaving only the barest hint of a ring.

“You had to?” He hissed, his voice low, deadly, “You had to strip me like a common dog?”

Her chin lifted, and though her pulse thudded beneath his fingers, her voice was even, “You would rather have rotted in your own filth?”

His grip tightened.

“Yes,” He snarled, the word cutting like a blade, “Better that than,” His voice dipped lower, the shadow of the firelight darkening his sharpened features further, “this.”

He was ruined.

Defiled.

Like a man shorn for punishment, like some domesticated drunk.

Like Aegon.

The realisation struck him like a blow, like a fresh wound split open, deep and raw. His lips curled, sickened.

“You’ve made me look like him,” He spat, his voice dripping with venom, “Like that wretched, slovenly oaf.”

A humourless laugh, sharp and bitter, scraped from his throat.

“Tell me,” He sneered, eye flashing with cruel mirth, “Shall I take to drinking next? Stumbling through brothels, pissing myself in the streets?” His lips twisted cruelly and she felt a pang of pity for him in that moment, “Is that what you’ve made of me? Turned me into a common, useless drunkard?”

“Only you have the power to do that. Though from what I’ve heard, your blood runs thick with it.”

Aemond’s grip flexed, his fingers twitching with the urge to hurt, to punish. She tried to inhale deeply, but he only allowed her the barest slither of air. And that was when she realised he would not kill her in that moment, not that she wouldn’t have fought him. He merely wanted an audience.

She liked her odds regardless; another hit to his ribs, a kick to his leg and she knew that she would be freed. But there was something new about this rage, something different.

It was shame.

“You’ve taken my hair,” He said, his voice like steel drawn slow from a sheath, “Defiled my birthright.” His breathing came heavy, ragged with fury, “And you expect me to thank you?”

You have no birthright, she thought, not anymore.

His fingers flexed against her throat, his other hand fisted at his side. She saw this as a good sign; if he truly wished to kill her, surely he would have had two hands at her throat. She tried to swallow, feeling her throat bob beneath his hand, to which he only tightened it further. Her head spun.

Opening her mouth she breathed raggedly, “I expect you to live.”

The words were plain. Cool.

Always so cold.

So detached.

And he hated it.

Where was her anger? Where was her fear?

Where was his respect?

He had seen the fear briefly, flickering through her eyes as she had watched him stand. But it wasn’t fear of him, not at that moment it hadn’t been, it was fear of what he would do to himself. Fear that he would injure himself further.

He hated it.

Hated that she cared.

But there was fear, the moment his hand had wrapped around her throat and squeezed her, he had seen her eyes flash with surprise, and then fear, but now, now she seemed so sure that he would not harm her. So sure that he would not lift his other hand and squeeze the life from her in the cottage where she gave so much life.

She gave.

And he would take away.

Aemond exhaled sharply, a dangerous sound.

“It will grow back.” She said, unshaken, her eyes looking over his head, looking to the shoulder length hair he now had, small waves dancing behind his ears.

It was pretty, his hair, especially now with the way the light caught it. It was so pale, so unlike anything she had ever seen before that it seemed to absorb light itself.

“No,” He whispered, voice laced with something dark and bitter, “It won’t.”

Not in the way that mattered.

Not in the way that it mattered to him.

She didn't understand. How could she?

Aemond Targaryen was reduced.

“I had no choice.” She spoke again, and he felt her throat bob beneath his palm, and for a second he had to fight the excitement that coursed through him.

She was under his control now.

He could control her.

But there was something more. He looked down his long nose at her, and watched how she continued to look at his hair. How she continued to look at what she had done to him.

She was watching him with something more than cool observance.

“You are still a Targaryen.” She said with confidence, and his fingers twitched against the soft expanse of her neck, “There is no denying that.”

Aemond was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged motions. The pain clawed at his ribs, at his leg, at the raw stitches she had only just put back together. His fury had made him reckless. And now his strength waned.

She watched as his grip flexed, as though torn between crushing her throat and throwing her away from him entirely. His fingers twitched, then fell away, his strength faltering. And she watched as his eye darted down to her lips momentarily, the angry look on his face faltering as the pink of his tongue wet his lips.

It was fleeting.

He swayed.

The healer remained still, waiting. She knew better than to reach for him now. Knew that his pride would not suffer her hands upon him, not after she had already stripped him of so much.

Aemond let out a sharp breath, stumbling back a half step, the pain flashing across his face even as he tried to smother it. His fingers curled into fists, trembling with the effort to hold himself upright.

She cast her gaze downwards, ignoring the way that his member had seemed to swell slightly, and kept her eyes evenly on the wound that had healed somewhat on his chest and hip. Blood had welled to the surface and had begun to slowly leak from the wound staining the dressings.

“You’re bleeding again.”

She wished he would just lay down and stay quiet. Perhaps she could dose his food with milk of the poppy to keep him lucid.

His eye flicked to his side, where the fresh stitches had already begun to seep red into the bandages.

He swayed again.

Her voice was soft, placating, “Get back in bed.”

Aemond let out a breath, half a scoff, half a curse, “I’ll stand.”

“You’ll fall.”

His eye snapped back to her, gleaming with ire. But the truth of it was undeniable.

And then—his body betrayed him.

His balance tipped, his muscles clenched, and in the next moment, his knees buckled beneath him. She moved faster than he could stop her, stepping forward as he collapsed into her grasp, hands beneath his arms.

Agony shot through his ribs.

He let out a snarl, the sound vibrating in his chest as her hands pressed against him, steadying his weight.

“Don’t.” The Prince hissed, but his voice wavered, his body too weak to make good on the threat.

She ignored him, adjusting her hold with practiced ease, bracing her shoulder beneath his, “This is your own doing.” She muttered, bearing his weight as she guided him back toward the bed.

His muscles stiffened against her, “I won’t—”

“You will.” He tensed harder, and so she corrected herself “Or you will fall.”

Her voice was soft this time. Softer than he had ever heard her. And it almost startled him. Since when did she have the capacity for meekness? To be quiet and polite? When had she ever shown that she could be more than cold or biting to him?

It was worse he realised, hearing her. This new her he had never seen before.

It was warmth.

He seethed.

She could feel his anger rolling off of him, sharp and smouldering, could hear the grinding of his teeth as she manoeuvred him step by step.

But he had no choice.

The healer felt the moment his body truly gave up—when his rage could no longer hold him upright, when his limbs sagged, when his grip on his own pride slipped and his own hands moved to her upper arms, clutching her tighter than he had ever clutched her throat.

She knew then that he would likely never actually harm her.

His breathing turned shallow, his weight heavier, and by the time she lowered him onto the furs, he had no more fight left to give.

She stepped back.

Aemond was still, his eye burning into the ceiling, jaw clenched so tightly she thought he might shatter his teeth.

A long silence stretched between them.

Then—his fingers lifted to the uneven edges of his hair, his nails scraping against the jagged strands.

The healer sighed, she was tired of his moods, “It will grow back.”

His eye snapped to her, cold and cutting, “You ruined me.”

She huffed out a humourless laugh, crossing her arms, “You men and your vanity. You’re worse than a young maiden.”

Aemond’s lips curled, “You do not understand.”

“No,” She agreed easily, moving to the table where her supplies were laid out, “I don’t.” She turned, looking at him over her shoulder, “But if I had left you to rot with the filthy state your hair was in you would have gotten an infection, and you wouldn't be here to worry about your appearance.”

Aemond exhaled sharply, his fingers curling into the furs.

She knew he was seething, drowning in his own shame, his own fury. But she had no patience for it.

Not now.

She dipped a cloth into warm water, wrung it out, and turned back toward him. “You can either sulk like a child,” She said, her tone firm, “Or you can rest, recover, and learn to walk again without having to lean on me.” She wiped gently at his stomach, throwing a fur over his length so it wasn’t in eye shot, “You will either learn to live with your leg as you did your eye, or you will learn to live as a cripple. It’s your choice.”

Aemond’s eye burned into her, sharp as a blade’s edge. He was still seething, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, as if he were keeping his fury caged only by force of will.

"Always so bold," His voice low and venomous, "You’ve defiled me.”

She scoffed, pressing the damp cloth against the sweat-slick skin of his brow. He flinched but lacked the strength to swat her away before she moved to the dressings.

“I saved your life.” She hummed amused.

“You humiliated me.” His lip curled, disgust and something deeper—something darker—twisting his features, "I should have woken with a blade to my throat, not a butcher’s hands in my hair."

She hummed, unimpressed, "You shouldn’t have woken at all. I should have let the fever take you. Or left you for the wolves and snow. The Gods have given you another chance, and yet, here you lay," She wrung the cloth out again, her expression unshaken, "Sulking."

Aemond’s jaw ticked, his fingers curling into the sheets, "You think I will forgive this?" His voice was silk-thin, fraying at the edges, "That I will forget what you say to me just because you tend to me?"

"No," She said simply, meeting his eye without flinching, "I think you will heal. And if I have to chain you to that bed to make sure of it, I will."

His breath hitched, his nostrils flaring, but his body betrayed him—always betrayed him-- exhaustion dragging at his limbs, pain licking up his spine. He could do nothing but glare, his pride bleeding out between them like an open wound.

"You made me look like him," He spat suddenly, the words ragged, raw, "Like a common drunk. Like my pathetic, soft-bellied brother."

She tilted her head, gaze flicking over him, unbothered, "It becomes you."

Aemond snarled, but the sound was weaker now. His body was failing him, the anger taking too much from him when he had so little left to give.

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head. "Rest, my Prince. If you ever hope to kill me as you promise you must rest."

Aemond turned his face away from her, but not before she caught the flicker of something in his eye—not just fury, not just loathing.

Something like defeat.

The usual silence of her cottage had been shattered often and violently since the man’s arrival. The air was thick with animosity, each interaction a silent war waged in glances, in barbed words, in the heavy quiet that stretched between them. She wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to having her patience tested so often, or being pushed so completely to the edge.

She could feel it now—the irritation, raw and insistent, scraping at her nerves, burrowing deep, wearing her thin. It was beginning to crack her resolve, piece by piece.

Her sleep had suffered. The floor had become a constant ache in her bones, no matter how much straw or fur she gathered to soften it. She had tried, at first, to offer some measure of comfort. But comfort was a foreign word now, an elusive thing she would have gladly traded for a moment’s peace.

What she would’ve given for her own bed. What she would’ve given for a guest who did not make her wish for solitude.

Whenever she moved about the cottage, she felt his eye follow her—heavy, burning, unrelenting. She had tried to ignore it, tried to lose herself in her work, but he was a shadow, always there, lurking. Watching. The only reprieve was when others came seeking her healing hands, or when she ventured out for supplies, just to breathe something other than him.

But even then, he was waiting.

For her.

At first, she had tried to answer his sharp-edged questions, had tried to dull their bite with reason. But it became clear; he wasn’t asking for answers. He was asking to provoke. To fill the silence that stretched between them like a battlefield left abandoned.

And in a way it was. To him anyway.

Every day, she tended to him—bandaging wounds, feeding him, bathing him when he could not manage. Though he would never admit it, she saw how his pride rebelled against even the smallest mercy. His body may have been broken, but his stubbornness was unyielding. He refused kindness, even when he was burning with pain.

There was something more fragile about that than any wound.

And because of this, her patience had worn thin. She no longer bothered to hide her irritation, no longer masked her words in civility. But beneath the frustration, there was something else—something she could not quite name.

Curiosity, perhaps.

What lay beneath all that anger? The sharp words, the bitter arrogance—what was he running from? What had broken him before she ever laid a hand on him? Before he had ever fell from his dragon?

She could not afford to wonder for too long. Because they both knew neither could hold out much longer. The pressure was suffocating, thick as smoke and filled her small cottage, throats clogged with it.

But where she found quiet in the silence, Aemond found madness.

The stillness there was unbearable. It pressed in on him, vice-like, suffocating.

Aemond had known noise. The thunder of battle, the screams of men, the roar of his dragon’s wings. He had known chaos all his life training with the blade, flying, escaping his brother. But here, in this gods-forsaken place, there was nothing. No war to fight. No enemy to strike down.

The world had moved on without him, and the quiet of it stung worse than any blade.

And she—she was a constant reminder of everything he had lost.

Her voice, blunt and emotionless, cut deeper than steel. She spoke of his failures with no pity, told him of his cause’s collapse, of his brother’s death, of the loss of his dragon. But it wasn’t the words that hurt most. It was the silence in between. The absence of anything else. No loyalty, no affection, not even hatred.

She did not see him as a Prince. She did not even see him as a threat.

She made him feel like nothing.

And for that, he hated her.

The firelight flickered against her face as she worked, grinding herbs with steady, practiced ease. The sound of mortar scraping stone gnawed at his nerves, over and over and over again. Always the same.

Never ending.

His body ached—not just from his injuries, but from the weight of it all. The stillness. The powerlessness. The sitting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

She was small. Insignificant.

And yet she carried herself like one who had never known fear. Or perhaps, she had known too much of it.

He hated it.

The silence.

He couldn’t bear it.

His fingers curled into the furs beneath him, his voice low, dangerous.

“You are enjoying this.”

She didn’t look up, “Enjoying what?”

“Watching me rot in this hovel while you play at being a saviour.” His words dripped with venom, “Don’t pretend it doesn’t please you.”

She sighed, an exhale of quiet boredom, “Ah, this again. You give yourself too much importance.”

Her calm made his blood boil.

“You should pray I never leave this bed, healer.” He warned, voice thick with fury.

She did not so much as flinch. She only ground the pestle harder into the bowl, that same grating sound, “I find our silence preferable,” not dignifying his threat with a response, “You’re far less irritating when you’re not speaking.”

His jaw tightened.

“You forget yourself.”

She let out a slow breath, as if barely restraining a yawn, “Do I?”

His breath came sharper, his rage coiling tight in his chest. Heat flooded him.

“You are nothing,” He spat, “A peasant. A nameless healer with no purpose beyond mixing herbs in this shack. Likely born of a whore and a drunk. And yet, you dare speak to me this way?”

She did not look at him. She kept grinding the pestle. The same grounding grating noise over and over.

She was grinding his resolve.

Crushing it into dust beneath her practised hands.

“Mmm,” She hummed, inspecting the herbs with feigned interest, “That may be true. But there are other truths.” She paused, then added, voice mild, “You are crippled. Like your brother before you. And your father.”

Aemond’s vision darkened with rage.

“I should kill you.”

At that, she finally looked at him. And then—she smiled.

It was not mockery. It was not fear. It was small, knowing—almost as if she had already decided something.

“Then so be it.”

Before he could speak, she moved. Across the room, to where his belongings lay abandoned. His tunic, still bloodied but sewn together. His boots, streaked with dried mud. And his sword—untouched since she had dragged him here half-dead.

She picked it up without hesitation. It was too large for her frame, but she carried it with ease. Almost too easily.

What Aemond did not know, was that it took great effort for her to hold herself steady, but she did it out of spite.

They were both full of so much spite that she felt it almost suffocating her. This anger. This hatred. The rage. All of it. She felt it from him. She felt it within. It was drowning her.

She was drowning.

She turned back and held the hilt out toward him.

“Take it, Prince. Since the first attempt did not go as you planned.”

Aemond inhaled sharply, eye longingly looking at a blade he had spent so much time with. So many hours in the training yard holding it. Always attached to his side.

He longed to touch it again.

“You mock me.”

The healer shook her head softly, “I only give you what you ask for.”

His fury burned hot and bright. He wanted to stand, wanted to wrap his hands around her throat, wanted to demand her respect.

She stepped back. Not offering it—challenging him.

“If you can stand without my help,” She said, smile still on her lips, “Then you may have your sword.”

Incensed, Aemond shifted, furs sliding from his shoulders. He forced himself up, every muscle screaming in protest. His skin paled, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp pants. But still, he stood.

He stood, Gods be damned.

Her eyes swept over him, not with the detached calculation of a healer—but something else. If he were not so insufferable, she might have blushed.

But he swayed. His leg trembled. His ribs protested, agony slicing through him like a hot blade. But he persisted.

Aemond reached for the sword.

The moment his fingers curled around the hilt, she let it go. In that moment, that moment that was so brief, he felt the first wave of calm wash over him in weeks. He felt the first piece of strength, of pride, slide back into place.

This was what he was made for. This was what he was capable of. But that moment was all too fleeting as her hand dropped away.

The weight of the unsupported blade yanked his arm down—too heavy, too much too soon, the pain in his ribs exploding through his chest, but his stubbornness won out. He did not let go of the blade to save himself the pain, instead his hand tightened to it, and with that came the fall. His body twisted with it, his wounded leg giving way beneath the weight of him.

She watched as he fell, didn’t move to stop him. Didn’t move to catch him as she had the last time. Just watched as he toppled, blade still clutched so tightly in his hand she thought it might break.

She had warned him he would.

Had told him he would.

Aemond Targaryen crashed to the floor.

The pain was indescribable. Black spots bloomed before his vision, his face scrunched tightly in agony as he wheezed an agonised breath. He couldn’t breathe. It felt as though his lungs seized within his ribs. As though if he even tried to suck in a breath, it would be useless.

What had the healer said about punctured lungs? Was this what it felt like?

The moment stretched unbearably, silence thick with his humiliation.

And yet she did not move to help him. She only stood over him, watching. Watching as his face grew more and more paled and ashen. Watched as he struggled to suck in pained breaths, his hand still clutched to the sword as the other clutched his middle.

A shadow passed over him, the firelight momentarily being blocked.

And then—soft, calm, almost amused,

“Tell me, kinslayer,” She murmured, his eye blinking rapidly open to see her. There was a soft halo of light around her head, warming her features. She was pretty. So very pretty and yet she did nothing to show it. She did not dress pretty, only comfortably and smartly, nor she did not make effort to style her hair or wear jewels. She was plain. Unassuming. But in that moment, all he could focus on was how pretty she looked, just as pretty as a blade, and just as sharp as one too, “What use is a dragon without its fire?”

There came the final blow. And the warm light around her head suddenly looked like the seven hells.

Like damnation.

Like-

A knock sounded at the door.

The moment was over.

And Aemond watched as her face moved away from his. He felt the absence of her then. The absence of her warmth. Of her fire. She rose without hesitation, stepping over his fallen form as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture in her way.

From the floor, Aemond saw her open the door, revealing a thin man wrapped in a heavy cloak, his face lined with age and worry. A child clung to his side, perhaps six, perhaps younger, he cannot remember what Jaehaerys or Jaehaera had looked like when young. How old had they been? Lucerys had been five or six when he had taken his eye, so small yet so deadly. Tiny really. He blinked, the girls arm was cradled against her chest, her face pale and tear-streaked.

He could not hear their hushed words, but he saw the way the healer’s expression softened just slightly, how she nodded once before stepping outside.

“Not in here” She told the father, “A man has the Shivers.”

That was all she offered, and the eagerness to enter her home vanished from the fathers face. He stepped back, his retreat swift, his gaze never even flickering toward Aemond’s crumpled form on the floor, as if viewing him would be contagious.

Aemond had caught a glimpse of the child’s arm—swollen, bruised, likely broken. The healer moved quickly, guiding them further from the cottage. Her steps were careful, practiced.

Gentle.

She was a paradox.

How could she be so gentle yet so unyielding? So sharp yet so tender?

If it weren’t for the pain making his head already spin, it would be now. Just one moment ago she was crouched in front of him, mocking his ability to stand, to hold a blade, and now she was as soft as the silks his sister used to wear. As soft as how Helaena had been with her own children. As soft as his mothers hair. Yet these people weren’t anyone that the healer knew. They were strangers. And yet she was so soft to them.

Aemond yearned in that moment to know her kindness for once. Not her ire.

He wanted her softness.

Outside, her voice was a soft hum, soothing, steady. The father’s murmured reassurances wove through it, the girl’s sniffles growing less panicked, less frequent. And then, to Aemond’s surprise, a small laugh.

Even in her pain, she had managed to make the girl laugh. How she had done this, Aemond did not know.

He felt she really might be a witch.

Was she bewitching him?

No.

He hated her.

His fingers curled into fists, his body still half-curled on the floor. He tried to push himself up, but the pain in his ribs was sharp, so sharp it darkened the edges of his vision again and he slumped back to the cold and hard ground. His limbs felt foreign, his breath ragged, the wood of his splint dragging painfully against the floor as he tried and failed to get his leg beneath him and comfortable. But he couldn’t.

He was stuck.

He was pathetic.

Useless.

He had watched her work for the gods only knew how long. Watched the way she moved, how the father and young girl looked at her. As if she were something holy.

She was not.

She was nothing.

Nothing.

Rage twisted in his gut like a coiled viper.

Through the gap in the door, he watched—spiteful, seething—as flickers of movement passed through the firelight, watching as she tended to the child, as the father hovered behind them watching with nervous eyes.

Always watching.

When at last she returned fully into view, the child’s arm was bound, and the father’s relief was evident as he lifted his daughter and pressed a kiss to her forehead, hand holding the injured arm inspecting it.

Aemond wished he could see the healers face. See how she looked at the two people at her door. Would she be smiling softly at them both? At the girl? Or staring indifferently the way she looked at him.

Gods the way she looked at him.

Indifferently.

And then sometimes not.

Like he disappointed her.

As if she knew he could be better.

His mother didn’t look at him like that anymore.

Wouldn’t ever look at him again.

He could be better.

He could-

The father spoke to her, and Aemond strained to hear it, trying to shift on the floor to angle himself better to hear what is being said, but he couldn’t move. Every time he tried to shift himself he felt ill. He hadn’t felt so helpless since he lost his eye, and that made his heart race in his chest all the more.

Small. Innocent. And yet half blinded.

His half sister, estranged yes, but calling for his punishment after her bastard had attacked him. Blinded him.

Her face, his own blood, calling for his punishment.

His punishment was coming.

It was always coming.

Always coming for him.

He groaned softly as he tried to move, panic winding up his throat, and was surprised to see the healers face turn to him. To check on him. To see if he was okay. And that small piece of care, small piece of worry made his heart slow, and the panic he felt lessen.

She wouldn’t punish him.

She couldn’t.

She-

At the movement, the father reached into his cloak, the sound of coin in palm loud amongst the quiet. He placed the coins into the healer’s hand but to Aemond’s surprise she tried to take her hand back. She shook her head. Refused. Refused payment for her skill, for her time, for her help. It made Aemond furious. But the man insisted, and to Aemond’s disgust, she accepted only half of what was offered.

Half.

The father nodded his thanks before ushering his daughter back into the cold. And Aemond watched as the healer came back inside, dropping the coin carelessly into the front pocket of her gown.

The door shut.

Silence fell.

She was back.

She came back for him.

She-

-turned back to the table, washing her hands with methodical ease in a wooden bucket. As if nothing had happened. As if Aemond were not still sprawled on the floor, humiliated. In pain.

Waiting.

She did not look at him.

She did not even glance at him.

It struck something inside of him.

How she would see him.

How she would not look at him.

He already knew what he would see.

Her voice, when it came, was soft, “Let me know when you wish to try again.”

All indignation on her behalf died.

All curiosity was burnt to ash.

Aemond wanted to kill her.

But it was more than that, Gods help him. He had never wanted to survive more.

—

After that night, Aemond had expected fear. Deference. Even hatred.

Instead, she simply… existed. Moving through the cottage as if he were nothing more than another broken thing to mend.

She never bowed. Never used his title. Never even flinched when he threatened her life. She had walked over to him, snatched the sword from his hand and leant it against the fire where it had been prior before helping him back onto the bed and tucking him in the furs.

Each morning, she left without a word, disappearing into the woods for what felt like hours. And when she returned, her basket would be filled to the brim with herbs and roots—sometimes even rabbits or birds caught in her traps, and fish.

Always fish.

He hated fish now.

Aemond watched her, seething at his own uselessness as she skinned the catches with quiet precision, prepared broth with effortless ease. And on occasion forgot herself as she moved to feed him.

He resented her for it. For the way she cared for him despite everything he had said, everything he had done. He had tried to kill her. She had brought his sword to him as what he could only assume was a test, and he had grabbed it and tried anyway.

And yet still, she tended to him.

She did not punish him.

Her willingness to forget the sword unnerved him. Set him on edge. It made him feel as though something was coming. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

That perhaps she was waiting for something. Waiting for him to grow complacent, to let his guard down, and then she would strike. Then she would attack him the way he had tried to do to her.

Four days had passed since the sword incident when she ventured into the woods again. She had set traps earlier in the week—though it was not out of necessity for food that she went. She simply could not bear the thought of an animal left suffering for days.

The healer was no stranger to pain. She had seen it, felt it. But she had always sought to prevent it where she could. Especially for those smaller and more helpless than herself.

The rabbit had struggled when she found it, panic in its small, shuddering frame. A swift cut of her knife ended its suffering.

The second trap was empty. The third, too. She reset them, then turned back toward the cottage.

The moment she stepped inside, she felt it.

His gaze.

He was sitting up, leaning against the wall, watching her.

She hated when he watched her.

It unnerved her.

He unnerved her.

She felt like prey in her own home. A creature being stalked, studied. Her every movement, her every reaction watched. Observed. She knew that as he healed, his threats would become more than words. He would regain his strength. And then, one day, she would no longer be safe.

Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps he would kill her.

A smarter woman would have turned him over to a nearby Lord. Let them deal with him. But the thought of sending a man wounded and half-broken to certain death made her stomach turn. It was not who she was.

She was a healer. And what kind of healer would she be if she knowingly condemned a man to die?

Even him.

Even after his cruelty.

When she told him that evening as the sun had set low in the sky that he needed to stand, he had thought she was mocking him. Thought that she wished to see him flail, humiliated. Stand above him as he no doubt fell once again to the floor.

He had refused, spat his usual vitriol at her, cheeks reddened. Life flowing through him.

But then she had ripped the furs away and his eye had widened. Was this it? The moment he had been waiting for? Perhaps she would cast him into the cold outside instead. But she hadn’t, and only moved to to hold his arms as she softly pulled him to the edge of the bed.

It wasn’t without pain, despite her gentle hands.

Nothing was ever without pain.

His lashing out was never without pain.

Pain to his pride.

Pain to his solitude.

Pain to her.

It was over quickly.

He had stood, and she had helped him, telling him to not put weight on his broken leg, had pulled an arm over her shoulders despite her being shorter than him, and held the brunt of his weight. He had barely lasted before pain overwhelmed him, the edges of his vision fraying. But she had not laughed at him. She had held him aloft until he could stand no longer.

She had murmured quiet words of encouragement as she helped him to sit back down to lay. Had told him that the more he stands the easier it would get. That the more he did it, the sooner he would heal.

She had been as patient as the day he met her.

And Aemond had sneered. Because her care for him made his head spin.

It made him feel out of control.

And yet, the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to know. She seemed to know much about him. Yet he knew nothing of her.

Even now, as she sat at the table, preparing another stew, frustration burned through him like an open wound. The cottage was too small. The silence too thick. He was caged, restless, filled with something dangerously close to loathing.

He felt like a caged animal, cornered and alone. Nowhere to go. He bared his teeth. Snapped his jaw. Bit. Clawed. Tore. And yet still, she persisted.

The hand that cornered him persisted. And he bit the hand that fed him viciously and repeatedly without repent.

The words left him, sharp as a blade.

“Is this all your life is?” Aemond sneered, and for once he immediately regretted it. The peaceful look on her face was gone, and the cold wall he had grown accustomed to slid into place, “Tending to the weak, the sick, and the worthless?”

His words stung himself.

She did not look up.

Her voice was flat, unimpressed as she cut through vegetables at the table, “I prefer it to pretending I’m something I’m not.”

Aemond’s teeth clenched. The insult was clear.

"You think you’re better than me?" He spat, he couldn't stop himself, it was like watching himself from the ceiling, "A peasant who hides behind a façade of kindness?"

She exhaled softly—whether in amusement or exasperation, he could not tell.

"Better than a Prince who has nothing left but his pride."

The words struck deeper than they should have.

His fists curled.

He was still Aemond Targaryen. Still the blood of House Targaryen.

But the worst part?

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

His voice dropped, low and edged with warning, "You think your kindness will change anything? It’s weak. It’s meaningless. You have nothing."

Finally, she met his gaze. Her eyes were cool, unwavering. The wall of ice thick between the both of them.

"It’s more than you’ll ever have."

Aemond inhaled sharply. He wanted to wound her. To find the crack in her armour and cut just as deep. But he knew nothing of her.

Not her age, though he could guess they were roughly the same.

Not her life.

Nothing.

She turned from him, already moving to add the vegetables she had cooked to the pot. Food she would feed to him later.

And Aemond, for the first time, had no choice but to sit in the silence she left behind.

Aemond hated her.

He hated the way she moved through the cottage, unbothered by his presence, as if he were nothing more than another broken thing to mend. Hated the way she never flinched at his words, never cowered when he spat threats like venom. Hated that she did not treat him as a Prince, did not bow her head, did not offer the reverence he was owed by birthright.

She was insufferable. A ghost drifting through the dim light of the fire, tending to her work with quiet hands and steady patience. Always watching him—not with fear, not with admiration, but with that infuriating, unreadable gaze. As if she were waiting. Waiting for him to prove her wrong. As if she knew something he did not.

It made his skin crawl.

And yet—

His jaw clenched as his eye tracked the subtle grace in her movements, the surety of her fingers as they sliced carrots into chunks, the way the dim candlelight flickered against the smooth curve of her cheek. She never hurried. Never faltered. There was something assured about her, something unshaken. He had seen knights on the battlefield waver more than she did in the face of his anger.

He despised that about her.

But he couldn’t deny there was something compelling about her certainty. The way she met his gaze, unwavering, unafraid. The way she never raised her voice, never allowed his rage to provoke her, as if she had already decided he was not worth the effort. It burned him from the inside out, that quiet dismissal.

And her hands—gods, her hands. He had felt them, too many times now. Pressing against his ribs, cool against his fevered skin, smearing salve over the bruises that littered his body. They were careful, practiced, but firm. They did not hesitate. Even when he had sneered at her, insulted her, she had continued without pause.

The scent of her still clung to him, faint but unmistakable—herbs and something softer beneath, something warm, something that made his pulse press against his throat too tightly.

Aemond’s fingers curled into fists.

He was being ridiculous.

She was nothing.

She was a wretched peasant, a woman who knew nothing of war, of power, of the weight of a name like his. She was insignificant, a speck of dust in the grander scheme of things. And yet, here he was, watching her as if she held the answers to questions he refused to ask.

His stomach twisted, a sharp coil of frustration.

He hated her. He loathed her.

And what was worse—what was far worse—was that even now, beneath all that hate, there was something else.

Something he did not have a name for.

Something he would rather burn than acknowledge.

Aemond exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his gaze away.

Yes. He hated her.

And that was all there was to it.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist: Please ask if you would like to be added to the taglist

@thewriterthatghostedyou @sepherinaspoppies @insufferablelust @osferthswifey @persephonerinyes @ihadlife @aemondsfavouritebastard @misspinkonmars @aelora-mills-targaryens @nina2697 @dahlias-and-marigolds @callsigncrushx @fivefeetsnark @sarcasticwitch11 @aemondtargaryenwifey @lynnbell @adurnat01-blog @livmondcole @sillylittlepenguin181818 @misfitbimbosblog @blackswxnn @idontwanttoloveanymore @missmischief11 @m-riaa @shygardengalaxy-blog @sxlsvv @vanityvixen @toodlesxcuddles @eponaartemisa lunablade

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #new miniseries #asumofwords #fanfic #hotdfanfic #aemondfanfic #aemond smut #no use of y/n #Watercress fanfic #WatercressAu

117 notes · View notes

acowardinmordor · 2 days ago

Text

So does Steve tell him about it all?

Cause Eddie probably thinks he hallucinated or something. Maybe he had a similar thing to Will, but he got back through quickly, so it kinda seemed like he made it up, other than the bleeding. But thats... there's no way that thing he saw was real, so a big animal, 3 claws, that distance apart... a bear, it has to be a bear, and it was just diseased or mange or something.

Is it better for Steve to let him think that he's a little crazy, but not tell him about the monsters? Or does he tell him the truth, and now he has to cope with that being a thing?

Also, the show seems to have a rule that once a person is touched at all by the Upside Down, they'll get pulled back towards it. So maybe Eddie has been close, but never directly in any of it. He and his uncle definitely heard and maybe saw something in the woods in 84, but Wayne knows better than to go looking for whatever it was. Eddie had a job at the mall in 85 because he and Wayne are trying to save up enough money to move. He bumped into these angry russian dudes in the access halls a couple times, and that was super weird, but he wanted to have a smoke on his break, so he didn't follow them to figure out wtf. He left as the mall closed was never in danger, but he thought, maybe, he saw something... huge that night. After what happened in 83 though, he went inside and turned up his music.

He met the boys while working at the mall, pointed them towards Gareth and Jeff for the school year, and some time in early 86, started a campaign with them.

They were supposed to do a full day one shot during break, since Mike was gone, but they didn't show. Eddie didn't blame them since news of a couple students' deaths had already come out. He spent the week twitchy and anxious, not sure why.

They boys eventually showed up to apologize for not calling about the session a few days after classes resumed. Dustin and Lucas were bruised and a little beaten up. Mike looked haunted.

Eddie didn't push them about it, but the way they acted reminded him of his own multi-year-long anxiety, so he offered to do more sessions with them. That's how he meets Steve.

So. Is it better for Steve to leave him ignorant? Would Eddie believe Steve's explanation for his scars? Would he pry? Would Steve break off what they had?

idk but it sounds stressful for them both. i enjoy that.

I am sunburned and sleepy and thinking about an AU where Eddie graduates on time. After Will goes missing, and Barb, and Will is dead and then he isn’t and the whole town is a bit shaken, he buckles down and gets it done.

Knows the kids because of dnd but it wasn’t at the school. Vecna still happens, Steve gets chewed on by bats, multiple times, and has brutal scars.

He and Eddie don’t really know each other before the summer that Steve is picking up and dropping off the kids for game sessions. Not beyond high school level awareness.

So that’s when they start to talk and flirt and eventually get together. And one reason that Steve hasn’t been trying to flirt with girls is all the scars. At least once, he thought things were going great and then she freaked out about them and really freaked out when his explanation didn’t make any sense.

He assumes that Eddie will be the same. Maybe last a little longer before freaking, but figures it’s inevitable.

Eventually Steve runs out of ways for them to make out and get off without getting undressed enough for the worst of it to be obvious. Which is when he finds a set of scars across Eddie’s back, around to his stomach. Three deep, vicious marks.

Which explains why Eddie hasn’t asked the few times when Steve knows Eddie felt scars on his own skin. And it would be fine, right? Eddie understands about having scars and won’t make it weird and Steve can keep this thing they have. But that hope shatters when Eddie pulls away, rambling about scars. It takes a second to realize that Eddie is talking about his own, not Steve’s. And then a few seconds more for Eddie’s story about being attacked by a bear in the woods in 1983 to click into place.

#long post #ideas #that are not going anywhere #so this is yours if you want it as a prompt

216 notes · View notes

willalove75 · 3 days ago

Note

Heya! Hope you and your family have been doing alright!!

Okay so Lady D request bc honestly, that woman has me in a chokehold. So I was thinking something along the lines of reader has been dating Alcina for years and one day when her and the girls are out Mother Miranda kinda just takes them for cadou experiments. They survive ofc but the mutation caused them to have a type of angelic appearance (aka wings everywhere. I was also thinking like more red tailed hawk like wings instead of crow like ones) but was deemed an unfit vessel for Eva for some reason or another and basically just kinda hands them back to Alcina after weeks of her and her daughters not fucking knowing where reader went at all??? Basically a reunion that’s super emotional. Angst/comfort with some tooth rotting fluff somewhere would be great, please and thank you

super sorry for the big request though— I just had a pretty good idea for the request I wanted to ask. Anywho, I hope you have an amazing rest of your day/night ^^

Thank you SO MUCH for this awesome request!!

I've been going through my inbox wanting to get some requests done since I've horrifically neglected all of my asks for so long and loved this one! I'm so sorry for taking FOREVER to answer this! (And sincere apologies to everyone else who dropped a request in my inbox that I haven't gotten to yet!)

Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: reader is kidnapped, murder, blood drinking.

"Do you guys have to go?" You ask Alcina with a hint of a whine in your voice.

Alcina clicks her tongue as she finishes applying her signature red lipstick.

"Unfortunately, we do, draga mea. Mother Miranda's orders." She says as she caps the lipstick and sets it down on her vanity.

Alcina turns towards you and scoops you into her arms, sitting you in her lap. You try and give her your best pout, but she gently kisses it away. Her lips travel down your jaw and you all but melt into her.

"I wish I could go with you. I hate when you all have to leave me all by myself here."

"I know, draga." Alcina says between kisses. "But we'll be back before you know it." You let out a low groan and Alcina chuckles into you. "Besides, I have a present for you that should keep you preoccupied while we're gone."

With your interest peaked, you pull back from Alcina and look up at her with curiosity in your eyes.

"You got me a present?"

"Of course I did, draga." Alcina says as she wipes the lipstick marks from your face and neck.

She adjusts the pendant of the necklace she gave you when you first started dating, admiring the Dimitrescu crest that sits proudly on your chest. You haven't taken the necklace off once since she gifted it to you and it warms Alcina's heart knowing how much you cherish something so important to her.

Alcina places you on the floor and stands up to make her way to her wardrobe. In the top drawer, she pulls out a book and hands it to you.

In your hands is a special edition of a new book series you've been eager to read. You trace the gorgeous patterns along the cover and look up at Alcina with wide eyes.

"Alcina, this is beautiful!" You say as your smile grows wide. "I thought Duke wasn't coming back for a few more weeks!"

"Well, I know how excited you were to start this book, so as soon as Mother Miranda informed me of the trip she wanted the girls and I to take today, I had the Duke make a special delivery."

Her thoughtfulness touches your heart and you wrap your arms around her long legs and bury your face into her dress.

"Thank you, thank you so much!"

Alcina lifts you into her arms so you can give her a proper hug and you quickly wrap your arms around her neck.

"I love you so much, draga mea." She whispers.

"I love you so much too, Alci. Thank you."

"Anything for you, my love."

The two of you hold each other in your arms for a few more moments before Alcina sets you down and you escort her downstairs. The girls meet you at the front door.

"Ready, girls?" Alcina asks.

"Yes, mother!" They reply in unison.

"Then we shall be off. Goodbye, draga. We should be back in time for supper. I hope you enjoy your novel." Alcina says as she bends down to your level.

"Bye Alci, I'll miss you guys. I love you." You say as you kiss her goodbye.

"Și eu te iubesc." Alcina whispers against your lips before she stands back up. (I love you too).

"Bye, y/n." Bela says as she gives you a hug goodbye.

"Bye, Bela. I hope you guys have a good time."

"We probably won't." Cassandra says as she gives you a hug.

"Oh stop." You say with a laugh, hugging her back.

"Bye bye!" Daniela says before pulling you in for a hug that's just a little too tight.

"Bye Dani." You say as you try and squeeze her back, even though you know the little strength you have doesn't affect her at all.

Alcina and the girls get into the carriage and you close the front doors. Stopping by the kitchen, you grab yourself a cup of tea before heading into the library.

The library has always been one of your favorite rooms in the entire castle. Before coming to the castle, you only owned a few books that were in rough shape before you started reading them. By the time you got here, they were being held together with nothing but tape and hope.

When Alcina started to court you a few years ago, she learned of your love of books and started gifting you gorgeous copies of both your favorites and hers. Ever since then you've been obsessed with keeping your books as pristine as possible. Going as far as not cracking the spines and god-forbid bending the corner of a page to keep your place. You've accumulated a small collection of bookmarks as well over the years.

Making yourself comfortable in one of the couches near the fireplace, you take a sip of tea before opening your book. The book sucked you in quickly and time seemed to pass quickly as you read the captivating story.

Just as you go to take a sip of your now cold tea, something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. Looking over, you're startled when you see Mother Miranda walking out from behind one of the bookshelves.

"Oh! M-Mother Miranda, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were here." You say nervously.

Mother Miranda knew about your relationship with Alcina and wasn't thrilled, but also didn't forbid it. Everything about her unsettled you and both you and Alcina agreed it was best to keep you as far away from her as possible.

"Alcina isn't here, is there something I can help you with?" You ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

Her crystal blue eyes pierce through her golden mask as she slowly steps closer to you. The hairs on your arms stand on end and a chill goes down your spine.

"Mother -"

"Hush, child." She commands and you snap your mouth shut. "I am aware Alcina is not here. There's a reason I sent her and the girls away for the day." She says as her eyes narrow at you.

"What - what do you mean?" You ask as you back yourself further into the corner of the couch.

"I had to get them to leave, of course. Alcina would never let me take her precious little pet without a fight."

Your heart starts to beat erratically in your chest and you spill some of your tea on the table as you shakily put your cup down.

"Mother Miranda -"

"SILENCE!" She shouts, causing you to jump. "I have tried everything, failed experiment after failed experiment. Desperately trying to find the perfect vessel for my Eva. Failure after failure. But you. There's something special about you." Fear seeps into your bones as she steps closer. "You very well may be my perfect vessel, and I will not let a failed experiment stop me from getting my Eva back!"

Mother Miranda grabs at you and you try and push her away, your book falling face down onto the floor.

"NO!" You scream as you try and fight back.

Mother Miranda grabs at you, her talons scratching your chest as she grabs ahold of your necklace. The chain snaps in the fight, causing the necklace to fall onto the couch.

The fight between you two doesn't last long, Mother Miranda is way stronger than you and is able to grab the hair on the back of your head and turn your face up to look into her icy eyes.

"You are coming with me." She says moments before crows surround you both and you feel yourself flying through the air.

Suddenly your knees hit a dirty stone floor and you're kneeling before Mother Miranda. Looking around, you realize you must be in her laboratory and tears stream down your cheeks.

"Please, please Mother Miranda, don't do this!" You plead. "Please, let me just talk to her. Please let me see Alcina!"

"That's enough!" She says as she grabs you by your throat and lifts you in the air. "Not another word out of you. You are mine now. Understand?"

Gasping for air with tears streaming down your face, you can only try and nod before Mother Miranda drops you to the ground. She walks around her lab, gathering items before standing in front of you once more.

"Get on the table." She says, gesturing to the surgical table nearby. As you stand, you see various medical instruments, saws, needles, and a large jar with a hideous looking creature floating in the liquid inside of it. The cadou.

Mother Miranda pushes you towards the table and you lay down on it as you tremble. Miranda moves around you and you see her lift a mask and put it over your face. Tears stream down your temples into your hair as she flips a switch and air blows into the mask.

You watch as Miranda picks up a large needle and your eyes begin to lose focus. The last thing you feel is a painful, sharp pinch in your arm before everything goes black.

Alcina and the girls step out of the carriage just as the sun begins to set. Once inside, the girls fly off and Alcina makes her way upstairs.

"Draga, we're home!" She calls out as she makes her way towards the bedroom.

She opens the doors to your shared chambers, expecting to find you napping, and is surprised when she finds the bed still made and untouched.

Alcina makes her way to the atelier, thinking you could be in there and once again finds the room empty.

"Draga?" She calls out as she walks through the winding halls of her castle.

"What's wrong, mama?" Daniela asks as she forms in front of her mother.

"Nothing, draga. I just can't seem to find Y/N."

"Oh, weird. I haven't seen her either, actually. You think she's still in the library?"

"Perhaps. Lets go look." Alcina replies.

Daniela and Alcina walk into the library and Alcina starts to worry when she doesn't find you there either.

"Where on Earth is she?" Alcina says as she paces around the library.

"Mother, look!" Daniela says as she finds your book on the floor and spilled tea.

"What, what happened here?" Alcina says as she sees the book open, face down on the floor. Some of the pages of your brand new book are bent, which immediately concerns Alcina.

"This is so weird." Daniela says as she picks up the book. "She would never leave a book like that, no less let the pages of her books get bent."

Daniela hands the book to Alcina and the look of concern grows on Alcina's face.

"Girls!" Alcina calls.

Bela and Cassandra swarm into the room a moment later.

"Yes mother?" Bela asks.

"Girls, have you seen Y/N?"

"I haven't." Bela responds.

"No, why?" Asks Cassandra.

"We can't find her." Alcina responds.

Daniela lets out a small gasp which pulls Alcina's attention away from her other daughters.

"Mom." Daniela says as she pulls out your necklace from between the couch cushions.

Alcina's heart breaks when she sees your broken necklace. Something happened, something horrible, she feels it in her soul.

"Girls, I need you to search the castle, including the dungeons. Something's happened to her." Alcina says as she clutches the necklace.

The girls nod and swarm off. Alcina paces in the library, desperately trying to find a clue as to what happened or where you went. After speaking to the head maid, she lets Alcina know that the last time she had seen you was when you got your tea after her and the girls had left. No one has been in or out of the castle since then.

The girls come back to Alcina and let her know that there's no sign of you. She hasn't been able to hear your heartbeat and panic starts to set in.

"We'll find her, mother." Bela tries to reassure Alcina.

"We have to." Daniela says as tears well in her eyes.

Alcina pulls Daniela into a hug and kisses her on top of her head.

"We will, girls." She says, desperately trying to keep her voice steady.

After searching the castle for an entire day, Alcina caves in and calls Heisenberg to ask for his help. He sends his lycans out in the village to try and find her, but they come back empty handed.

The more days that pass, the less hopeful Alcina becomes that she'll find you. Ever since that day, she's clutched your necklace and cried herself to sleep, confused, angry, and scared.

A week later, Alcina has nearly lost all hope. One morning she can't bring herself to get out of bed and just lays there with tears streaming down her cheeks. When she doesn't show for breakfast, the girls go to her bedroom and find her.

They tried being strong for their mother, but the truth was that they were all scared for you as well. Seeing their mother so upset broke their hearts and they all climbed into bed with her and cried for you.

"She couldn't have just left, right?" Cassandra asks.

"Cass." Bela scolds.

"I'm serious! There's no way she just left us. She wouldn't have, right, mom? She couldn't have."

"I don't think so, draga. I don't know what happened or where she is, but I don't think she decided to leave." Alcina says.

"When we find out who took her, I'm going to gut them." Cassandra says.

Daniela bursts into tears after trying to hold back and Alcina pulls her closer to her.

"It's alright, draga. It's alright." Alcina says, trying to comfort her youngest.

"She must be so scared." Daniela cries. "Who would have taken her?"

"I don't know, draga mea, I don't know. But when we find out who took her, they are going to pay. I promise."

"I hope she comes back. I miss her, she was like a second mother to us. I wanted to call her 'mama' but I wasn't sure if she'd like it. Now I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to." Daniela says as she cries harder and Alcina can't help but feel her heart shatter in her chest.

"You'll get the chance, darling."

"You don't know that! What is she's dead?! What are we going to do?!"

"Dani don't say that!" Bela scolds.

"It's alright, draga." Alcina says to Bela. "I don't know what we will do, my love." She says to Daniela as she kisses her head. "I don't know."

You emerge from darkness and all you feel is pain. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes, everything is in excruciating pain. A pained whimper escapes from your dried, chapped lips and your eyes start to flutter open. A bright white light blinds you and the pain in your head explodes. You open your mouth to try and cry out but your throat is so dry barely any sound comes out.

Consciousness comes and goes for some time, but you have no idea how much time passes. Unsure if it's minutes, hours or days in between.

Opening your eyes again, the bright light isn't as painful and you feel more aware of your surroundings. The pain is still there, but not as horrific as it first was. Hearing a sound, you turn your head to see Mother Miranda looking at liquids in a test tube at her desk.

"You're finally awake." She says with zero hint of emotion.

You open your mouth to speak but still can't.

"Ah, yes. One moment." She says.

Walking over to you, Mother Miranda unclips the bindings that kept you tied to the table and helps you sit up. The world spins and you feel like you're going to be sick but nothing comes up. Miranda hands you a glass of water and you gulp it down. Your throat feels a little soothed but there's still a thirst it didn't quench.

"How are you feelings?"

"I - I don't know." You say with a hoarse voice.

"Any pain?" She asks as she takes a clipboard off of her desk.

"Yes, everything."

"What, specifically?"

Taking a moment to gauge how you feel, you feel an intense pain in your head and move to touch your head. Miranda grabs your hand and stops you.

"Don't touch that. It's still healing." She says.

"What?"

"Your cadou incision."

"You, you put it in my head?"

"Of course I did, that's where I implant it on all of my experiments." She says matter-of-factly. "Now, where else are you in pain?"

There's a strange feeling in your shoulder blades. It's almost like an itch but something feels like it's poking you from the inside. You relay how you're feeling to Mother Miranda and she hums and writes on her clipboard.

"Can I have more water?" You ask, hoping to relieve the thirst you feel.

Mother Miranda glances at you before pouring another glass and handing it to you.

Chugging the glass, you notice the thirst doesn't go away and you groan in frustration.

"What's the matter?" She asks. You can tell she doesn't actually care about your wellbeing and is asking for more information regarding her experiment.

"I'm so thirsty and the water isn't helping."

Mother Miranda clicks her tongue and sighs.

"Very well. Let me see what I can do." She says nothing else and leaves the room.

Confused, you try and stand but your legs are weak so you just lay back down on the table.

You must have dozed off because the next thing you're aware of is the thirst growing even more and extreme pain in your shoulder blades. Groaning, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe through the pain. It begins to subside and the moment you're able to take a breath, you feel something shift under your skin and rip through. A scream rips through your lungs as you uncontrollably twitch and you fall off of the table.

Something pushes it way out of your shoulder blade and you continue to scream. You hear something hit the ground next to you and feel the same thing on your other shoulder blade. More screams rip through you and you pray you pass out from the pain.

But luck is not on your side and you feel something else push through your shoulder blade and hit the ground on the other side of you. Opening your eyes, you see gigantic wings on the ground and this time you let out a scream of fear instead of pain.

Mother Miranda walks in and sees you laying on the floor with gigantic wings splayed out.

"What did you do to me?!" You scream.

"How interesting." She says to herself, ignoring you.

"What did you do?!"

"I gave you a gift. Something you should be grateful for." She snaps.

"Grateful?! Look at what you've done to me!"

"You are magnificent!" She yells.

"You're a monster!"

"SILENCE! That is enough from you. Be quiet and let me examine you."

The pain and screaming starts to catch up with you and you don't have the energy to keep fighting her so you let her conduct her exam.

She holds out one of your wings and you whimper from the soreness. Unlike Miranda's wings that are black as night, your wings are brown down near your shoulders and turn to a stark white. The tips of your feathers are also brown and Mother Miranda notes the pattern on her clipboard.

When she's done with her exam, she helps you up and back onto the table. She conducts a full-body exam and notes no other changes. The thirst you felt earlier is even stronger and you ask her for more water.

Downing the glass she hands you, you slam the glass down on the table and claw at your throat, frustrated that the feeling still hasn't gone away.

"You still feel thirsty?" Mother Miranda asks.

"Yes! No amount of water has been helping. What's wrong with me?" You cry.

Mother Miranda mutters to herself something you don't catch and she leaves the room.

Carefully, you lay on your side on the table and cry.

Some times passes and Mother Miranda comes back in. Looking up, you see she has a terrified villager with her, a young woman. Mother Miranda pushes her to the ground and you see the fear in her eyes.

Scared, you look at Mother Miranda who is looking at you with nothing but cold indifference.

"Who is that? Why is she here?" You ask.

The girl begins to pray.

"Great ones, hear our voice, together as one in reverence. We call on thee within the endless dark to deliver us into fate’s hands." Her voice trembles. "As the midnight moon rises on black wings, so we make our sacrifice and await the light at the end. In life and in death, we give glory, Mother Miranda."

Without saying a word, Mother Miranda grabs the back of the girl's hair and yanks her head backwards, bearing her neck. As the girl continues to repeat the prayer, you watch in horror as Mother Miranda raises her hand, and with her talon-sharp fingers, slices open the girl's neck.

The girl gurgles as she chokes on her own blood and you let out a scream of terror. The moment the scent of blood hits you, an instinct you can't control begins to take over. You try and fight it with all your might but in the end it wins and you leap off the table and onto the girl. Short but lethally sharp talons extend from your fingertips and you dig them into the girl and latch on to her neck wound.

At first the coppery taste of her blood makes you feel sick, but a second later that predatory instinct takes over and you finally start to feel relief from the insatiable thirst you were feeling.

You don't know when the girl stopped breathing or how long you were attached to her for, the only thing you know is that the blood flow begins to slow and then there's nothing left.

Backing away, you become aware of what you've done and you stare at her body in shock. Trembling, you look up at Mother Miranda and she looks at you with a cold indifference. She writes something down on the clipboard, places it on her desk and walks out of the room.

Making your way over to the clipboard, you see your name at the top and notes she's taken of your transformation written down. At the bottom it reads "an unfit vessel for Eva." and you collapse onto the floor in tears. Whether it was from relief or fear, you weren't sure.

Miranda keeps you for what feels like another week, continuing to experiment on you. What she does is borderline torture. Like Alcina, you also have rapid regeneration so you heal from everything she puts you through.

One morning after a grueling session of torture the night before, she walks into the lab and wakes you up.

"Get up. We're leaving."

"What, where are we going?"

"Move."

Miranda says nothing else and you make your way to her. She's clearly irritated at how slowly you are moving, but even your rapid regeneration had a tough time keeping up with what she's been putting you through for the last week. That and the thirst is back. You haven't had blood since the woman from the village and it's starting to affect your ability to regenerate.

Miranda grabs hold of you and in a split second you're whisked away once again.

Alcina is seated in her chair in her bedroom, staring into the fire as she nurses a glass of blood wine. She hasn't eaten much, or done much for that matter, since your disappearance. A sense of depression has fallen over House Dimitrescu and the matriarch can't seem to pull herself out of it.

She hears a voice call out for her.

"Alcina!" Miranda calls out.

Alcina rushes to her feet and down to the foyer.

"Mother Miranda, I wasn't expecting -" Alcina stops when she sees something - someone - in Miranda's grasp.

"Here, take her." Miranda says as the throws you to the ground. "Absolutely useless."

Alcina freezes in place as she watches Miranda throw what's in her grasp onto the floor. Beautiful white and brown wings are sprawled out across the floor.

It can't be. Alcina thinks to herself. She's terrified of getting her hopes up for even a second that it could be you, that you could be back home.

Lifting your head, you see Alcina and tears stream down your face.

"Alci." You whisper.

"Draga?" Alcina whispers back. Her eyes shift from you to Mother Miranda in complete confusion. "You - you had her? This whole time?"

"I did. I was hoping she would be the perfect vessel but unfortunately, she is just as unfit as you are."

The dig would normally crush Alcina, but her heart is filled with such relief it doesn't even phase her.

Alcina kneels down in front of you and cups your face in her hand as you try to sit up.

"Draga mea." She whispers. "I thought I lost you." Tears fill her eyes but she does her best to keep them at bay in front of Miranda.

Alcina sees the pain in your eyes - and the relief. Anger bubbles up in her chest and she looks up at Miranda.

"How could you?"

"How could I what? You know how important finding the perfect vessel is. Don't tell me you've lost sight of that, have you?" Miranda says.

Sensing the veiled threat, Alcina looks back down at you.

"No, Mother Miranda."

"Very well. I must be going."

Miranda disappears leaving the two of you in the foyer.

"Alci." You say as your voice cracks. Alcina leans down and carefully arranges you in her arms, mindful of your wings.

"Oh, draga mea." She says as she nuzzles you. "You're here. I can't believe you're here." Alcina says through tears.

You cling to Alcina like a lifeline, as if you'd disappear if you ever let go of her and you sob. Everything that happened the last few weeks comes crashing down on you and you can't help but let it all out right there in the foyer in her arms.

"It's alright, my love. It's alright. You're safe now, okay? No one will ever hurt you again." Alcina says as she continues to cry as well.

"Mother?" Bela asks as she comes into the foyer. "What's going - oh my god!" She shouts.

Bela rushes over and wraps her arms around you as Alcina holds you tight.

"You're back!" She says as tears fall. "Dani, Cassie, she's back!"

Daniela and Cassandra appear and Daniela screams before barreling towards you. Cassandra is right behind her and both girls also try and wrap their arms around you.

"Mama!" Daniela cries. "I missed you so much."

"Are you okay? Who did this to you?" Cassandra asks as she takes in your new wings.

"Miranda." Alcina growls and the girls look up in shock.

"Wait, Mother Miranda took her?" Bela asks.

"Yes. That's why she was gone without a trace. She took her and implanted the cadou into her." Alcina replies.

"The cadou?! But she could have died, or worse!" Daniela says.

"Trust me, draga, I know." Alcina says. "This was not something either of us wanted to happen."

"So Miranda kidnapped her and implanted the cadou into her without her consent?" Cassandra asks, enraged.

"Yes."

"How dare she -"

"That's enough, Cassandra." Alcina reprimands.

"But -"

"Cassandra, please. These last few weeks have been difficult for everyone, especially for her. Lets discuss this at a different time."

Cassandra nods in agreement and Alcina stands with you in her arms and carries you into your shared bedroom. The girls agreed to give you a little space while you recover and they fly off to take their anger out on unsuspecting maids.

Alcina lays you on the bed and immediately crawls up next to you and pulls you tightly into her. Her chest heaves as she sobs, her hands roaming over every inch of you, still in disbelief that you're real.

"My darling," Alcina cries. "I missed you so much. We tried so hard to find you. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know, I never would have thought -" She breaks down into tears and you cup her face in your hands.

"It's alright, Alcina. It's not your fault. It's Miranda's fault. She sent you and the girls away so she could take me."

"Is, is that why she insisted I take the girls with me? I thought it was strange but who am I to question her?"

"It is. She said you wouldn't let me go without a fight. So she made sure all of you were gone."

"Oh, my love, I'm so sorry." She says. "What did she do to you?"

"She gave me the cadou. Alcina it was terrible. I've never been in so much pain in my life. I wanted to die when my wings came out."

Alcina coos and wipes the tears from your cheeks.

"And then I had this thirst that would not go away no matter what I drank and then Miranda brought a girl from the village into the lab." You say as you cry harder. "Alcina she slit her throat right there in front of me. And I couldn't control myself and I lunged at her. I drank her blood, I drank her dry. I killed her!" You sob.

"Oh draga, it's alright." Alcina says as she comforts you. "You didn't kill her, Miranda did. None of this was your fault."

"I was so scared, I was completely out of control. I'm so afraid of being like that again. Alcina I can't live like that."

"You won't have to. There are ways you can manage it without losing control. I'll teach you, the girls will teach you. We're here for you, draga."

You and Alcina cry into each others arms for what felt like hours until she finally ran you a bath. The wings on your back were still there so Alcina gently washed them as she cleaned the rest of you. Using her claws, she cut holes in one of your pajama shirts to accommodate your wings and helped you dress.

As the two of you spoke, you mentioned that you haven't had any blood since the girl from the village and Alcina shook her head at Miranda's lack of care. She had a maid bring up a fresh bottle of Sanguis Virginis. As soon as she popped the cork and the smell reached your nostrils you were practically drooling. Skipping the glass, Alcina handed you the bottle and you drank straight from it, downing the entire bottle in just a few minutes.

Alcina got herself ready for bed and pulled you into her arms. You felt satiated from the wine, but still cried yourself to sleep. Alcina held you in her protective arms, whispering praises and running her nails through your head until you fell asleep.

"I will never let anyone else ever hurt you, my love." She whispers to you. "Miranda will pay for what she's done."

#willalove75 #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #wlw fanfic #lady dimitrescu x reader #re8 alcina #re8 lady dimitrescu #re8 fanfiction #re8 village #re8

83 notes · View notes

captainthisshipinmyhead · 2 days ago

Text

A Helping Hand- S. Aizawa

Shota Aizawa x AFAB!Reader

Summary: It's a sex pollen fic, I think we're all familiar with the concept at this point.

CW: smut, coercion/dubcon (since it's sex pollen, but swear they want it), unprotected p in v sex (don't be dumb), missionary, oral (f rec), NSFW!!!! DNI if you’re a minor WC: 6,991

A/N: Yayyyy I worked on this one for so long!! I have the most trouble with ending fics so it took me a long time and idk if I'm totally satisfied with it but it's the best I've got. Picture found on Pinterest but unfortunately could not find the artist name... so sorry but please comment/tag the artist if you are able! **Y/H/N= your hero name, Y/N = your name but I'm sure you're aware ;)

You walked along the barren city street, with swinging arms and a tune in your brain as you patrolled the practically empty area. The section of the city you were in really only sees business and foot traffic midday, when the corporate buildings on the outer parts of the city are open and the people working in them come out to get refreshments from the small mom-and-pop cafes dotting the streets. By sunset, this area is usually clear- businesses locked up and lights off. This is the scene you were surveying now. You couldn’t wait until you had more than just a year’s experience under your belt as a pro hero, then maybe you would be recruited for patrol in more interesting parts of the city- maybe you’d stop a lot more villains! The thought snapped you back to the present, as you realized that in order to get where you want to be you had to be vigilant in the here and now, no matter how boring it may be.

You thought of the faceless villain that was currently on everyone’s radar, and who everyone wanted to put behind bars at the moment. There had been reports for a few weeks now of a villain hitting some heroes in attacks with a very, very strange quirk. This villain is suspected to be working alone, and with the little that is known about him it is unclear if he has any intentions other than incapacitating the heroes he encounters. The quirk they possessed was……well, to be quite honest, still kind of a mystery to you. Everyone who had previously been affected by it and lived seemed to be so…secretive? No, no that wasn’t the right word. Ashamed? Ashamed seemed more like what the poor pro heroes who had suffered the quirk felt when their experience was over. A few had died from the quirk when the villain had first gotten on the scene. The unfortunate martyrs had taught the doctors what was needed to eliminate the effects on the body and save the lives of those that came after them. You didn’t know exactly what it was the cure was for being struck by the quirk, but you knew that it was commonly known above more higher-ranking heroes as well as any healers that worked with heroes, so you weren’t too concerned. If you or someone you knew got hit with it, someone would be able to help you, you were sure. Ever since those first unlucky few, those that followed had all pulled through with this “cure”. Being as new as you were on the scene, you didn’t get told every little detail of everything that went on on the streets, not yet anyway. You knew that one day you’d work your way up the hero rankings and be a role model for kids around the world, but you’d start slow. Which was why, for the time being, you didn’t care if you were a newbie on some “need-to-know basis” status– one day, you’d be high in the rankings and save countless lives.

You began walking around the corner of a building onto the next city block. You had still had your head turned to the street you were leaving, however, so you bumped into someone seemingly walking in the opposite direction. Apologies were leaving your lips before you’d even brought your eyes up to meet theirs. You’d barely been able to get out two words before you began to choke, though.

When your gaze focused on the person standing in front of you, still choking, you watched a too-wide grin spread devilishly across a sunken face. The reddish-pink cloud of– smoke? Dust?-- was still thick in front of your face, but it had dissipated just enough to see their large teeth glint in the late afternoon sun. You grabbed at your throat as if you were truly choking, trying to capture a breath that didn’t suck down another mouthful of that tainted air. You were utterly useless, pathetic, as your knees buckled and you took staggering steps toward the person you were SURE was the villain who had claimed so many victims as of late, fitting the description of his attacks to a tee. Normally, you were much more lithe and quick- having the speed and agility of a cheetah has its perks. But it appeared as if the substance he emitted had affected not just your respiration, but your body seemed weak as well. He slipped away easily, your brain barely registering your disappointment in yourself that you couldn’t do more. Your vision was going black around the edges, so you slumped to the cracked street, hoping that you could calm down enough to ask for an assist.

After about a full minute of slowly pulling in clean air, your vision was beginning to clear and you were able to activate your earpiece to call for help of any nearby heroes on patrol who weren’t too occupied at the moment. Your voice was gravelly from the amount of coughing you’d done, and it began to take on a strange breathy, husky tone that you weren’t sure you were intending. You almost sounded sultry. But that’s ridiculous. You also couldn’t help but notice how hot your body was starting to feel. As if you had a bad sunburn, your skin was warm to the touch and felt like it was burning from the inside out. It was becoming painful, you realized. And your breathing… oh god, again your breathing was changing- speeding up to short breaths and gasps, feeling as though you couldn’t get quite enough oxygen in, but it was different than a few moments before. It wasn’t so much as if you were choking anymore but like you were exerting yourself. You figured you’d hold off to tell anyone that until they arrived in person…. You were sure the entire city’s hero network on patrol and on call didn’t care for you to drone on about details when they were probably all busy themselves.

So you kept it short and sweet, and you let them know you suspected an attack from that villian who’d been going on a rampage lately and you just needed someone to help you get to medical to get fixed up.

With a truly impressive speed, you heard the comms activate in response. A man’s voice burst to life in your ear. “Y/H/N? Stay where you are, I’m close to you. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” That voice, it was familiar… It was broody and deep, it was….sexy. You shook your head and reprimanded yourself internally. That voice that was so familiar, sexy as it was, shouldn’t be distracting you at the time. You should focus on getting your breathing under control and taking a hold of your senses in case any other villains popped up in attack. You couldn’t stop replaying the timbre of the man’s voice though, thinking it sounded almost like Eraser-

No, you cut your thoughts off forcefully, You’re thinking with your-rather feverish- body at the moment instead of your head.

Surely the hero coming to help you out wasn’t the one man you had a disgustingly desperate crush on- that had to be wishful thinking, some fantasy conjured up by your love sick mind. He’s your coworker, and while he’d been nothing but nice to you each time you’d seen him you’d only had a few conversations that you severely overanalyzed in your head. When some of the pro heroes went out for drinks after shifts some evenings, it’s like he got awkward when you arrived and drifted to the sidelines, choosing to watch rather than engage. It made you wonder if he didn’t quite like you, and the thought of that being a possibility made you sad.

“Eraserhead? You sure? If you need backup I think I’m only a couple blocks behind you, just let me know,” a female hero’s voice in the comms responded to the one before it.

Oh god. Oh god, oh shit, oh fuck. It was him. Exactly as you dreaded, the man who was currently on his way to your aid was Eraserhead of all people. If you didn’t keel over and die from the quirk’s effects themselves, you might just die of embarrassment from knowing that your personal hero, and man that you had a not-so-small crush on, was coming to help you in such a vulnerable and powerless state. You felt so puny and helpless, you could almost cry. You also felt…. turned on. God, were you sick in the head? Why were you getting turned on at a time like this? And… and had your cycle come early or was that increasingly damp spot between your legs coming from something else? Your mind was running circles, thinking desperately of ways to just calm the fuck down before Eraser showed up that you hadn’t been paying the most attention to your surroundings, and the dark figure who dropped onto the sidewalk merely 2 feet from your burning hips startled a squeak out of you. Taking in the person, you sighed in relief and also internally went into panic mode as you saw that it was him, peering down at you warily, as if he weren’t sure if the quirk you were under was contagious or something. You were able to get out a “thank you for coming” before he knelt down and softly placed a hand on your elbow.

“Can you stand?” He asked, and you nodded shakily. As he helped you to your feet, a soft breeze blew from behind him, picking up his hair and scarf and wafting his scent right into your face. It was musky, and slightly sweet, a little bit spicy and so very manly. Your teeth ground against each other and your thighs clenched tightly as you just barely concealed a whine from your companion. God, you needed to get yourself TOGETHER. Your silly little crush on Eraser had never been this bad, you’d never been so unable to control your inappropriate thoughts in public like this before. You’d certainly never had such a visceral reaction. You could feel Eraser’s eyes on you, studying your features from closer than he’d ever been before. You saw in your periphery that his eyebrows were pinched together in the middle, concern shattering his usually cool expression. That was worrisome to you, so you began to babble out questions.

“Eraser? What is it? Do I look really bad or like– I, I mean like, as in the quirk attack! Does it look bad?”

He didn’t meet your eyes for a second, his own still making its rounds across every crease in your skin before coming to rest on your gaze. He took his time in answering, making your anxiety spike.

“You don’t…. Look bad, Y/H/N, but I can tell you’ve been hit by the quirk hard. Here, let’s get you inside. Somewhere cool, huh? You’re probably burning up.”

You nodded in agreement, lips coming together in a small pout as Eraserhead looped an arm around your waist and pulled your arm over his shoulder. You felt like a child, but at the same time, a sick little part of your brain whispered at the edge of reason that you liked it, that this felt good. Every inch of his body that pressed up against yours felt like a fire poker sticking you in the point of contact. You’d never felt such heat in your life. Your knees were wobbling, thighs trembling from the effort of trying to walk while keep them tightly together, for fear of anymore… untimely arousal leaking out. The last thing you’d want was for him to notice. Not only would that be embarrassing but he’d probably think you were a perv, too! You didn’t think you could handle that. Eraser was so mature and no-nonsense, he’d instantly lose respect for you if he knew your…predicament.

But what if he likes it?

The voice came from a dark corner of your mind, and you gave your head a tiny shake as if to make the thought dissolve. The effort was futile though, as the voice came back stronger.

What if it turns him on to know how wet you are just thinking about him? What if he wants to fuck you too, you little perv? You act all coy and innocent but all you really want if his big fucking fat di-

You shook your head again, a tiny whisper of the word “no” fell from your lips. You could see Eraser again in the corner of your eye, face still a mask of concern as he noted the sweat breaking out at your hairline. You still hadn’t been able to control your breathing fully, and you’d been walking slowly with his assistance for a few minutes now. He gently tugged you toward a new apartment building that hadn’t quite opened to the public yet, though it appeared to have finished construction. He continued to guide you until he reached a completed room with a door that he closed behind the two of you.

“Okay, Y/H/N, talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling currently.” He loosened his grip on your waist, helping you prop yourself against the wall.

You couldn’t possibly tell him how your pulse picked up into overdrive because he smelled sexy. You gulped, thinking of something to say that would satisfy him that wasn’t lying.

“It’s.. so hot… and I’m… it’s sticky. No, no! Not like, me… like, like the air… because it’s so fucking… fucking hot…” You panted, bending at the waist and bracing your hands on your knees. You couldn’t help how wanton you sounded. You also couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped you when Eraser rolled his sleeves up and you saw his forearms, corded with lean muscle from years of hero work. God, had he always had that vein there? Your mouth watered as the thought of biting down on it entered your head. His hand came up, snapping in front of your eyes to bring your focus back to him. To the conversation at hand, really.

“Eraser….” you panted, trying to meet his eyes. “Do you know what’s happening to me? Please…. Please, I just… I don’t feel right. It’s starting to hurt.”

“Y/H/N, this question might seen odd or out of line considering we’re coworkers, but are you also feeling… aroused? Sexually?”

Your pulse jumped and your eyes flew up to meet his as he gazed steadily at your face. Was he asking because it’s related to the quirk, or was he asking because he wanted to fu-

You gulped and nodded your head, not seeing any reason to lie.

You noticed the subtle twitch of muscle near his eye. He had winced, but he gave a brief nod in return as he set his jaw.

“The villain that attacked you has a lust quirk. It makes the victim be overcome with lust until it’s unbearable. If you don’t receive a cure in time, the quirk raises your body temperature and heart rate so much that your body can’t handle it and begins to shut down. It’s not fatal to anyone gets the cure after being infected as long as you’re taken care of within a few hours of being hit. You aren’t feeling great now, but if we delay getting you care then your chances of survival are lower.”

You- what? A lust quirk? Well that certainly did explain how your body was reacting to being in the presence of your hero crush. Normally, you weren’t this disgustingly horny outside of the sanctuary that was your bed.

“Oh… okay, so… get me to the cure. P-please,” you croaked, barely slurping back the saliva that your mouth was producing as you stared at the handsome man in front of you.

“It’s… the quirk requires that the person who is affected engage in- ehm- sexual relations with another. Until completion, sometimes from both parties. I can take you to Recovery Girl, but I stopped to give you a brief breather while I gathered the contact info of someone that you may be able to call to… help you… deactivate the quirk’s effects. A boyfriend or girlfriend?” Despite Eraser’s no-nonsense manner, he still stuttered a bit with explaining the “cure” for the quirk. It pleased you to know that he still had some shame regarding such a sensitive situation. And if you were fully within your right mind, you also would have noticed the faint pink coloring creeping up the sides of his face as he let you absorb what he had just said.

Your eyebrows furrowed together, and you hung your head as you uttered out a defeated, “no one,” to the floor. Even though your voice had been low, he nodded and reached back out to steady your wobbly form.

“There are some who are aware of the effects at Recovery Girl’s place, maybe one of them can help with the situation. They’re very professional from what I’ve heard, and discreet. You have nothing to be–”

Your voice, breathy and whiny even to your own ears, cut him off. “What about you?”

He faltered in his speech, and shook his head. “No, I haven’t um.. Been someone who has relieved anyone of this specific quirk before. It’s probably best if we get-”

You interrupted him again, this time by keeling over and falling onto your knees with a groan. Your arms clutched tightly at your midsection, which was burning worse now, so much worse, and the reproductive organs you possessed…. God, why did they ache so badly? It felt like they were twisting around one another, so tightly it was cutting off the circulation inside. Your eyes still squeezed shut in pain, you whimpered and began to beg.

“Please, please…. Eraser, I won’t tell anyone, just PLEASE I’m begging you… everything hurts so bad.., want it to stop, please stop it. I need it, I need you to… I need you, please…” You were babbling, and your distress had risen to a point where you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how you were coming off to him. His eyes were wide as he listened, arms frozen in the air, outstretched toward your frame.

“I… I don’t want to be taking advant–”

“You’re NOT, Eraser, I swear I NEED you to fu–”

“Okay! Okay, alright. I understand what’s at stake here. It seems your body is progressing rapidly and time is of the essence anyway. We are going to have a conversation about this when you’re fully recovered but… Okay, I’ll help you.”

His hands softly cupped your elbows and guided you to sit on the bare floor. He quickly unwound his scarf from around his neck, extending it out to you.

“To put under your head. Lay down and get comfortable.”

Your thighs clenched once again at the suggestion of the command. You could tell he noticed, his eyes flicking down to the movement for just a millisecond. Another tiny whimper fell from your lips as you grabbed the scarf from him and bunched it up behind your head, lying down as he had instructed. He kneeled in front of you, noting the way your body squirmed uncontrollably.

“I’m going to start slow, okay?”

Your head nodded frantically as you hummed. You wanted to close your eyes and savor the feeling when his fingertips landed lightly on your ankles, but you couldn’t resist watching him touch you with such reverence. His fingers skated up the sides of your legs, so slowly your hips were wriggling with anticipation as they came to the waistband of your form fitting hero pants.

His eyes had never once left yours while he’d done this, and now he raised his eyebrows at you in question– asking for consent.

“Yes, yes, please. Please touch me, do… do anything you want,” you said breathlessly. It spilled out of you before you could worry that you sounded too desperate. If you had been more aware, you’d have noticed how his eyes darkened and his mouth went slack at your words. But you didn’t notice. No, all you could look at was the fingers that were now on either side of your hips, hooking into the fabric bunched up there and sliding the material down your legs.

There was a brief moment of relief when the cool air inside the building touched your sweaty skin, now exposed. But it quickly vanished as the heat caught back up to you. You resumed your wriggling, and Eraser brought his hands back to your hips, tightening his grip and holding them in place.

“Stop moving so much, Y/H/N. I know it’s hard, but let me help you.”

You nodded, trying to quell the movement. One of his hands made its way down to your core, now bare. Look, there’s no room in that tight hero suit for panties, okay?

You shuddered as his fingertips ghosted down your slit and then up again. Your mouth began to form pleas again, but before you spoke, he did.

“Shhhh. Let me help you. Let me take care of you, sweet girl, okay? Let me make you feel good.”

Holy shit. Holy shit, holy fuck. That was definitely doing something to you. Sweet girl ? If his fingers had lingered on your soaked slit a second longer you thought that might have sent you over the edge, even after barely having been touched.

You shivered again, moaning a little. He took this as a sign of encouragement, and pressed his thumb on the underside of your clit. FUCK. That… that was heavenly. You moaned again, and again as he began to circle your clit, building up a slow rhythm. Your eyes fell shut, your hips began circling against his hand as he worked you up.

“That’s it, such a good girl. So wet, you’re so soaked baby. Do you wanna feel something in that tight little cunt of yours? It just looks so fucking good, I just wanna…”

You felt one of his fingers prodding at your entrance. You began chanting a series of yesyesyes’s when you felt him press inside and crook up right into the spongy spot that made you cry out. Fuck, it was like he knew exactly where to touch you; like he’d already mapped your body out without you knowing. The thought of his pure skill at working your pussy made you even more wet as he added another finger and started fucking them in and out of you. Your fingers weren’t long enough to reach all the spots he was hitting inside you with ease, so you whined like a bitch in heat, which you supposed you were in the moment.

Your eyes were still closed, so you were totally unprepared when you felt something slick and warm start to circle your clit. The second you realized it had to be his tongue, your mouth fell open in a gasp. You fluttered your eyes back open and looked down between your legs, where his face was now buried, eyes barely visible beneath messy hair- though you could see that he was looking directly at your shocked face. You felt his lips twist against you… into a smirk? Oh, you thought, he’s filthy.

Your hips were now gyrating wildly, and one of his hands came up from where he’d been cupping your ass to press you back down to the floor. Once he had you situated, he sucked hard on your clit, practically making you scream.

“Eraser, yes yes, oh my god–”

“Shota,” he’d pulled back for a second, just to gruffly correct you on his proper name, and then dove right back in as if he were starving for it. His enthusiasm alone was making your thighs quake- it was so fucking hot. Your thighs began to tighten around his head and let out a breathless cry of his name. Your fingers snaked down to tangle in his hair, needing to ground yourself through the immense pleasure you felt.

Your head fell back into his scarf again as your back arched, the motions of his tongue against you turning you into a pathetic mess. You weren’t sure if it were due to the squeezing of your thighs or the hair pulling, but you heard him grunt and felt his fingers dig in a little tighter where they rested on your stomach. You let out another moan in response, and felt more fluid gush from your pussy. You couldn’t help it- a sexy man being vocal between your thighs was like your own personal wet dream.

His fingers inside of you sped up, hitting your spot with a wicked precision as his tongue alternated between suckling and licking around your sensitive bud. You began to tighten around his fingers, knowing you were nearing orgasm. You couldn’t form any words at this point, just panting pathetically and moaning as you approached the edge of your pleasure.

“Sho- Sho-ta, I’m– I’m gon-” tried to garble out, to let him know, but he nodded before you could try to fully finish your sentence. You took that as permission, and came harder than you ever had before. Your eyes were tightly shut as your body trembled. His mouth had transitioned to lightly kissing the plump skin of your inner thigh, and his fingers continued to move slowly inside you, working through your ecstasy. You looked back down at him again as he pulled his fingers out completely and sat up on his heels, taking in the sight of his face that was soaked with the evidence of your orgasm. A shudder went through you as you watched him suck his fingers into his mouth to clean them of your release. The sight of him like this was almost enough to make you cry out again.

Your relief was short lived as a pang of the pain and heat from earlier returned, quickly making your loose body tense up again. Your whimper this time was one of pain, and Aizawa’s sharp gaze flicked back down to your face.

“It’s not gone?” he questioned, shuffling forward and laying a comforting hand on your knee. You shook your head violently, groaning at the burning in your abdomen and curling in on yourself.

“Fuck…” he muttered, barely audible. “We have to… we have to try something else, Y/N, is that okay?”

Your hazy mind barely picked up on the fact that he had used your real name, not your hero name. You didn’t even think he knew your real name, not really. The surprise of this realization lasted barely a second as you groaned in pain again and quickly nodded your head in response to his inquiry. You felt him shift even closer to you, then he was leaning over you and filling your watery vision completely. His hand that wasn’t rubbing soft circles into your knee came up to your chin, which he tilted up in a silent command to meet his eyes. You complied, and waited for him to speak or touch you or do anything that might help.

“Y/N,” his voice came out, soft and sure with a gravelly edge, “I think we have to have sex for it to stop. For some, just an orgasm can bring an end to the effects of the quirk but for others, if there aren’t two parties who orgasm from some type of penetrative sex, it continues. I don’t… I don’t know why, but I think we have to do this if you’re still feeling the quirk.”

You felt like your ears were ringing– did you hear him right? He was going to have sex with you? You knew that the situation you were in was dire, but you almost could’ve laughed at the fact that you were about to be in your own personal heaven. As your mind wandered off, you felt him give your chin a tiny, gentle shake to capture your attention again.

“Hey, Y/N? I need you to focus okay sweetheart? Is that okay? Are you okay with doing this?” He asked you, concern pinching together the features of his handsome face. You nodded, and tried to voice your consent, but you could only mouth the word yes. He nodded back at you in confirmation, and released his grip on you to lean back and start unbuckling the belt around his waist. “I don’t have any protection, but I can pull out if I need to.”

You managed to find an ounce of strength remaining in your body and used it to push up on your shaking elbows, trying to look at his face so you could address any concerns. “N-no, I’m on the pill. It’s okay. And- and I get tested regularly, I’m g-good.”

He nodded, the picture of seriousness, as he responded with a simple “me too,” and continued fumbling with his belt.

You reached one hand out, barely grasping the bottom hem of his shirt and making an upward motion with it before supporting yourself with your arms again. He glanced up, and you whispered into the quiet room.

“Take it off. Please,” you tacked onto the end, hoping you didn’t sound too demanding and also hoping that he was even half as into this as you were. He followed your request without hesitation, and you took in the sight of his pale torso, muscle rippling under his skin as he pulled the fabric up over his head. You bit your lip, not wanting any noises slipping out at the mere sight of him and revealing how much you secretly wanted all of this. With him mostly undressed, pants around his knees and shirt discarded, he leaned down toward you again.

“Is it okay if I touch you here?” he asked while trailing one of his large hands up your ribcage, running below the swell of your breast. You released a small whimper and nodded quickly, reaching up to help him remove the tight fabric of your top. Once it was pushed up over your head and you were settled again, his fingers ghosted over your right nipple, already hard with your arousal. Once he’d run his fingers over your pebbled, sensitive skin a few times, he pinched, causing you to yelp in surprise. His face had a deliciously sexy smirk on it.

“Please… Please, Shota….” you begged, not for anything in particular, but just more of him.

“Please what, princess? You want me to touch you over here too?” He asked teasingly, trailing his other hand over your left breast and bringing that nipple between his fingers. As he rolled both nipples, he ground his clothed and already hard cock against your core. You tried to fight your eyes rolling back again at the relief you felt from that little bit of friction, and heard him stifle a breathy laugh.

“Shota… Please, I want… I need you to fuck me,” You panted out, proud of being able to get out a full sentence, and simultaneously nervous that you were too forward.

His eyes darkened, and any hint of teasing that was flitting across his expression lifted. Faster than you could process, his hands were on either side of your face, pulling you slightly up to him as he pressed his mouth over yours. You’d thought his hands were divine? They were nothing compared to his lips. You’d never been kissed as passionately as he was kissing you. No, devoured was a better word for it.

Your lips parted underneath his, teeth clashing messily as you returned his fervor. His tongue slipped into your mouth and circled your own, and you both moaned at the sensation. One of his hands left your cheek, slipping down between your gyrating bodies to circle your clit with his fingers again, his mouth swallowing the moans this brought forth. Your hands dropped to the waistband of his underwear and pushed it down, just enough so that his cock-definitely above average, you noted mentally- bobbed out, fully at attention, the tip gleaming with precum. He sucked on your bottom lip as you felt him line up with your entrance.

He pulled back slightly, pupils blown wide in what you were sure was a reflection of your own. He searched your face for any hints of hesitation he could find.

“What will be most comfortable for you? Do you want to move-” you cut his sentence off with another deep kiss. You pulled back very slightly, lips still brushing his as you responded that you wanted it “just like this”.

He wasted no time. He entered you fully, and you felt the tip of his cock nudge your cervix. Fuck, how big is he?, you wondered, feeling like you were nearly being split in two despite the preparation you’d had prior and the arousal that continued to seep out of you. He rested his arms on his elbows, encircling your head. His hand tangled into your hair and formed a pillow in addition to his scarf that still lay beneath you. His hips were unforgiving, slamming to meet yours over and over again, making you moan out with each thrust. But your moans were muffled, since all the while his mouth hadn’t left your lips. His lips caressed yours, in a gentle way that didn’t match the pace of his thrusts at all. His tongue moved in slow, sweeping motions as if he were mapping out the interior of your mouth. Everything felt so good, so fucking good.

You knew you were under the influence of a quirk that made you this stupid horny in the first place, but you were certain beyond a doubt that you’d never been fucked so well before. Every point where his skin touched yours was on fire, but in a completely different way than the heat that consumed you because of the quirk. This heat was good, it was delicious, and you wanted to feel as much of his skin as possible. You wrapped your arms around his shoulder and tugged him down slightly, closing the small distance between your torsos. Your nipples pressed against his pecs. It was good, but you needed more, so you brought your legs up and wrapped them around his hips, digging your heels into the small of his back and forcing him deeper inside you with the new angle this created.

He moaned into your mouth, and slowed his pace, grinding into your pussy, barely pulling out. Fuck, it was like his cock was made to fit you, the way the tip brushed over your g-spot when he did that. It was nothing short of euphoric. You pulled away from his mouth with a gasp, reluctant to release his lips, but needing to suck in some oxygen. He plunged his head down to your neck, suckling the soft skin there, moving down until he reached the junction of your neck and shoulder. He nipped at the spot, and you cried out and arched your back in response. You were close now, and you clenched around his cock uncontrollably. You felt his hips falter for a second as you clenched, but he picked up his bruising pace again quickly.

“Shota, Shota I’m close,” you panted into the heavy air, nails digging into his shoulders.

“I know princess, I know… feel you clenching around me… so fucking tight. You feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking good for me. Let go baby, come on me,” he rasped into your ear.

That did it. His filthy words had you coming hard, shaking almost violently and squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn’t help but cry out as you came, Shota’s thrusts not slowing through your climax. You weren’t sure if it lasted seconds or hours, but your breathing began to even out again and you felt Shota’s hips still pistoning inside you, losing the rhythm and pace he’d built up.

He brought his head up so that he could meet your eyes again.

“I’m close, where…?” he questioned.

“Please, come inside me. Fill me up,” you whispered, and watched as his face screwed up with pleasure once you’d uttered the words. His hips pressed tightly to yours and you felt his release fill you, warming you from the inside. His load was huge and you felt it begin to leak out around his cock, still pressed in to the hilt, as the last of his load spurted into you and his body shuddered.

When it was over, his eyes met yours in an almost sheepish manner. You tightened your legs, not ready to let him go yet.

You both began to speak at the same time then. Both of you seemed to be apologizing though, so you clamped your mouth shut and furrowed your brows in confusion.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N,” he spoke first. “You couldn’t help that you were attacked by this quirk, and I was not going to let you suffer or die from it. I’m happy to help you, please don’t feel ashamed.”

You let the kindness of his words soak in for a moment before you giggled. Now it was his turn to furrow his brows.

“I could definitely tell you were happy to help me,” you responded, wiggling your hips slightly, his softening cock still inside you. What? You couldn’t be expected to be the most eloquent at the moment, you’d just had the best fuck of your entire life.

He groaned in (what you were hoping was) feigned annoyance, and rolled off of you, pulling out slowly. He gathered the rumpled pieces of your hero suit, handing them delicately over to you. He began to dress also, the shuffling of fabric the only sounds for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“I imagined the first time I kissed you to be different in my head.”

You blinked, pulling your hair out of the neck of your suit. Had you heard him correctly? He’d imagined kissing you before? Maybe this entire exchange had been a drug induced illusion, and you were actually in a hospital bed right now. But the hard floor beneath your knees was real, and the brush of his fingers against your hip as he reached around you to grab his scarf was definitely real, sending a shiver down your spine still in spite of what had just transpired between you.

You blinked again, feeling dumb from the silence on your part. You quickly rushed out the only thing still rushing through your brain which was, of course, “You’ve thought about kissing me before?”

Color flooded his cheeks as looked intently at his scarf, taking his time in untwisting it.

“Of course I have. You’re…. You’re wonderful. I… I really admire your hero work, Y/N. You’re good at what you do, and you’ve only been doing it for a year” His eyes raised to meet yours. “And I’m sure you know already, but you’re beautiful. Breathtaking, really. Of course I’ve thought about it.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You didn’t think you’d be able to form words, so you did the only thing you could think of doing in response and lunged toward him again, bringing your lips together in a sweet kiss. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his circled your waist. You kissed each other gently this time, no fire underneath, just a curious exploration of one another. When you broke apart, you smiled widely at him.

“Thank you for helping me. I know you’ve said you’re happy to, but really, thank you. I’m just… really glad that it wasn’t something I forced on you. I don’t know if I could have forgiven myself for that.”

His eyes softened, still holding yours, as he nodded. He released your waist with a sigh, opting to take one of your hands in his as he stood. You followed suit.

You hadn’t put your comm unit back in yet, but Aizawa had, and you heard his blare to life. A tinny and very, very loud voice on the other end spoke up: “Yo, Eraser– where are you man?? I’m here with Recovery Girl at the school and we’re super worried! What’s got you guys caught up?”

Shota winced at Present Mic’s volume but answered awkwardly, “We uhm- so Y/N’s okay right now, because we uhm- were able to deactivate the effects of the quirk. So she’s all good I think.”

After a moment of silence in which you both blushed bright red at the revelation, you heard a cackle break out from Mic. Shota ripped the unit out of his ear and turned back to you, muttering that he “can go without that for a second”.

“We should probably go get you checked out with Recovery Girl anyway, just to make sure your vitals and everything look good. It shouldn’t take long, and as far as I know in previous cases once the quirk is gone you don’t need to take any sort of precautionary measures or anything so…” You nodded your understanding as he scratched the back of his neck with the hand not loosely holding yours.

“And then maybe, afterward…” He began speaking again as you both started walking toward the UA campus, “We can grab dinner together? I know we’re doing this all backwards here and normally people start dating each other before they get all intimate but uh-” He cleared his throat, as you felt your heart shoot up into your own and get lodged there.

With a slightly bashful but elated smile, you agreed and squeezed Shota’s hand. He returned the gesture, silently promising himself to never let go of your hand from that moment forward.

#mha x reader #aizawa #shota aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #my hero academia #fanfiction #anime #aizawa smut #shota aizawa smut #mha smut

94 notes · View notes

goldfades · 1 day ago

Note

Devin Booker angst… maybe some commitment/trust angst because of past ex cheating fallout. Good ending but deffff some angst 🫠

Another one… birthday planning for Devin. Simple for a simple man.

im gonna do the angsty one just cause i love me some good angst :) ALSO THIS IS ACTUALLY SO ANGSTY but has a happy ending!!! so be warned!!

There were things Devin never talked about.

Not because he couldn’t—but because he wouldn’t.

He had learned, a long time ago, that some things were easier left unsaid. That silence was its own kind of armor, that keeping certain thoughts locked away meant they couldn’t be used against you.

And for the most part, it worked.

Until you.

Until this.

Lately, it felt like something was slipping through the cracks. Like the space between you was stretching wider and wider, pulling taut, waiting to snap.

You felt it. He knew you did.

It was in the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. The way your fingers hesitated before reaching for him, like you weren’t sure if he’d let you in or pull away.

The way you kept asking—softly, cautiously—if everything was okay.

And the way he kept saying yes, even when it wasn’t.

Because the truth was, Devin didn’t know how to talk about it.

Didn’t know how to put into words the way trust felt like something fragile in his hands, like something that could be taken from him just as easily as it had been given.

Didn’t know how to explain that every time you went out without him, every time your phone buzzed late at night, every time he saw you laugh a little too freely at something another man said—his mind went there.

Not because he thought you would hurt him.

But because someone else already had.

And the worst part?

He hated himself for it.

For doubting. For overthinking. For feeling like he was ruining something good before it could even turn bad.

But no matter how hard he tried to push it down, to pretend like it wasn’t eating at him—the feeling stayed.

And you?

You were waiting.

For him to say something.

For him to let you in.

For him to decide whether this was something worth fighting for, or something he was too afraid to hold.

The thing about trust was that it didn’t just exist. It wasn’t something you could hold in your hands, something tangible and solid, something you could tuck away and know it would stay right where you left it.

No—trust was something you had to build. Something you had to choose, over and over again.

And Devin wasn’t sure if he knew how.

Not after what happened before. Not after the late-night lies, the gut feeling he ignored for too long, the hollow apologies that didn’t mean a damn thing. Not after the way he found out, after the way he swore he wouldn’t let it happen again.

And now?

Now he was here. With you. And every time he felt himself settling in, every time he felt that quiet, terrifying kind of peace that came with loving someone the way he loved you—he felt the fear creep in, too.

Because what if he was stupid again?

What if he let himself believe in something real, only to have it slip through his fingers?

What if—

“Dev,” your voice was soft, hesitant, pulling him out of his head.

He hadn’t even realized how quiet he had gotten, how long he had been sitting there, staring at nothing while you watched him from across the room.

He blinked, forcing himself to look at you.

You were standing near the kitchen, arms crossed over your chest, the kind of tension in your shoulders that made it clear you felt it too.

The shift.

The distance.

The space that had been growing between you for weeks now.

You chewed on your bottom lip before exhaling, taking a step closer. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

His jaw tightened. “Nothing’s going on.”

Your eyes flickered with frustration. “Don’t do that.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Do what?”

“Shut down on me,” you said, voice quieter now. “Act like I can’t see when something’s wrong.”

Devin leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a slow breath. “It’s not that easy.”

Your brows furrowed. “What’s not?”

He hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly against his knee. He wanted to tell you. He did.

But the words wouldn’t come.

So instead, he shook his head, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Forget it.”

You were quiet for a beat. Then—

“Do you still trust me?”

His eyes snapped to yours.

Your voice wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t angry. Just... tired.

Tired of the guessing. Tired of waiting for him to let you in.

His throat felt tight. “It’s not about that.”

You gave a hollow laugh. “That’s not an answer.”

Devin ran a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. He could feel how badly you wanted the truth. But how was he supposed to say it? How was he supposed to admit that he did trust you, but his mind kept fighting him on it? That no matter how much he knew you weren’t the same, that you would never do that to him, his brain still found ways to convince him otherwise?

That it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the parts of himself he hadn’t figured out how to fix yet?

So instead, he said nothing.

And that silence was louder than anything else.

You inhaled sharply, blinking hard like you were trying to keep something at bay, before nodding once. “Okay.”

He frowned, the word settling uneasily in his chest. “What does that mean?”

You let out a breath, gripping the edge of the counter. “It means I can’t keep doing this.”

His stomach twisted. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing between you two. “Walking on eggshells. Waiting for the next time you decide to pull away. Feeling like I have to prove something that I haven’t even done.”

Guilt spread through his chest, slow and suffocating. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“I know.” You swallowed, shaking your head slightly. “But that’s what’s happening.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Because you weren’t wrong.

You let out a slow breath, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “I love you, Devin.”

His throat tightened. “I know.”

“And I’ve been patient,” you continued, voice softer now. “I’ve given you space, I’ve let you take your time, I’ve let you deal with whatever’s in your head the way you needed to.”

You met his gaze, eyes searching his like you were trying to find him, to reach whatever part of him had been locked away all this time.

“But at some point, you have to decide if you trust me enough to let me in.”

The words hit him square in the chest.

Because you were right.

He knew you were right.

And yet—

“I don’t know how,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You exhaled slowly, nodding, like you had already known the answer before he said it out loud.

And that was the worst part.

Because the way you nodded, the way your eyes softened just slightly—it wasn’t relief. It wasn’t the kind of understanding that meant things would be okay.

It was acceptance.

Like you were realizing, maybe for the first time, that loving him might not be enough.

The silence between you stretched, thick and suffocating, until finally, you turned toward the hallway.

“I’m gonna go to bed.”

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say the words he should have said.

And as he listened to the sound of your footsteps fading down the hall, the weight of everything he hadn’t said pressed down on his chest, heavier than ever.

Because the thing about trust?

It didn’t just exist.

And if you weren’t careful, if you let it slip away too many times—

You might wake up one day and realize you lost it before you ever had the chance to hold it.

Devin didn’t sleep that night.

He laid there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your words pressing down on him like an anchor. He could hear the quiet rustle of sheets from the other room, the space between you feeling impossibly wide even though you were just on the other side of the wall.

This wasn’t like your usual arguments—the ones that ended with you stealing his hoodie and curling into his chest like it never happened. This felt different. More final. Like you had already made up your mind about something he wasn’t ready to face yet.

And maybe it was selfish—maybe it was stupid—but he didn’t want to lose you.

Didn’t want to watch you walk away just because he couldn’t figure out how to fix the parts of himself that someone else had broken.

So, at some point in the early hours of the morning, when the world was still quiet and the weight of everything felt too heavy to carry on his own—he got up.

The floor was cold beneath his feet as he made his way toward the bedroom, hesitating just outside the door. It was cracked open, just enough for him to see the rise and fall of your shoulders beneath the blanket.

For a second, he thought about turning around. Thought about waiting until morning, or pretending like this conversation never happened at all.

But he knew that wouldn’t work anymore.

So, instead, he stepped inside, slow and cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

He stood by the bed for a moment, watching the way your breathing stayed even, your body curled just slightly away from him. He wondered if you were still awake. If you had been waiting for him to come to you, or if you had already started to let go.

The thought made his chest ache.

Quietly, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing against the sheets. “You up?”

You didn’t say anything at first, but then—

“Yeah.”

Your voice was hoarse, like you had been holding something in for too long.

Devin swallowed hard. He wasn’t good at this part. At saying the things that mattered.

But he was trying.

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

A beat of silence. Then, you let out a slow breath, shifting slightly so you could look at him. “I don’t want to lose you either, Dev.”

His jaw tensed, his fingers twitching against the blanket. “Then why does it feel like I’m pushing you away?”

You let out a soft, tired laugh. “Because you are.”

He exhaled, pressing his palms against his face for a moment before dragging them down. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But it’s still happening.”

Devin stayed quiet, staring down at the blanket between you. He wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable. Wasn’t used to letting his thoughts spill out before he had the chance to shove them back down.

But if there was anyone he could say this to—it was you.

So, after a long pause, he finally admitted, “I don’t know how to let go of it.”

You furrowed your brows. “Let go of what?”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking up to yours before dropping again. “The past.”

It was the first time he had actually said it. The first time he had admitted, out loud, that everything he was struggling with had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the shit that came before.

The betrayal. The late-night fights. The way he found out through someone else instead of hearing it from her.

The way it had made him question everything—including himself.

You were quiet for a long moment, like you were waiting to see if he would say more. When he didn’t, you sighed, shifting so you were sitting up against the headboard.

“I’m not her, Devin.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” you asked, voice softer now. “Because it feels like I’m paying for someone else’s mistakes.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” you countered gently. “I love you. And I would never—never—do that to you.”

He let your words settle, rolling them over in his mind, trying to let them sink in deeper than the fear that had taken root there.

But old wounds had a way of staying open, even when you thought they were healed.

“I just—” He shook his head, struggling for the right words. “I don’t know how to trust that.”

You blinked, looking down at your hands for a moment before nodding slowly. “Then let me show you.”

His brows pulled together. “How?”

You reached out then, tentative but firm, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “By letting me in,” you said simply. “By letting me love you without you waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Devin stared at you, his throat tight, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Because that was the real issue, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t afraid of being lied to.

He was afraid of believing in something good and watching it fall apart anyway.

But he was starting to realize—he had two choices.

He could keep pushing you away, keep letting the past dictate the way he held onto the present.

Or he could choose you.

Choose to believe in what you had.

Choose to trust that this time, it was real.

So, he made a decision.

Slowly, hesitantly, he shifted toward you, resting his forehead against yours, his fingers curling around your wrist. “I’m trying,” he murmured.

You exhaled, your free hand sliding up to cup his cheek. “That’s all I need.”

For the first time in weeks, Devin felt like he could breathe.

He wasn’t perfect. He had his shit, and there would be days where the doubt crept in, where the past threatened to pull him under.

But he wasn’t alone.

And that?

That was enough.

#devin booker #devin booker x reader #devin booker fic #devin booker imagine #nba x reader

67 notes · View notes

lo-fi-charming · 2 days ago

Text

Daisy's already awake when Martin finally drags himself from the bed. Despite it being cold and uncomfortable without Jon, he'd had a hard time forcing himself out of the covers. He and Daisy are on much better terms nowadays, but still — it's strange being home without Jon.

Martin cautiously pads into the kitchen, feet freezing on the tile, wishing he'd bought those slippers a week ago. Daisy has hers on, he sees; she's also wearing a long, soft looking dress under a creamy sweater. She doesn't look at Martin, but he knows she knows he's there.

(Daisy always knows when someone is looking at her, feeling eyes on her even more acutely than Jon.)

It's still a little novel, seeing her like this. It was ages before Daisy started dressing so casually around the boys despite living with them. For some reason, the sight of Daisy like this, quietly making tea and listening to music on the radio, has Martin feeling a bit brave. He makes his way over and dares to slide a hand around Daisy's waist from behind. "Morning."

"Mm. Morning," comes her soft reply.

No grumbles, no sharp looks: she doesn't mind his hand here. Although, once Martin's got a grip on the material, he notices something else. "Hey, wait a second- isn't this my sweater?"

"Probably," Daisy says. "It was on the couch so I took it."

"But it's mine!"

"Yeah, and I'm wearing it." Now Martin gets a look. "Problem?" Daisy asks.

"No, it's fine," Martin sighs, rolling her eyes. "It's just that I've already lost a good chunk of my wardrobe to Jon."

"Your fault for letting him steal your things."

As if making her point, Daisy taps her spoon against the rim of her mug, which she knows both Martin and Jon find horribly annoying. "Want some? Put honey in this one."

"Sure, thanks."

The tea is sweet and warm. Daisy stays close while making another cup for herself. Behind them, the soft orchestral tune on the radio winds down, gradually replaced with the start of some sort of old jazz song. It sounds vaguely familiar; Martin hums along, sipping his tea and glancing out the kitchen window. Was Jon coming home tonight or tomorrow morning?

"Do you mind?"

Martin blinks, looking back at Daisy. "Huh?"

"You're swaying," Daisy tells him, gesturing with her spoon. Martin's still got his arm around Daisy's waist, so his movement has been rocking her back and forth as well.

Before, his first instinct would've been to apologize and retreat. Today, Martin finds himself smiling. "What's wrong? Don't like dancing?" Daisy quirks a brow, but that's all she does as Martin keeps humming and swaying, pushing and tugging her a bit more each time.

He expects Daisy to get tired of it, to pull away from him. But no, she just stares. Or, rather, she's watching him. Waiting? Martin takes a step from the counter, tugging Daisy along. He both is and isn't surprised when she leaves her tea behind, taking a step along with him.

Martin smiles and holds up his free hand, a silent question. Daisy offers hers. Martin reaches out to claim it, boldly lacing their fingers together. Her other hand rests casually on Martin's arm, the one around her waist.

And, just like that, they're dancing.

(Well, maybe dancing is a strong word. It's mostly shuffling back and forth. Martin's not even sure if he's leading properly.

But Daisy seems oddly content to go where Martin guides them, so he hums along to the music and tries not to think about it too hard.)

dancing in the kitchen

#srb #hello i rediscovered this bit of writing i did and remembered i drew some of this scene #(i actually cant remember which happened first lol)#so i figured why not post it here under the art #my fic #there's no kissing in the fic alas. it's actually a moment meant to happen in a different fic...#whenever i finally write it......

93 notes · View notes

honeysorwell · 3 days ago

Text

all of it (all of you)

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x hairdresser!fem Reader

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Link on AO3

Chapter 4

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Warning: no, in my clean era once again.

Sorry for the delay. And it was supposed to be posted next Saturday but I have a party to go to with my friends and you guys waited for too long... So here it is and once again, thank you all very much for embracing my work with such affection.

Enjoy!

To say that Melissa's first appointment with Y/N after that apology started off uncomfortable is an understatement.

Even before the redhead had arrived at the salon, the hairdresser was anxiously anticipating the redhead's presence.

Melissa.

The name alone echoed in her mind, awakening the memory of the last times they had seen each other — from the first day with the harsh words to the day of the apology that, although apparently sincere, still left a trace of discomfort in the air.

But the dessert that was used as a bonus to the apology was more than delicious.

Y/N herself could not deny this fact when she ate a frighteningly large amount of it, but her coworkers were the biggest and most determined witnesses of what everyone called the best tiramisu in all of Philly after sharing the remaining half of the dish. But even with all that sweetness still stuck in her memory, the hairdresser could not help but wonder if Melissa would be unpleasant to her again.

Who could know if the redheaded woman's week had been good enough to keep that animosity in her words from happening again? How could Y/N just guess if her work at the school, whatever it was, had been less stressful?

Still caught up in her thoughts, the hairdresser arranged, even if unconsciously, her brushes and scissors on the counter next to the empty tray, trying to keep her hands busy as time passed. Fortunately, the Brazilian woman's mind was distracted enough to completely ignore the memory that that act instigated.

And the second-grade teacher was feeling just like her.

Parked in front of the beauty salon, Melissa could barely concentrate on the CD she had put on to play as she took some time to breathe before finally entering the salon. The chords of Deep Purple's guitars simply didn't seem as calming as they usually did to the redhead and she knew that the reason for that wasn't the CD playing in her car, but her own thoughts.

What if the hairdresser held some... remorse?

The redhead had to admit, that thought wasn't absurd at all. She knows that she's stubborn and she would certainly have a part of her heart corroded by resentment against the unknown hairdresser if she were in her place.

But uncomfortable or not, Melissa decided, when she finally got out of her car and locked it, that she would do it anyway.

When the salon door opened, and the teacher entered hesitantly, her eyes met Y/N's for a brief moment before they looked away. And there, she seemed much smaller than the hairdresser remembered, as if the weight of guilt had shrunk her, and in response to that, the Brazilian woman just took a deep breath and approached the redhead — even before Melissa spoke to the receptionist — with a professional smile.

"Melissa, welcome. You can follow me, please." were her words before indicating with a gentle gesture the chair that, once again, was as far away as possible from the other people in the salon.

Still silent, the two women walked over, and Melissa hated it.

Dejavu, for sure.

The second and third-grade teacher would rarely be found in situations like this, where her mind feels almost frightened by the possibility of Y/N holding a grudge against the words she once said with such certainty, even without thinking. The thought of that resentment alone makes her uncomfortable, even as she carefully sits down in the comfortable chair indicated by Y/N.

The problem is that the stiffness in her shoulders did not go unnoticed by the Brazilian woman and, as she would do for any client, Y/N gently adjusted the height of the chair for the shorter woman and focused her eyes on the redhead's reflection in the mirror as she thought about what to do.

Just be professional.

“I’ll start by washing your hair.”, Y/N asked, keeping her tone calm and professional, without looking away from the teacher’s gaze in the reflection in front of her, “And the mixture of your hair dye will be done in front of you again, like last time, as soon as we get back here. Is that okay?”

“Of course.”, Melissa replied, almost in a whisper before continuing, “But I’d like a haircut today also. Just a few inches, ya know?”

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?”, the hairdresser made sure to emphasize after a few seconds of contemplative silence and a little shocked by Melissa’s suggestion, looking directly into her green eyes through the reflection in the mirror.

“Yes, I know, but it wouldn’t hurt to cut just a little…”, the redhead’s words sound a little awkward as she remembers why Y/N hesitated, but when she shakes her head a little and her bangs fall in her face covering her right eye, this only encourages the woman to speak again as she brushes the hair away from her face, “And this part is falling in my eye and I don’t I like it... So...”

“Okay. We can do that.”, the hairdresser says softly as she also touches the redhead’s hair, but now to move it away from her back while placing a fluffy towel there.

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds after that for Y/N to lead the teacher to the hair-washing chair. When the hairdresser began to wet Melissa’s hair, with the warm water gently running down her head, the redhead felt how nicely the Brazilian woman’s fingers massaged her scalp.

The touch was so gentle and careful that it made it impossible for Melissa not to close her eyes for just a second and let herself be carried away by the sensation and the touch, momentarily forgetting the dense silence that took over the two women and letting herself be comfortable.

At least for a little while.

The silence between them was no longer hostile. But it was as if they were both handling something new, trying to find a balance, and that was still distressing Y/N more than anything.

“Is the temperature okay?”, she asked her, breaking the silence with a whispered voice.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s perfect,” Melissa murmured back to her, opening her eyes for just a moment and focusing directly on the hairdresser’s before closing them again

Green eyes.

Very green.

Very green, and they looked so softly into the hairdresser’s eyes — even if upside down due to the position they were both in — that it made a small sigh escape her lips and a familiar heat take over her cheeks.

The truth is that Y/N had never particularly cared about the color of people’s eyes. At least not before meeting this client.

However, there is definitely something about Melissa’s eyes that makes them seem indescribably beautiful to Y/N. Maybe it’s the contrast of their color compared to her lashes, always dark from being covered in mascara. Or maybe it's that story the Brazilian woman's mother always told her when she was a child, saying that people's eyes show their emotions, intentions, and personality in a deeper and more meaningful way than any handful of words could, and it would be an understatement to say that Y/N doesn't want to find out what goes on inside Melissa's head.

Although she still doesn't understand why.

But she does understand that she was wrong some weeks ago. No green eyes wore like hers.

Not even close.

With the sound of blow dryers and cheerful conversations in the background, the silence between the two returned, but now that weight seemed a little lighter. Y/N applied the shampoo, working gently into Melissa's hair and noticed that the redhead was breathing more slowly, as if she was allowing herself to relax. For a moment, Y/N wondered if she should say something again, but decided that the suddenly comfortable silence was enough for now.

When the teacher's hair washing was finished, and Melissa had returned to the chair in front of the mirror, Y/N began to untangle her red hair to finally discuss how she should cut it.

Y/N doesn’t have many clients who are natural redheads, much less in Melissa’s age, and that, coupled with the fact that the teacher hadn’t dared to say a single bold word to her since she arrived at the salon, gives her the courage to really appreciate every detail of her hair complexity more comfortably.

The pigment in red hair, thanks to the lack of melanin, always turns blonde rather than grayish when it gets older, and Y/N has always found this particularly exuberant. Eccentric in its own way, the blonde inch of Melissa’s hair roots contradicted the orange-red of her eyebrows, even though some parts of her head were already turning truly white, and Y/N felt particularly honored to be the one to witness something significantly rare. But before it could get any weirder, Y/N let those appreciative thoughts that had suddenly begun to live in her mind take a nap and began asking Melissa questions, trying to create the perfect image of the cut the redhead wanted so she could finally get it.

And for Melissa, nothing was wrong. That is, until her vision of the hairdresser changed from being the reflection in the mirror to being herself, flesh and blood, right in front of her, parting and cutting her bangs as requested by the teacher.

God, she had forgotten how beautiful Y/N was.

Naturally beautiful.

No posing.

The way she frowned her eyebrows in concentration, her lips slightly pursed, her eyes that seemed to capture the light of the salon in a particularly enchanting way... But then Y/N leaned forward and her delicate fingers were holding the strands of her red hair with such precision, while the scissors made a soft cutting sound that made Melissa's heart race in a particularly discomfiting way.

The Brazilian woman was beautiful.

Terribly beautiful, and that was only made more evident by the proximity of the two of them at that moment.

And on top of everything else, Melissa noticed that Y/N also had also beautiful hands.

Very beautiful. With long fingers and well-groomed nails, with a layer of gel polish so dark blue that it resembled black, perfectly applied to each one. Melissa's mind starts to think that the choice of color must be due to how much Y/N's nails must stain due to her work with coloring her clients. But the redhead's imagination runs wild when she notices, when Y/N carefully holds the part of her bangs that is right in front of her eyes, that Y/N's nails are as long as her own.

Long enough to scratch and make beautiful marks on the skin of her back as well.

And at that moment, the teacher could feel her face heat up with the thought vibrating in her mind, dishonestly repeating herself until Y/N speaks to her.

"Melissa, don't worry. I'll do exactly as you want." joked the hairdresser, noticing the redness on the redhead's face and pointing out her nervousness, even if only slightly, before leaning in a little closer, leaving their faces now just a few inches apart as she makes the final adjustments to the redhead's wet cut.

And God help Melissa because she sounds so genuine. Not having the slightest idea of the horrible things going through the teacher's mind

Maybe that's why she starts to look away from the mirror and keeps trying to stare at herself while Y/N starts coloring her hair next. Doing everything she can to distract herself, dividing her gaze between her own reflection and her plate — which is now empty and next to the mirror, with a small sheet of paper folded inside —, even though her eyes keep returning to Y/N.

The redhead's body only relaxes again when she is once again in the hair-washing chair, removing the dye from her hair with her eyes closed. But this feeling doesn't last long because, when Melissa returns to her usual chair and looks at her reflection, she can barely focus on her own reflection because mext to her own face, the mirror showed Y/N, who was smiling softly at the redhead's hair, oblivious and proud of the work she was done, and Melissa couldn't take her eyes off her.

Very. Very beautiful, in fact.

But the whole atmosphere changed when the salon door opened abruptly and a small child, completely miserable, walked in, holding the hand of a lady significantly older and even more tense than her.

The poor girl's face was wet with tears and her sobs echoed through the room even though it was possible to notice how much she was trying to force herself to stop crying. The one who Y/N would soon discover was the little girl's grandmother, who seemed significantly desperate, trying to calm her granddaughter down without success.

"Please, can someone help? My granddaughter fell on the path and got scared. I would just like somewhere private to clean her knee, please," were the lady's first words inside the crowded room, as she looked around for help.

Suddenly, before anyone even has a chance to help them, the child's eyes widen.

"Miss Schemmenti!" she shouted in the middle of the hair salon, before running away as fast as her little legs could carry her until finally stopping, right in front of Melissa and pointing to her own scraped knee while muttering, "Look."

"I can see that, little eagle. It must hurt, right? But we need to clean it up right now," Melissa suggested, with a tone so soft that Y/N almost didn't recognize her.

As the hairdresser watched the scene, an idea quickly came to her and then Y/N gently dried her hands and addressed the girl, who would soon discover that her name was Mia.

“Hey, little one, do you like princesses?” the hairdresser asked in a sweet and comforting voice as she approached the floor to speak to the little girl, looking directly into her eyes. “I have bandages of all the Disney princesses with me, and I’ll give you the prettiest one if you let your grandmother clean your knee.”

“But it's hurt.” the little girl tried to argue towards Y/N, even though her face was divided between looking at the hairdresser next to her, her teacher and her grandmother, who had now joined them.

It still took a little convincing, but in a significantly short time and with a small bottle of water and a wet wipe, Mia’s knee was clean, ready to receive a sticker with Princess Belle printed on it.

“There, and it only hurt a little, didn’t it?” Y/N finally asked, stroking the girl’s head softly and watching as she nodded affirmatively.

“That’s because she’s quite brave. Just like Belle, aren't you, little eagle?” Melissa added, with a sincere smile that was mirrored by both the child and her grandmother.

The older woman thanked Melissa and Y/N repeatedly, and the now calmer child hugged them both before taking her grandmother’s hand and walking towards the exit of the salon, leaving the teacher and her hairdresser standing there for a moment, just watching the door close behind them.

“So... Mrs. Schementti...” the Brazilian woman’s voice began again after a few seconds, with a greater hint of courage as she used a small spray bottle of water in order to make Melissa’s hair wetter so that it could be styled, since the childish distraction was enough to dry most of it, “A teacher then?”

“Yeah...” the redhead sighed before answering the question she had already anticipated as she watched Y/N stroke her hair carefully to make sure it was completely wet once again, “Second and third grades.”

Hearing the redhead’s words, the hairdresser was startled and in shock decided to completely drop the bottle next to her mirror, to focus solely on the reflection of Melissa’s face as she said her next words:

“Like two classrooms? At the same time? Together?” the Brazilian woman asks with wide eyes, full of surprise and admiration in her tone.

“Together, yes. 48 of those little eagles.”, Melissa says softly as she stares back at the hairdresser through the reflection in the mirror, even more proud than she usually is when it comes to her job at Abbott.

“And are you sane?”, Y/N asks with an incredulous smile as she stretches her body, now towards the dryer on her counter after leaving the water spray there.

“For now.”

“Lucky them for having someone as caring as you wen it comes to them.”, the Brazilian woman continues, now smiling and dividing her attention between parting Melissa’s hair and looking back at her face in the mirror, “Your children must be dying of jealousy of your students running into you on the street year after year.”

“No... I don’t... I don’t have any children.”, the teacher answers looking away from the mirror, trying to focus on anything other than Y/N’s face as she continues speaking, “But these little ones are so much more than I could ask for.”

And then the hairdresser’s mind simply switches off. Because obviously, she screwed up by assuming things that were definitely none of her business.

Just when everything was finally going well.

Good job, Y/N!

"Oh... I'm sorry, I...", Y/N begins, trying so honestly to remedy her words with a tone full of immense sadness and despair, but she is soon interrupted by Melissa.

"No problem. I'm infertile, but so is a third of this country, so it's all good.", the words fly through the teacher's lips so fast that she only realizes what she said after the words are already in the air.

And then silence.

Just silence.

And more silence.

"Oh, I... I really...", even without knowing exactly what to say, an I'm sorry starts to be directed at Melissa, but the redhead makes a point of rejecting it as quickly as possible, terrified by whatever is going through the Brazilian woman's mind.

“Nah... At my age, I’ve already accepted that being a mother isn’t for me, and my little eagles are more than I can ask for... and sometimes even more than I can handle.”

“I’m sure that little girl disagrees!” is how Y/N responds, happy that the conversation has returned to a less personal subject as she takes a slightly deep breath, “Believe me, she was happier with your kiss on her forehead than with the bandage. And my bandages are beautiful.”

“Why do you have these, anyway? Do you have children?”

When the question escapes Melissa’s excited mouth, Y/N smiles softly as she opens a partially hidden drawer in her station, filled with candies, lollipops, fun bandages, and glitter stickers.

“Oh no! Me neither... In fact, I don’t think I’m made for this, you know?”, she begins softly before focusing her eyes on the redhead, “Children are just my most loyal customers. So it’s only smart to be prepared for anything.”

For a second Melissa wants to ask God if this smiling woman, who is now offering her a pink lollipop — which she says is the best one —, wasn’t a teacher in a past life. But before she can do that, Y/N returns to her place behind Melissa with the hairdryer on and continues, despite the noise.

“I think they like me because I genuinely laugh at all their nock nock jokes since they’re all new to me.”

“Aren’t there nock nock jokes in...?”, the teacher begins uncertainly, now wrapped up in nothing but curiosity, trying to remember if Andréa had told her about the hairdresser’s nationality.

“Brazil?”, Y/N concludes, watching as Melissa nods her head in the mirror before continuing, “Yes, there are, but they’re all different. Sometimes the whole punchline and sometimes the whole thing...”

“I see.”, the redhead finally says and smiles, playing with the loose wrapper of the lollipop between her fingers as she puts the sugary treat in her mouth for just a moment before taking it out and continuing, “So they’re genuinely funny to you?”

“Sometimes... Or just surprising.”

And then, as if by magic, everything is fine.

Really fine.

The two chat comfortably until the end of the meeting and Melissa returns home with a smile on her face, her bowl that used to contain her tiramisu — now with a paper with her name written strictly by hand and a simple thank you inside — and with her hair beautifully done.

And in the following weeks, when the teacher receives a compliment from friends or strangers, it is more than welcome. What is not welcome is the fact that, the third time Melissa returns for a touch-up with Y/N after they have made up and started to feel more comfortable with each other, the teacher is late.

Like really late.

But Barb had called so distressed. And of course she was! The results of Gerald's last batch of tests were ready but the terrifying idea that her husband of 30 years might be sick paralyzed her to the point that neither she nor her husband could open the hospital email.

The couple's daughters were still unaware of the imminent possibility of chaos in their dads health, so their presence was out of the question.

And who was Melissa to deny her friends like that?

The traffic was horrible, and when she arrived at the Howerds' house, Barb's eyes were already full of tears and Gerald was also so shaken that Melissa had to spend some time comforting them until they calmed down and opened that piece of information that would reassure them like nothing else ever had.

And far from that, amid the tranquility of the beauty salon that day, with the soft sound of instrumental music and some conversations in the background, Y/N had her face tilted toward the entrance of Riverfront Roots looking for red hair again and again, before glancing at the clock on the wall and sighing.

25 minutes past the scheduled time.

30 minutes past the scheduled time.

35 minutes past the scheduled time.

Even without meaning to, the Brazilian woman frowns, worried.

When Andrea asked her to accept Melissa as a client, she was very clear. Melissa is never late.

Something wasn't right.

Y/N walks to the window, peering out at the busy street just to see nothing. She thinks about asking the receptionist to call the teacher, but hesitates, fearing she is being too intrusive. And it's this fear that makes her wait a little longer, even as she grows restless.

Finally, after 40 minutes of delay, the salon door opens with a bang and Melissa walks in, out of breath, with her hair disheveled and her bag hanging precariously over her shoulder. Her face is flushed, and she looks quite flustered.

"Y/N, I... I'm so sorry.", are the first words she says as soon as she meets the hairdresser's eyes, startling her with how easily they slip from her lips now compared to the first time she said those, "I know I'm really late, and you must be furious with me. I understand if you don't want to be mt hairdresser anymore. I... I really value your work, and I... I knew I was going to be late, but I just... I couldn't leave them there alone.", she begins to explain herself, before realizing that without context her words hardly mean anything understandable, "My friend of almost 30 years and her husband. They... Were his exams... But he's fine now... And in the middle of all this, I was thinking about you, waiting for me, and I... I feel so bad. I didn't want you to think that I don't value your time or your work, which I apparently am a master at doing so... And now, now I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I'm just so sorry."

And the Brazilian woman just stands still, looking at Melissa, completely shocked, recovering from so much information that was thrown at her in such a short time by the redhead.

Even though her appearance was never exactly calm or serene, her actions and words were restrained and, to a certain extent, calculated. And while the silence swallows them gently, Y/N is even more certain that it was not calculated when she watches Melissa begin to squirm, finally giving in to the discomfort.

So, the Brazilian woman takes a deep breath and steps forward, placing a gentle hand on the teacher's shoulder.

"Melissa, it's okay. Breathe. I'm not mad at you. It happens. You're here now, and that's what matters. Let's sit down and I will give you a glass of water," is what she says with a smile, before nodding to the chair that Melissa now recognizes as hers before continuing, "I'll take care of you and we'll sort out the rest later."

And so it was resolved when Y/N wrote her personal number on a small piece of paper.

“So... in the next appointments, if something happens, you just need to send me a text. You don’t even need to call the salon.”, was how she explained it, with a smile so sweet that Melissa felt morally obligated to respond the same way.

Even at night, after the redhead had already added Y/N to her cell phone contacts and the younger woman had confirmed that it was really her number with a subtle message and a smiling emoji, Melissa didn’t throw the piece of paper away, but just kept it in her wallet instead.

Right next to the one she received when she got her tiramisu plate back — and which, coincidentally, had the same harmonious handwriting.

The reason? Melissa tells herself that it's only in case she loses the Brazilian woman's contact on her cell phone — because it's not smart to rely exclusively on technology — and she keeps saying these words in her mind until they become truth to herself.

Even tho she is having the hardest time of her life doing it.

#lisa ann walter x reader #lisa ann walter imagine #lisa ann walter #melissa schemmenti imagine #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfics #abbott elementary

38 notes · View notes